Chapter 18
ROMI
That fucking psycho. I wake up to a knock on the door and a man handing me a small black box with a note. He offers me a polite smile and merrily says, “Thank you for your purchase, and I hope you have a wonderful day.”
When I open the box, it reveals keys and a note that reads, “So you’re not so inclined to steal mine in the future.”
My jaw drops as I step onto the balcony and look down. Sitting there is a brand-fucking-new motorcycle with a red bow on top.
Is this guy for real? It’s like the moment he tastes any form of rejection, he comes begging for more. But like the leather jacket, this is too much. Dante Moretti is too much.
I hardly slept at all last night, unsure as to whether he would return to the apartment, despite my clear warning to leave me the fuck alone. He might’ve found somewhere else to stay, but he’s certainly not done with me.
I bite at the edge of my nail as I think, even though that’s all I did last night.
It took all my restraint not to call Lily to ask her what the fuck was going on, and even though I despise Dante, he’s right about one thing.
With heightened emotions, I wouldn’t find answers.
No, I’d most likely only say something that would push her away without rationally hearing her response.
So, I decide to call the only other person who’s as direct as they come, but apparently not so forthcoming.
Arabella Armani has been our friend for three years now, and not once did I suspect that she was involved with the Italian mafia.
I want answers, and though I should be more apprehensive about getting myself into trouble by asking, I’m just past the point of caring.
I’ve spent too long with my head in the sand, focused on the bubble I’ve been living in, only to put myself in a position to not only let a killer live under my roof but also fuck him.
I send Ara a text message for a time and place to meet, then I light a cigarette as I feed Borris.
It’s time to expose everyone’s secrets.
Although I saw Ara only a week ago at our regular morning meetup, I swear every time I see her, her stomach has grown.
She’s a month from her due date, and a small part of me is second-guessing asking her because I don't want to upset her. But I suspect this conversation won’t stress Ara in the slightest. In fact, I view her very differently now.
She’s always been reserved, even within our group.
A woman at the top of her game in business, and who could have the world at her feet, but I never knew she had a monster at her back, baring his fangs.
The man who’s been with her since Lorenzo stood by Lily’s side takes a seat close by.
We joked about her security and Luca’s overprotectiveness toward her and the unborn baby, but I see the truth for what it is now.
I’ve already ordered a glass of wine for myself while waiting for her arrival, and when the server comes over to ask Ara what she would like, she settles for a water.
“Thank you for taking the time out of work to speak with me,” I say, swirling the wine.
The restaurant is lovely, close to her office building as well.
I’ve been here a few times for dinner, but now it has a totally different vibe.
Everything does now. I wonder about the inner workings of the mafia here in Manhattan.
Have I been exposed to this world more than I already realize?
“Of course. It sounded urgent. Is everything okay?” she asks, then thanks the server who brings over a bottle of water. Ara’s hand goes to her stomach. A tension ripples between us.
“There’s no other way to say it, so I’ll just get to the point. Are you involved with the Italian mafia?”
Her eyebrows rise ever so slightly. I can see her bodyguard tense, but I ignore him. I’m not scared of them, although I know I should be. Ara is a friend, and so is Lily, but this is some wild shit to process.
Ara’s gaze drops to my Haters gonna hate shirt. I didn’t wear it intentionally. It was the first shirt I grabbed from the pile of clothes Dante had washed and folded for me. But now I realize it might be giving off mixed signals.
“Yes,” she answers matter-of-factly. “Can I ask where you might’ve gained this information?”
“Manhattan is a small place. And, no, it wasn’t Lily. I haven’t spoken to her about it yet.”
Ara nods. “If I’m being honest, I thought you might’ve clued in on it before anyone else. I’m surprised it’s taken you this long.”
I almost scoff in disbelief. “Is this one of those clubs where you don’t get let in on the secrets unless you guess them?”
“You want to be in?” Ara asks cryptically.
“No. But it seems like the only way you get a straight answer is by asking.”
She’s agreeable as she says, “Well, it’s not like I can go around wearing a shirt, stating, Hey, my husband is the head of the mafia. And besides, you’ve been caught up in your own business.”
I don’t know why, but I expected her to deny it or something. But she’s speaking with me as plainly as if we were talking about the weather. I lean back in my chair, taking a sip of wine. I’m tempted to light a cigarette, but draw the line at smoking around a pregnant woman.
“What are you looking for from this conversation?” she asks.
In truth, the thing I like most about Ara is her intelligence. And she's straight to the point, and up until now, I thought her trustworthy.
“Honestly, I just want answers. I should be scared, knowing this information, but for some reason, I’m not.
” And I don’t know if that’s because I’ve worn myself out after Lorraine's death, or I simply want to verify Dante’s candor.
And none of this should be about him—yet all of it somehow centers around him.
Had it not been for him, who knows how much longer I would’ve gone without knowing this about Ara and Lily?
“Is Lily safe with Lorenzo?” I ask because I do care about that.
“He’d die for her,” she says with confidence.
I already know that. I could tell by the man's intensity that he’d do anything for her, but this is on an entirely different level.
“I won’t lie to you. His job does bring particular dangers from time to time. Much like my position, being married to Luca. But it’s a choice we both made. I tried to warn her away from Lorenzo while he was pretending to be her boyfriend.”
“That was pretend?” I whisper-shout and then lean back when someone looks over at me.
I take another mouthful of wine. “I did think it was weird when you all came back from Italy, and those two were suddenly glued at the hip.” I didn’t want to pry any further into that.
I wanted Lily to tell me herself, and I’m disappointed that she didn’t mention it once.
I always thought I was the person she could depend on.
Then again, I’ve been a shitty friend as of late.
I have no one to blame but myself.
“Are we still friends?” Ara asks suddenly, surprising me.
This changes a lot of things. But strangely, it doesn’t change my value of our friendship.
“I see no reason not to be, unless you give me one.”
Ara considers me for some time. “You’re a lot calmer about this than I thought most people would be, given the situation. I’m not going to sugarcoat it. My husband is a killer. He does immoral things and profits from them. I’ve also killed someone.”
The glass of wine freezes at my lips, and I look at Ara.
Really look at her. We all have secrets.
That’s the fucking truth. The world isn’t black and white, and I've never believed anyone is wholly innocent. I do trust my instincts, however, and even if Ara is a killer, I don’t think she’d ever do it unless it was warranted.
“Did they deserve it?”
She simply nods, and I nod.
“Then I don’t need to ask any further questions.”
It’s strange. I still don’t feel any particular way about what I now know. I thought I’d have some kind of emotional breakthrough, but it’s all there, being sucked out and drained by the one ghost that’s haunted me since the day Lorraine died.
I need to get my life back on track—all that anger, guilt, and shame coming in fits and spurts. Right now, for the first time in a long time, I feel calm, despite this new knowledge.
When Dante told me, I was furious, raging, disarmed, and I don’t know if that has to do with him being the first to surprise me with this intel or if it’s because it came from his mouth instead of Ara’s.
I consider asking Ara about Dante, but there’s something that forces me to bite my tongue. As if my exposing Dante is an entirely different force in itself. It feels like the calm before the storm, because Dante has made it very clear that he has no intention of leaving me alone.
But I will no longer react to his antics.
He wants me to bite back and give him attention.
It’s like he’s thirsting to be validated, and I wonder if that’s from years of living in the shadows.
Then again, I don’t even know how long he’s been doing this if he really has been studying to become a surgeon.
The mystery around Dante only continues to grow.
But I’m not playing into his game anymore. If anything, I’m going to pretend like he never existed. The sooner I flush him out of my system so he no longer monopolizes my mind, the better off I'll be.