Zane
Alright? It was AlrRighT? What the hell kind of answer was that?
I raised a brow, “Just alright?”
“It’s big but empty, exactly like its owner.” she shot next, trying to offend me but it had the opposite effect.
A slow grin spread across my face, and her eyes narrowed, daring me not to say what we both knew was coming.
“Well, we both know you like it big.”
Her mouth fell open before she smacked my arm.
I barely felt it, but the playful spark in her eyes sent a strange warmth through me. She tried to look annoyed, but I caught the faintest twitch of a smile.
“So, how would you make it less... empty?”
No one ever bothered to tell me what I should do with all this space, and it wasn’t as if I’d given a damn before. But I was suddenly curious about her answer.
Chloe bit her bottom lip, and I had to resist the urge to lean forward and bite it myself.
“Flowers. It definitely needs flowers.”
I was caught off guard by her answer, and images of my mother planting and pruning flowers all over the garden flashed in my mind. She used to spend hours out there, covered in dirt and smiling as if it was her therapy.
Chloe was right, everything was empty.
Everything was empty compared to those times, and not only the garden.
“My mother loved to fill it with flowers too,” I heard myself say. “She’d chase me around the garden with a trowel, looking deadly as fuck whenever I broke a vase.”
I wasn’t sure if it was the memories or the sound of Chloe’s laughter escaping her lips, but something was leaving me messed up inside. Her laugh was too damn bright, too damn warm, and I hated how much I wanted to hear it again.
For the longest time, thinking about my parents had only brought bitterness, anger, the ache of everything they’d left behind.
But now, whenever I shared those small pieces with Chloe, it felt... lighter.
“What happened?” she asked cautiously. Not sure if she was asking about the flowers or something else, but my mind just drifted…
The sky hung heavy and gray, thick clouds looming as if they could break at any moment, but the rain never came.
I stared at the date of their death carved into the dark crypt as the priest went on with whatever he was saying. It must have been beautiful because there were plenty of people crying, women mostly. The men just stood stiff and respectful.
I was shocked to see so many people showing up to pay their respects.
After all, Papa had not been known for having friends besides his own men. But apparently, many respected him. Maybe because of his influence over political figures and authorities, or all his contributions to public works and community services.
Besides Papa’s brother, Uncle Carlo, and the rest of our family from Italy, there were other syndicate families. There were also the Russians, the Greek, the Irish, associates from America. All of them except for the Colombians—of course.
One raindrop fell on my forehead.
I glanced up. Not sure what I was expecting to happen but I kept expecting something would. Maybe for the sky to crack open, to send down lightning or some shit of a sign to make sense of it all. To let me know they were still there.
But nothing happened.
Just Uncle Carlo’s hand on my shoulder, trying to ground me back.
But I wasn’t really there with the living anymore. Not entirely. Not completely.
When the priest finished the rite, people started approaching the coffin in turns.
Some were nodding, others leaving flowers, before quietly drifting away until there were just a few family members and Papa’s men left.
The lump in my throat was suffocating, each passing second dragging me deeper into a dark pit I wasn’t sure I could ever climb out of.
My heart wasn’t just breaking; it was shattered.
I knew it was my turn but I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t even breathe.
Uncle Carlo gave my shoulder another squeeze, gently guiding me forward.
They were in the same coffin, buried together because not even death could keep them apart.
They would’ve loved that. Mama would’ve loved it.
She’d have called it poetic.
I stared at the flowers resting on the polished wood and they swallowed me—red roses, reminding me of the blood on my hands, and black ones, like Mama’s eyes staring past me into nothing.
A night I wanted so desperately to forget but kept pulling me down in details during the day and in nightmares at night.
I was supposed to toss in the rose in my hand as a final goodbye, like everyone else.
But I smashed it between my fingers instead.
I hated fucking flowers.
“Do I look like someone who cares about flowers?” I said simply.
Chloe’s lips curved into a shy smile. “No. You look nothing like that.”
She sighed, her gaze drifting over the empty garden. Her eyes softened, and for a second, I wondered, what is she seeing? I mulled that over, wanting to see it through her eyes.
“What colors?” I asked, surprising myself.
Her eyes flicked to mine, studying me as if she was sizing me up or something. “Just white,” she finally said.
“Interesting.”
Interesting that she’d picked it because it was my favorite color on her.
Every time I pictured Chloe in my mind, she was always wearing white—angelic, untouched by darkness.
I didn’t know if she picked it to taunt me, to make it contrast with my own personality, or if the color meant something more to her too.
Maybe because it also symbolized hope, something she pretended she didn’t believe in but still clung to dearly.
“Nothing happened with Arianna yesterday.”
Her body tensed immediately.
I didn’t even know why I cared if she believed me, but I did.
“I was pushing her away when you—”
“You didn’t look like you were pushing too hard,” she cut in, sharp as a blade.
I rolled over, pinning her beneath me. Her breath hitched, eyes widening, but she didn’t look away.
“You’re fucking fierce when you’re jealous.” I said.
Her eyes flicked to my lips, then back to my eyes, wanting to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss her.
“I’m not jealous,” she retorted, failing to sound convincing, “I was caught off guard. I thought we were... exclusive or something. How would you feel if you caught me with another man?”
The thought of her with another man was just a no. I’d chop off the fucker’s dick and shove it down his throat before killing him with my bare hands, no hesitation. The thought alone was enough to make me flare.
“...And it wasn’t just about you,” she admitted, her voice small, gazing. Looking away, as if looking into my eyes would break her. “It was everything. And I’m sorry you had to see all that.”
She was ashamed of crying in front of me? Before I could ask, she slipped out from under me, standing up with her back already turned.
“Where are you going?” I asked, standing too.
Her face turned to me but she was not really facing me. “I’m tired. I want to go to my room.”
Meaning, she wanted to be alone, and I hated it.
Clearing my throat, I forced a nod, even though it felt like I was swallowing glass.
She stared at me for another second, then walked away without another word.
Watching her go felt like a punch to the gut. Oh, how the tables have turned; I hated this, the cold distance she suddenly put between us, made me feel like a fucking dog left out in the rain.
I snatched my jacket off the ground and headed inside, cursing under my breath, regretting the decision to get inside via the kitchen door the second I stepped inside.
Clarisse was there, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, and the way she looked at me… it was clear she’d been waiting for this moment.
“What do you want from that girl, Zane?” Her voice was steady, too calm, as if she’d been rehearsing it.
I raked a hand through my hair, frustration creeping in.
I hated to be questioned, and people had been doing a lot of that lately.
“What kind of question is that?”
“One you should probably put some thought into.” Her eyes didn’t waver.
I shot her a glare. “Clarisse—”
“She doesn’t belong here,” she said, cutting me off, her tone assertive, “She doesn’t deserve this life and you know it.”
“I’m taking care of her,” I argued, though my defense sounded weak even to my own ears.
She huffed, her arms tightening over her chest. “If you really cared about her, you’d let her go. Wouldn’t you?”
I couldn’t let Chloe go. That wasn’t even an option.
“I can’t do that.”
“Then at least stop making it harder for her. She’s had enough people hurting her already. Don’t end up being just another monster in her life.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Did she say something to you?” I asked, suddenly on edge.
“She didn’t have to,” Clarisse said quietly, her expression softening. “I’ve seen enough in my time before your family took me in. And I’m a woman. I just know.”
Her words hung heavily between us. I knew Chloe had a shitty life because of what her parents had put her through, but I didn’t know the details. I’d never asked.
In fact, I didn’t know a damn thing about her, besides what I’d read in papers months ago.
Something I suddenly wanted to change.