Chapter 22 #2
Silently, I watch the object of my uncontrollable obsession as she glides further into the room. But instead of sitting on her sofa, she makes her way around the coffee table…
And lowers herself onto the cushion beside me.
“Thank you. For saving me,” I whisper. My voice is surprisingly steady, considering my nerves are going haywire.
The faint scent of clean ocean air surrounds me with the tranquility I seek, the comfort I always find in that calming fragrance. I take a deep breath, then tilt my head to the side until my cheek connects with the soft wool fabric of the suit jacket covering my silent guest’s sinewy frame.
A sharp inhale is the only proof of his proximity as he continues to sit motionless, his body rigid as stone.
I think I might have surprised him. I surprised myself with my bold move.
Keeping utterly still, too, I wait for a reaction.
Is he going to push me away? Or will he lean into my side a bit? The path ahead of us is murky.
Moments pass, and he does neither. Both of us remain unmoving, our bodies brushing against each other in the barest of ways. But that’s okay, too. I relax and keep breathing in that salty scent, relishing being safe, protected, and cared for, which I only experience in this man’s presence.
It took me a while to understand why the stranger who says nothing at all has awoken such strong feelings of security in me.
I’ve lived my entire life in a world with people who can do unspeakable things and rarely face consequences for their actions. Unless, of course, those actions break a set of very specific rules. The unwritten laws of Cosa Nostra.
Even the criminals adhere to certain principles.
Without those, chaos would ensue. Anarchy would reign.
I don’t even want to imagine what those people…
what anyone would be capable of doing in a world devoid of rules.
Without boundaries, without restraints, powerful individuals will take the inch you give them and run rampant, doing whatever the heck they want.
No consequences. No recrimination. The more powerful they are, the worse the atrocities they might commit.
What stands in the face of all that is trust. Can you trust the people around you? Can you give them power over you? And once you do, will they protect that trust or betray you?
I was so naive when I first set foot in the Annex.
With time, I realized the truth. Within the walls of this private gentlemen’s club, the boundaries are only an illusion, woven from a thin thread of trust. It’s a place that allows rich men to wield the power they seek.
To do whatever they want—no rules, no restraint.
To do it in utter anonymity, without their subjects ever knowing their faces, their names.
The patrons here are not bound to any principles, while at the same time, they expect perfect obedience and complete control.
The color system of the dresses is a nice distraction, giving the girls a false sense of comfort.
Baseless reassurance. An untested promise.
If anything dreadful happened to any of the women working at the Annex, who would ever know?
The establishment would protect its clientele, surely.
The rich and the influential. The place itself.
The whole thing may be wrapped in silk and luxury, but it can’t hide its dangerous, predatory nature.
In this room, my silent guest always held the ultimate power. Yet, he did nothing untoward. Unlike the bastard who didn’t heed the word stop. The one I needed to be saved from last time. When he saved me. Used that power to protect me.
What makes him different? How can he hold so much control and choose not to abuse it? Why can’t the man I’m expected to pledge my life to tomorrow be more like him? Like my silent guest?
The man who, within my nonsensical stories, heard the deepest secrets of my soul.
“Do you think a good person can still be considered ‘good’ if they have done a terrible thing?” I whisper. “An unforgivable thing? And… And they don’t regret it?”
As usual, I pause for a reaction, for a response. I thought…maybe, this time. But my silent guest remains silent. As stoic as he always is. Now, though, the stillness feels heavy in the room. Deafening.
“Someone…died, because of me,” I continue. “And…I thought I’d be racked with guilt. But I’m not. I tried to feel remorseful, but I…don’t. Instead, I’m grateful.”
Every word out of my mouth feels like poison. Scalds my lips. Drenches me in shame. For not feeling the way I believe I should. It’s horrific. But it’s the truth.
“They died so someone I love could live. They also died because I was hurting.”
A choice.
Theirs. Mine. His.
“Everyone isn’t either completely good or bad.” I’m speaking mostly to myself now. “No one is entirely chaste or sinful. We all make choices, I guess.”
Perhaps that’s the punishment for mine. Being forced to marry the man responsible for my greatest solace.
I wish I could forget about that.
“Ones we may need to learn to live with.”
Minutes or, maybe, hours pass—I’m not really sure—as we simply sit side by side, with my cheek pressed against my silent guest’s upper arm.
I’m afraid that if I move or say anything, the strange spell between us will be broken.
It feels right, this sense of calm that envelops me just being near him.
The tranquility is beyond anything I’ve ever experienced with another person.
My entire life, I’ve remained vigilant, on alert, always expecting something bad to happen.
Watching out for the next obstacle that will need to be overcome, the next problem to be solved.
But not tonight. Something tells me that, whatever may happen in the here and now, my silent companion will take care of it.
Somehow. Just as he took care of so many things in my life with his little presents.
The book. The tickets. The teacup. The black cumin.
And in between, with his quiet support, he took care of me.
A smile tugs on my lips as I think of that.
After being connected to the criminal world for so many years, I’ve come to expect that each new person I meet will be bad in some way.
Their deeds, their attitude, their indifference.
Seeing Adriano Ruffo’s true colors had sort of cemented that belief.
But my silent guest has reminded me it isn’t true for all.
There are decent people in this world. People who care.
I tilt my head up, staring blindly at where I expect my silent guest’s face to be.
God, what I wouldn’t give to be able to see him.
See his eyes. Know what he looks like. Just the briefest glimpse.
Because…despite everything I’ve tried, I can only picture my silent guest as Adriano Ruffo.
The only man whose likeness is etched into my mind.
And I need that to end. The two of them are nothing alike.
Carefully, I reach out until my hand lands on soft wool.
My heart rate is spiking, and my nerves are all over the place as I drag my trembling fingertips along his sturdy forearm, then higher.
I was right. He’s really tall. His arm is long; the anterior muscles bulge under his jacket, straining the fabric that’s covering them.
His biceps might be thicker than my thigh.
Slowly, inch by tiniest inch, my fingers glide over the seams on his lapels and up to the column of his neck. Fear grips me that any moment now, my exploration will be stopped.
“Do you ever want to just disappear? Or, for a little while, become someone else?” I ask with a voice that sounds a bit shaky. My fingers, meanwhile, advance along the line of his strong jaw. “To escape reality, the people, basically everyone and everything you know?”
A touch. On the edge of my chin. Knuckles, caressing my skin.
A nearly inaudible, growled reply breaks the silence. “Yes.”
I freeze, unable to draw air. For what feels like eons, we stay unmoving, my fingers on his warm skin just under his ear, while his hand must be only a hair’s breadth away from my face. I can feel the heat of it. The barely-there brush of his thumb on my bottom lip.
My insides are twisted with all kinds of anxiety. Excitement. Trepidation. A buzz builds in my chest, like an electric energy. It courses through me in a slow wave, intensifying with each breath I take.
I bite my lower lip while my hand ventures further, snaking around his neck. My fingers rake through the hair at his nape. Once. Twice. Again. And again. I can’t stop.
A slightly calloused palm cups my face, nearly engulfing it completely.
His hand is huge, but his touch is so, so gentle.
It makes me doubt it’s actually there. But it’s enough to make that pulsing current in my body spike and transform into a rapid high voltage.
It zips through me as if seeking an escape.
Demanding. Demanding contact. I find myself leaning forward, my chin tilted up. Closer. Closer to him.
Hard, determined lips slam to mine, stealing the breath from my lungs with their ferocity.
The kiss is brutal, devastating. It consumes and destroys.
It’s not simply a kiss. It’s a takeover.
His lips move against mine with rough, ruinous precision.
Hungry. Angry. His mouth is merciless, obliterating my last fragile thought.
There’s fury behind his kiss.
My arms rush to wind around his neck, fingers once more threading through that wonderful hair as I surrender to the kiss.
Heat ignites low in my stomach, quickly rising through my bloodstream.
I feel it everywhere. In the sharp pull of my lungs, straining for air.
In the violent stutter of my pulse. In the molten weakness spreading through my limbs and making me melt.
Every part of my body is suddenly awake, hypersensitive, desperate.
My skin seems too tight, my blood too hot, my thoughts stripped bare and left useless.
There is only him. My silent guest. His hands on my face and the crushing press of his mouth. Making me feel. Making me need…
I need—
A loud knock on the door, like an ear-shattering earthquake.
No! It can’t be. Three hours couldn’t have passed already.
My bottom lip trembles as I make myself pull back, breaking the kiss, but I can’t seem to untangle my hands, let go of my grip on his silky hair. I can’t break our contact completely.
“Don’t go,” I whisper. “Please, don’t go.”
A light touch lands on the tip of my chin. In a slow caress, the pad of his thumb drags across my cheek until it stops on my quivering lip. It hovers over my tender flesh for just a second before vanishing completely.
I suck in a shaky breath as I hear the sofa creak, feel the cushion give way beside me. The strands of thick hair, the fine wool of his jacket, slide out from beneath my hands.
Steps. Retreating. Taking the scent of the ocean breeze with them.
Taking my comfort, my serenity away.
I listen to their echo, my breath hitching with each sound. Fainter and fainter they become, until the door shuts softly behind them.
He left.
My silent guest left, and I will never be with him again.
All that remains is the rising dread of what awaits me tomorrow.
***
The engine purrs as the driver navigates the car away from the Annex.
A sadness fills me as I reach for the white box waiting on the seat.
Based on the shape and size, I think it might be another book.
The last gift I’ll ever get from him. As I pick it up and set it on my lap, I notice significant lightness to the package.
It feels practically empty. Furrowing my brows, I lift the lid.
A single folded sheet of paper lies on the bed of tissue inside.
Strange. I unfold and scan the printed text that appears to be a copy of some sort of contract.
I’m wondering if it somehow ended up in this box by mistake when my eyes catch on the listed address.
My hand flies to my mouth, and my heart rate soars.
I’m staring at a sales contract for the building Adriano Ruffo plans to demolish.
The document is dated earlier this week and indicates that the building, previously owned by Ruffo Enterprises, has been sold.
The amount and the name of the buyer have been redacted, but despite that omission, there’s no doubt in my mind about who it might be.
I set the document to the side and reach for the only other thing left in the box. A torn-out page of the daily journal.
You can stop stressing about your neighbors.
The bad guy won’t get his way this time, and they will never be evicted.
I can’t suppress a sob as I read the note again. And again. My eyes sting with unshed tears. Happy tears.
Almost two months ago, I confided to my silent guest how sad it was to listen to Mrs. Dixon share her memories of living in our neighborhood while Evelyn and I helped her pack.
She told us beautiful stories of her life with her late husband in that small apartment as the three of us sat surrounded by cardboard boxes filled with her meager belongings.
My heart broke for her, and the others being forced to move, all over again, and I had to step out into the hallway to collect myself.
A woman losing her home shouldn’t have to also see me cry.
Now, she won’t have to.
My silent guest bought the building from Ruffo.