Chapter 2
Epic declaration of nothing.
He is telling me that he would vanish from the face of the earth, and I have no doubt that he could, but for what reason?
He would much rather disappear, acting as though he is letting me make the choice.
We are looking into each other”s eyes, and I”m waiting for the unlikely possibility that he may back away.
“What am I supposed to do with that?” I drop my hands on my waist.
My body, my heart, my mind, my everything spring alive at the scent of him. Being this close to each other is as exhausting as it is exhilarating.
“Whatever you wish to do with it,” he maintains his expression void, but it is not his face that is my tell-tale, it is his eyes. Those rich green orbs disclose all that he tries to repress. And right now, they are telling me he cares about something. I am not sure what, though.
“Being forced to marry me must be horrible for you, isn’t it?”
“Eva, I didn’t mean…”
“You had to say it this way so as not to hurt little Eva’s fragile heart,” I puff my words out, enunciating all the way as if it will balm the sore spot his rejection has punched in my heart, “But I have good news for you.”
More like lies. Anything to make me feel like I am not groveling at his feet, waiting to be chosen by him. I have never known Fabio to take a step back when he wants something. He always has a way of making things work. If he is indecisive about this, about me, about us, if there is an us, then it only means one thing.
He does not want any of it. He doesn’t want me.
“You have it all wrong,” he grits, his jawline turning razor-sharp. It surely doesn’t help that he is what dream men are made of. It doesn’t help that his beauty smites and keeps one smitten for life. From hair to dress shoes, “I am not…” I lift a finger and he nods, grinding his teeth.
“I don’t care for anything you have to say,” I shrug. I have had my fair share of rejection this morning and I will not stand here for more, “I don’t care about the marriage and now seems like the best time to let you know I have a boyfriend.”
Aha!
His eyes. My tell-tale. He doesn’t like this information. And I getwhat I needed from the way his eyes fold and open gently to hinder the slipping of emotions behind them.
“Hmm,” he scoffs. I was expecting that one. His go-to answer for all things Eva.
“Yes, hmm,” I step away so the truth behind my own eyes does not call my bluff. I don’t have a boyfriend. I have never even thought about having one.
I have felt… satisfied with my life. Like I had everything I needed. Everyone I needed. But now they are forcing my hand to lie. Lie and pretend to be the typical college girl who is somehow mixed up with some… God, I hate this.
I strut to my desk and tap on it, my other hand stuffed halfway into the back pocket of my pants.
“Who is he?” He gruffs.
“A human,” I shrug.
“Does he have a name?” He is moving, coming closer to me and my heart is spinning, making me dizzy.
“He does have a name,” I puff, keeping my tone light-hearted.
“What is his name?” I could have guessed his next question.
“It’s Nunya.”
“Nunya?”
“Nunyabusiness,” I drop my head to the side to smile at him as he stops behind me. If I can lean in, just a little, not so much, just… I take pull head back, pushing down the urge.
“What does he do? How did you meet him? Who’s his family? Do you have a picture of him?” He prances to one wall to stare at a picture of a model I had taken recently. He is shirtless, holding a surfboard and smiling at the camera like it’s a wave, “Is that him?” He flips to face me. Is that jealousy I hear, or is he just being the overprotective Fabio I have always known him to be? “Answer me, Eva,” he growls.
“Why should I?” I strut carelessly to the armchair behind my desk and throw myself on it.
“Because it is important that I know,” he grits back at me, placing both hands flat on my desk.
I sit upright, squaring him up, “Why?”
“I need to know if he is worthy of you.”
“Worthy of me?” If the air wasn’t charged with both fervor and annoyance, I would have laughed so hard.
“Is he?” He bites out.
“That is yet to be seen, and why should I worry about it whatsoever anyway?” I pick up my camera, “Love doesn’t need any of that. We are young and in love,” I take hold of my camera and begin to fidget by adjusting the lens back and forth.
“I will find him,” he stands straight and takes one step back, then another. He breaks off the stare as he gets to the door, spinning and plucking himself out of my studio.
Good luck with finding the mystery man.
It appears that we will both be searching for my boyfriend.
I puff, drop my camera gently on the desk, put my glasses back on, and sink into my seat.
When he agreed to be my model, I should have known it was a trick. Fabio would never let me take pictures of him. I was eager, I was a little over the moon but a part of me knew there was something else to it.
He couldn’t even pretend and let me get one shot before coming clean.
I hate it.
I sulk, wishing Vittoria was here. She always knows what to say…
“You can do better kiddo,” at the sound of Salvatore’s voice, my heart drops to my stomach. I am one thought away from bolting, but he lifts a pistol and swings it in the air recklessly. “Kill the thought,” he snaps, as if reading my mind, and then scowls at my studio. It is good to see his hatred for my art is ever-blazing.
“Salvatore?” It is him. I know this. It’s obvious. But I cannot stop myself from wondering how he is here, in the estate. I can see he came in through the window but how did he get past the security at the back and front gate?
“In the flesh,” he smirks, “You don’t look too happy to see me,” he strides to the stool I had kept for Fabio and sits on it, “That makes two of us,” he scratches his stubble.
There is something being evil does to someone. It’s like it comes with its own makeup to rebrand a person. His curls have lost their sheen. His eyes and cheeks are sunken. His cheekbones are more acute. His collarbone almost tearing out of his skin.
I have always known he had it in him to be ruthless but to betray his family and take sides with the same man who murdered his mother, fought his father tirelessly for years, and threatened his family? That is a different level of ruthlessness.
“What are you doing here?” My eyes drift from his face to the gun in one hand and an envelope in the other.
“We will get to that, but first,” he stands and goes to the door, “I have a question for you, kiddo,” he locks the door and walks back to sit on the stool. He has always been the one to not care about his appearance, but he seems to have made an effort today. By this, I mean his white T-shirt is white and his blue jeans look bright.
“Stop calling me that,” I clip, trying for bravery because it looks like he does not wish to use the gun if I don’t give him a reason to. But I won’t put anything past him. If he can try to kill his father, our father, I don’t see why killing me will be any problem for him.
“I am in the mood to be a good big brother, and to make sure you don’t make mistakes,” he rests one hand, the one holding the gun, on his lap, “Tell me, how is it that you like that guy?”
I am trying to understand what he is asking.
“Fabio,” he throws hastily, “How can you even like him?”
“What gave you that impression?”
“It’s all over you,” he swings the gun up and down at me, “You were sulking, and I could give you some tips but that would go against my own plans.”
“Thank you but I can only imagine the kind of advice you would give me,” I gulp.
“I know you might not agree with me, but I want what’s best for you,” he stands, “You are my little sister.”
“You could have fooled me,” I pick up my glasses and put them back on with trembling fingers. I have seen guns before, but I have never liked them—let alone one in Salvatore”s hand aimed directly at me.
“Eva,” he grits and stalks to stand in front of my desk, “Let me do the talking, we can fight when all of this is over.”
“Over to you then,” I try to look at the bright side, but I can’t see any in this situation.
He drops the envelope on the desk, dragging his free hand through his hair, down his face, and then lingers to scratch his stubble. He digs his hand into his back pocket, brings out a cellphone, and tosses it on my desk.
“You could have at least shaved,” I grumble.
“Shut up,” he bites out. He looks like a shadowed version of our father.
“Just saying,” I fold my arms across my chest to help apply pressure on my pouncing heart.
“I said shut up,” he barks and I clamp my lips in a whimper, “I did not come here to have you bug me,” he uses the tip of the gun to slide the envelope towards me, “I have good news,” he smiles but it doesn’t leave his lips. “I am now the new head of the Bratva,” he blows out air like he is living a dream come true.
“Do you even hear yourself?”
“Yes, and the last time I said something, it was that you should shut the fuck up,” he flicks the gun at the envelope, “Pick it up,” he nudges.
I reach for it hesitantly, unsure of what it might be. It can be a letter bomb. My hand halts, hovering above the envelope.
“Chill, Eva. It’s an invitation. I made sure Boris never made any attempt on you when he was alive and that should mean something,” he strides back to the stool and sits.
Boris, the manwho waged war againstmy father and sent his daughter Nina to woo, with triumphant success,my brother into joining their side. All of which came to an end when Salvatore messed with Vittoria, his arranged fiancée. Now my father’s wife, our stepmom.
“Thank you,” I reach for the envelope. If it is thanks he needs, I will give them. Anything to make him deliver his message and leave.
“You are welcome. Now, open it.” I pick up the cream and brown envelope and open it, only stopping briefly to admire its maze-like design. “I don’t have all day,” he bites out his irritation and I hurry to pull out a card from inside it.
I adjust my glasses and read it.
He is getting married?
My head shoots up, and he gives a mocking bow, “You are invited,” he stands, “Now, I would love for you to be there without being forced. You know, show up happy and support your big brother as you should.”
If I am getting him correctly, I will be there either of my own or through coercion.
“I don’t…”
“You don’t have a choice, kiddo, in case what I said earlier wasn’t clear enough,” he strides to the window that he came in through. “It’s my wedding and you are the only family member I find less irritating and want to see there.”
“I see,” I whisper to myself.
“Until we meet again. You can reach me and Nina through that phone. It’s a burner and it has our numbers saved on it. I know you miss me, big brother to the rescue,” he has lost his mind. “And Eva, you are young and beautiful, for fuck’s sake, leave that old dude the hell alone, focus on…” he darts his dark eyes around my studio and then shakes his head, “Just focus on something,” he makes an expression of irritation. He climbs onto the window and I am not foolish enough to scream because I know he means business with that gun.
I watch him as he sits at the window, and a part of me wants to reach out to the brother I never really had. The brother I could have had. I cannot say when or how it went bad, but it did and it never got better again.
“I know you are itching to go tell Father, so,” he jumps to the other side and pokes his head, “go ahead then,” he flicks his gun at me and then disappears.
I don’t even let his exit cool off, I push off my seat and scurry with staggering heartbeats outside my studio, heading for papa’s office.
I walk to the main building, clutching the burner phone and invitation to my chest, my heartbeat ricocheting in my ears, my vision hazy from tears mounding because of the panic jamming in my stomach.
“Eva,” my father’s strong arm catches me by the waist and plasters my quivering body to his, his buff frame enclosing me, “Hey, love,” he clamps his arms around me, and the longer I inhale his familiar, comforting scent, and see his wave of gray hair and beard, the more my heartbeat slows down.
He and Fabio are standing a little distance from the main door, but I hadn”t noticed them.
“He came,” I gulp more air and untangle gently from his embrace, “Salvatore.” I stretch the burner phone and invitation to him. The sound of Salvatore’s name makes him slit his onyx eyes, a shadow of guilt and pain masking his expression like the dark button-up shirt and slacks he is wearing. He reads the invitation and puts the phone into his pocket.
“Where is he?” Fabio asks, his demeanor changing to menacing and his eyes darting like that of a predator.
“He left through the window of my studio,” I point at nothing over my shoulder. “He is getting…” I point at the invitation, but my father is already on it.
“It’s okay,” he grinds, hugging me. “I will take it from here. You are safe, love,” he says, giving me a reassuring peck in my hair. “Fabio will be your bodyguard until I put a stop to this.”
I want to protest that the last person I want following me around is Fabio, but I bite my tongue. While this will be hard on me, I can sense from the change of his energy after my father’s declaration that this will be much harder on him.
Good.