Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
LAbrIA
Ilooked around the room. I could do this.
One item at a time, one box at a time, I would reclaim what was mine and leave this house behind.
The driver Nicco hired could load what I packed today into the moving truck tomorrow.
I hoped Khia and I could finish the packing together.
I couldn’t believe how much I had accumulated in such a short time.
Looking around this bedroom made me feel— sad.
I sat on the edge of the bed gazing at the remnants of a life I was leaving behind.
The house felt too quiet, too empty, despite still containing our possessions.
Night had fallen outside the large bedroom windows, and the reality of my sister’s impending arrival meant I needed to make a decision.
It made more sense to stay here tonight.
I wasn’t going to put my sister in a hotel or leave her to stay here by herself while I drove back to Maurizio’s townhouse only to return in the morning.
I reached for my phone, knowing this conversation wouldn’t be easy.
Maurizio had been my comfort. Telling him I wouldn’t be coming back to his house tonight felt strangely like betrayal.
I dialed his number, listening to it ring twice before he answered and put it on speaker.
“Hey, are you okay?” There was concern in his tone. “Did something happen?”
“I’m fine,” I assured him, as I folded another blouse. “Just checking in, filling you in.”
“Did you need my help?” Zio asked.
“Uh, no. I’m good.” I hesitated, twisting the fabric in my hands. “Actually, that’s why I’m calling. My sister Khia just booked a flight. She’ll be here before midnight.”
“Your sister? Your sister from Chicago? You told her about...everything?”
“Not everything,” I said quickly. “Just that Lord and I broke up. I didn’t mention us.”
“I see.” His tone told me he didn’t see. “Why? Why didn’t you mention us, me?”
“I, ah, I ah, I wouldn’t do that without your permission.”
“Okay. So, she’s coming to help you, ah pack?”
“Yes. And I think. I think I should stay here tonight. At the house. It makes more sense for me to be here when she arrives rather than making her stay in a hotel.”
“She can come here, to my place.”
“I can’t ask you to take her in when you took me in. I know my sister. She wouldn’t be okay staying in a house of someone she’s never met…” I trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence without making things worse.
There was a slight pause, a beat of silence that conveyed disappointment more clearly than words could have. “Your sister hasn’t met Lord either.”
Well, damn. That was unexpected and true. I’d told him this long before the breakup. I couldn’t believe he remembered it and had the audacity to mention it. “That’s true, but you know Lord’s in New York, so, ya know.”
“I understand,” he said finally, his voice softening.
“It’s just for tonight,” I added quickly. “We’ll finish packing up my stuff tonight and tomorrow. He’s coming back on Thursday, and my sister has to get back to her husband and kids.”
“Of course.” Another pause. “Will you text me later? Just to let me know your sister made it in?”
There was concern in his voice, and I wasn’t sure why. “I will.”
“Good. And Labria?” His voice dropped slightly. “I’ll miss you tonight.”
Those simple words made my chest ache. “I’ll miss you too,” I admitted softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
We said our goodbyes, and I set the phone down beside me on the bed. The emptiness of the house suddenly felt more real. I’d spent so many nights here with Lord, and now I’d be spending one more—alone, that was until my sister arrived.
I returned to packing. I’d already filled three boxes with clothes and shoes.
The jewelry Lord had given me remained in its box on the dresser.
I hadn’t decided yet whether to take it.
Each piece represented a moment of happiness.
There were the diamond earrings for our six-month anniversary, the sapphire pendant when I passed the Nevada bar, the tennis bracelet just because I came back to him after the high-speed shootout.
They were all beautiful symbols of a relationship built on lies, drama and sometimes violence.
I moved to the nightstand, the one place I hadn’t yet checked. My side had contained books, a satin bonnet, a sleeping mask, a fingernail and a few other nighttime essentials. I pulled open the bottom drawer, expecting to find it empty like so many other spaces in the house.
Instead, I found a stack of photographs.
I hadn’t expected this. The pictures weren’t there before. I lifted the stack from the drawer and returned to the bed. The top photo showed us at North Avenue Beach back in Chicago. Lord’s arm was around my waist, and we were both smiling.
I flipped to the next photo. There was a glossy picture of me and Lord at a charity gala at the Palladium. I was in a red dress that he picked. We looked like the perfect couple.
The next photo made my heart hurt. It was from Chicago, before everything.
It was before Vegas, before the Bregoli family had fully claimed him.
It was a selfie. We were at Navy Pier, eating ice cream, laughing at something long forgotten.
No, I remembered. We were laughing about the Ferris wheel.
A story he’d shared from his teens. I remembered that day.
I remembered how normal it felt. It was early in our relationship, when I still believed Lord was just a successful businessman.
Before I knew about his mafia family connections, before I understood what being with him would truly mean.
I kept turning through the photos, each one triggering memories that flooded back.
There was even a selfie in front of the Vegas sign.
Then another photo. One of Lord teaching me to shoot a Glock 19 at a private gun range, a necessary skill he’d insisted I learn.
There was also a candid shot of me asleep on the couch, my law books spread around me as I’d studied.
Some of these pictures had come from my phone. How did he get them, and why did he print them out? Had he left these photos in the drawer knowing I would find them? Was this his way of reminding me what I was walking away from?
The last photo in the stack was different from the others.
It wasn’t of both of us, but of me alone.
I stood in the backyard of this house, gazing out at the desert landscape beyond our property line, unaware of the camera.
I remembered that moment. It was the day we’d moved in, when the house had felt like a fresh start, a promise of our future together.
A bullshit promise because Lord couldn’t even marry a Black woman.
If he wanted a wife, she had to be Italian.
I set the stack of photos down on the nightstand and cussed him under my breath.
Why was he playing these stupid games? Lord wasn’t the man in those photos.
He was something else. He looked like a man who loved me.
But he was really just a man who had lied to my face, who had been with Lolita behind my back.
I wiped away tears I hadn’t realized were falling.
This house, these photos, and the memories they contained, they were part of my past now.
Just like Lord. I would pack what remained of my things, I would welcome my sister when she arrived, and tomorrow we would finish the job of separating my life from his.
I was making the right choice. The only choice, yes, but the right one. I deserved better than this. Even when it hurt, I deserved the truth. I deserved loyalty. It was time for me to start over again. I did it before, and I could do it again. I wasn’t new to this. I was true to this.