Chapter 38
38
WHERE CIVIL BLOOD MAKES CIVIL HANDS UNCLEAN
Ivory
I haven’t heard from Rio in over forty-eight hours.
I’m trying not to read into it, mostly because if I’ve been holed up with Dascha at the bakery, I know he has to be busy, too. Not to mention everything was damn near perfection when we parted ways. Why would it suddenly—and without warning—just go to shit?
Still, my mind wants to wander, to imagine the worst. I’ve avoided reaching out to him, not wanting to appear desperate and clingy, but I can’t stomach another minute of this godforsaken silence. Either he’s had a change of heart, or something is wrong.
My gut screams the latter.
Grabbing a stack of the good plates, I slip out of the kitchen undetected as my mom continues putting the finishing touches on tonight’s meal. Lucia, my brother, and little Kat are here, too, lounging about in the backyard with my dad. It’s the first time we’ve attempted to have family dinner since Lucia was put on bedrest prior to giving birth.
After laying a plate at each setting, I whip out my phone from the pocket of my flared slacks and tap into my thread with Rio.
5
That’s the last thing I sent, the fifth flashback count as I’d promised, and he’d requested. He never responded to it, and I didn’t follow up, assuming he got tied up, that he’d get back to me later. Alarm bells blare in my eardrums, my stomach revolting anxiously as I type out a quick message.
Crow, where are you?
I wait and wait, willing every god, deity, and entity who might hear my plea to show me the ‘Read’ notification and those bouncing dots on my screen. But they never come. ‘Delivered’ remains firmly in place, rousing my steady heartbeat into a full-on stampede. Clicking on his contact, I select the call button and lift the phone to my ear.
No ring.
Straight to voicemail.
“Fuck,” I whisper-hiss, swallowing past the abrasive lump caught in my throat.
I don’t know what to do, but I’m trying not to panic as one too many scenarios flood me at once. Benedikt is one of them. I know Rio wasn’t worried about retaliation, but?—
“Ivory, honey, are you okay?” Mom asks as she ambles into the dining room with a steaming pot of chicken cacciatore and sets it in the middle of the table.
“Yeah.” I shake my head to erase such thoughts and stow my phone away. “I think I’m just hungry. I haven’t eaten all day.”
A lie, but she doesn’t know that.
“Are you sure?” She inches up to me and lays the back of her hand against my forehead. “You’re whiter than a ghost.”
“I’m fine, Ma.” Swatting her away, I slip past her and start back into the kitchen, forcing myself to inhale a deep breath through my nose and out through my mouth.
I need to calm down.
He’s fine.
He’s just busy.
No he’s not.
Where is he?
Something’s wrong.
“Go get the rest of them, will you?” my mom says from behind me. “Dinner’s ready, my girl. I’m just grabbing the focaccia and the salad.”
I do as I’m told, though it’s all on autopilot. Every movement, each word that comes out of my mouth but I don’t actually register. It’s not until we’re all sitting at the table, fluid conversation and glassware clinking around me that I’m finally pulled out of my head by Lucia’s gentle voice.
“Ivory?”
I glance up at her in her pretty pink dress at the opposite end of the table and plaster on a smile. “What was that? I missed it.”
“I said, did you settle on one of the places we looked at?”
“Oh…” I rock my head, “no, not yet. I actually think I might wait until after the holidays. The current spot has enough space for Dascha and me to crank out orders, which is currently an overwhelming amount, without having to worry about a storefront.”
“Why not just ditch the storefront, period?” Santo questions directly across from me, the sleeves of his black dress shirt rolled up to his elbows.
I shrug noncommittally. “Nonna would be disappointed if I did that. The storefront gives me a place to showcase all of her favorite treats. Without them, I’d just be baking cakes.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing now, though?” he presses, scooping up a spoonful of the cacciatore.
“I mean, yeah, ‘cause we’re swamped. Once we catch up, it’ll be fine.”
“I hate to tell you little sister, but if you’re swamped now, there is no catching up. Your work is in demand, meaning you’re going to be busy all the time. Maybe the lack of a storefront is something to consider.”
Lucia whacks him with her napkin and shoots him a death glare. “Leave her be. This is her business, not yours. I, personally, loved the storefront and would love to see it open again.” That last bit is directed at me with her quintessential Lucia smile.
“Thanks, Lu.”
Over the course of the next twenty minutes, we bounce from topic to topic. Alessandro mentions how he’s excited to be getting the casts off soon so he can start PT. My mom chatters away about a new charity she wants to hold a gala for, and both Lucia and Santo gush about how Kat’s sleeping through the night. The only one who doesn’t say much of anything, silently eating his meal, is my dad.
Reaching over for his hand, I give it a squeeze, one that lifts that familiar amber gaze my way. “You okay, Pa? You’re really quiet tonight.”
His head bobs slightly, but between his silence and his slightly disheveled appearance, I’m not buying it.
Santo notices, too, arching a dark brow. “Yeah, old man—what gives? You’ve been quiet all night.”
The man in question glances around the table, noting the spotlight is very much on him. Carefully dropping his silverware, he reaches for a napkin and clears his throat as he wipes the corners of his mouth. “I’m at a loss for words here, to be completely honest.”
“About?” my mom hedges at the opposite head of the table, taking a sip from her wineglass.
“I’m not sure how to say this, but…” he sighs, and the anxiety already whirling within me multiplies like a hurricane in the Atlantic.
“What is it, Dad?”
He doesn’t answer, swallowing deeply as his uneasy stare bounces around the table again. I examine him closely; the bags beneath his eyes, the wrinkles of his perfectly bleached shirt, how his silvering hair looks like he’s been tugging on it all day.
Is he sick? Did something happen with the business? Does he know something about R ? —
“Amore, you’re scaring me,” Ma states warily, interrupting my train of thought.
It’s then my father turns to me and sets my world up in brutal, sweltering flames.
“Benedikt Koshka asked for your hand in marriage…and I agreed.”
Silverware clatters onto plates, protests from my family ring out all around me. My eyes nearly burst free from their sockets. “You did what?” I shriek.
I’m sure he knew of the Koshka brotherhood, but how does he know of Benedikt personally?
My dad breaks eye contact and focuses on the bowl of cacciatore, pushing his spoon through the sauce. “It had to be done, Principessa. He requested to meet with me yesterday, and what I saw was quite alarming.”
“Dad, you can’t be serious,” Santo growls venomously.
“I very much am. He had a gash on his face that could span the Nile, one he acquired after an unexpected altercation with the one and only Rio Lorenzo Guerra.” His gaze drifts back to me on that last part. “Much to my surprise, Benedikt then shared with me how the two you have been seeing one another recently, thus rendering him a new enemy for the Guerra heir. So, when he suggested we align our families in an effort to double our manpower, I couldn’t refuse. Not to mention, he has access to the port in Jersey, which he promised would be for our use, as well. He’s also very interested in further exploring your relationship, Ivory. It’s a win/win.”
He thinks this is a win? Heading spinning, I snap my gaze to Santo, who’s two seconds away from having a heart attack based on the red hue now claiming his face. Lucia’s in clear shock with her jaw popped open, so is Alessandro.
“Amadeo, please tell me you’re joking,” my mom seethes, running a shaky hand through the roots of her silky, caramel hair. “You can’t just give our daughter away! What do you even know about this man?”
My dad makes way to further explain himself, but I’ve finally gathered enough of my wits to speak more than two words. “What is this, the eighteenth century? You can’t arrange a marriage for me to a man I have zero interest in and expect me to just fall in line!” I shoot out of my chair, knocking the damn thing backward from the force of my upheaval. “I’ve always been the well-mannered daughter, always thinking of our family, how I could be of help. But this? This is outlandish and immoral. Even you have to see that! I’m not marrying him.”
“You have to, piccolina. It’s a done deal,” he says solemnly, unable to look me in the eye.
All I can do is gape at him, just completely and utterly mind fucked. How could he do this to me? What did Benedikt really say to him that has him so on board?
I have to tell him about Benedikt, the thought flashes into my mind—but then it fades just as quickly.
I should tell him, I want to tell him, but that would also require admitting I led this man on. If I’d turned down his initial date—hell, if I hadn’t gone home with him the night we met, this wouldn’t be happening. Shame briskly creeps its way through me, reminding me I brought this on myself.
Revealing his true nature could also result in another enemy. In fact, I’d bet money on it. Not that Rio is an opposing factor anymore, but my family can’t afford a new player who’s out for blood. I won’t risk their lives over my mistake.
I got myself into this mess.
I’m gonna have to get myself out.
“This isn’t right, Dad. You can’t do this to her,” Alessandro pipes up.
“She has to . We agreed to hold the ceremony six weeks from now.”
“Six weeks!” Santo barks back, joining me on his feet. “Like Ma said—what do you even know about this man? How can you possibly think this is okay?”
I don’t stay to find out what his answer might be, instead grabbing my purse and keys from the entry table and rushing out the door. I’m fuming, dizzy, nauseous above all else.
This is a power play on Benedikt’s part. Yes, Rio went after him, but the motherfucker deserved it. He earned it fair and square after putting his hands on me in ways that weren’t warranted. I don’t give a damn if he felt neglected or ignored. He has no rights to me, to my time, my attention.
My little Benz squeals as I peel out of the driveway and race down my street, focusing on breathing evenly before I wreck. It’s impossible, though. The further away I drive, the more this hellish reality sinks in, and before I’ve even made it to the highway, I’m on the verge of hyperventilating, sobbing an ocean of tears.
I can’t for the life of me understand why my dad is doing this to me. I’ve always been a good girl, always done right by him, always?—
Karma, my subconscious barks. You’re not a good girl. You claim to be a terrible liar, but you’ve lied to your father for years. This is your karma for hiding in the shadows with Rio—not once in your life, but twice.
The second the steel elevator doors slide open, I’m flying out into the hallway. I don’t know if he’s here, because his phone’s still going straight to voicemail, but I need him.
Now more than ever.
“Rio!” Banging on the cool, sleek surface of the penthouse door, I set my ear against it in hopes of hearing some sort of movement. “Rio, open the door!”
No answer.
The tempo of my fist increases in speed, more frantic and panicked as the seconds tick by. I still can’t shake the feeling something’s terribly wrong, and the fact he isn’t answering the door doesn’t help. “Rio! Open the damn door!”
Again, I’m met with nothing but silence, cursing the barrier as if it were at fault for any of the things currently imploding my life. I contemplate sitting beside it and waiting, in the event he’s not home, but start back down the corridor instead. Defeated. Frightened. Unsure of what to do or where to go. I have no desire to be within two feet of my fath?—
The unmistakable click of the locks coming undone sounds behind me, revealing Alvaro Guerra poking his head out into the hallway. His green eyes widen at the sight of me, though he remains silent. He’s always been that way. I remember seeing him in the hallways at school, year after year, and unlike his older brother, he never gave me any problems.
Now he knows about us, having accompanied Rio on his suicide mission, which is why I retrace my steps and pad back the short distance, tucking my hair behind my ear. I’m sure I look a hot mess right now. “Is Rio here?”
Alvaro gives me an indifferent once over and cocks his head behind him, opening the door wider to allow me entrance. Squeezing past him, I wander into the penthouse just as Rio’s rising onto his feet from the couch.
Barely.
Wincing in clear pain, he tucks an arm around his bandaged torso and stands as tall as he can manage, not a single word breaking past his lips.
My purse slips from my grip and thuds to the dark tiles beneath my feet. “What…what the fuck happened?”
Though he holds my stare without faltering, he says nothing, visibly grinding his jaw.
“Koshka,” Alvaro answers as he slinks up beside me. “ Waylaid him with a knife two days ago during a delivery.”
That’s why he hasn’t answered.
Why his phone’s off.
Benedikt came after him.
I was right.
I think I stop breathing all over again. Alvaro tries to situate me in one of the armchairs, but I whip out of his grasp and move the ten necessary steps to reach Rio. My first instinct is to throw my arms around him, to apologize for what he had to endure because of me. He’s hurt, though, and I don’t want to add to it, my palms hovering just above his chest as my gaze fuses to his wrapped abdomen.
Despite whatever discomfort it might bring him, Rio crushes me against him, effectively bursting the flood gates open all over again. I thought I’d cried every last tear possible on the drive over here. Apparently not. A fresh wave of turmoil racks me, leaving me a shuddering mess in his arms as I allow myself to cry into his chest.
“I’m fine, Petal,” he says softly, setting a kiss to the top of my head.
“You’re fine?” I counter, easing away to look him in the eye. “This is so remotely far from fine, it’s not even funny!”
He brings a hand to my face, his thumb wiping away the wet streak clinging to my cheek. “I’m still breathing, aren’t I?”
He is. Thank God he is.
My lip trembles as a reel of intrusive thoughts starring the alternative flicker in my mind. He could be dead, peppered in irreparable stab wounds, lying in a casket. Waiting to be buried six feet under. A strangled sob catches in my throat, and before I can collapse at the grueling realization, he’s smashing our lips together.
I kiss him like it’s the last time I’ll ever get to, locking my arms so tightly around him, I’m not sure his lungs have room to function. Losing the man you love is always a possibility, but when he belongs to the mafia, that possibility increases exponentially. His life is constantly on the line, and it’s almost a certainty that one day I’ll be making funeral arrangements rather than welcoming him home. If he doesn’t end up in prison first, of course.
I’ve never been more in awe of my mom, never felt more sympathetic for her and the absolute terror she must feel every time my father walks out the door.
“I’m right here, baby. Stop crying,” Rio whispers, trying and failing to slow the frantic rhythm of my lips.
“You…you could’ve died,” I croak. “All because of me.”
“It’s not because you. Benedikt came after me. I brought this on myself when I left that mark.”
“Because of me,” I stress, uncaring that his brother is bearing witness to the entire exchange and what I’m about to say as I peel myself away from him. “It’s because of me. You went after him because of me, and then he asked my dad for my hand in marriage. And like a fool, my dad agreed! He wants you off the playing field, because he wants me!”
Instant-fucking-silence.
I recognize the uncomfortable way it hangs in the air as I wipe the twin streams from my face and pace the space beside him. Still, it doesn’t fully register until I hear, “I’m sorry… Repeat that. Your dad did what?”
Freezing in place, I swing my head to meet his stare. His now hardened, unamused, on the verge of completely unhinged stare. “He gave me away like a fucking hand-me-down, fully agreed to all of Benedikt’s terms, including the part where I have to walk down the aisle in six weeks.” My voice cracks at the end because six weeks…
Do you know how quickly six weeks flies by?
For every millisecond that passes, I can see the way rage eats through his rationale. He’s trying so hard to keep it together, but the more he allows himself to internalize what I’ve just said, the more it bests him. Consumes him. Controlling his actions as if he were nothing more than a puppet on strings.
“Fuck!” he roars savagely, flipping over the same armchair Alvaro tried planting me in not five minutes ago.
He doesn’t just flip it, though. No, he kicks it back another five feet, springing his brother into action. “Rio, calm down,” the man cajoles, situating himself in front of me.
“Calm down?” Rio grimaces, bending over slightly, his injuries likely screaming after exerting himself so wildly. “You want me to calm down? Did you not just hear what she said! I just got her back!”
“I know,” Alvaro concedes, taking tentative steps toward him. “But going batshit won’t help. Not you, not her, not the entire situation. Sit down, brother, please. Before you hurt yourself more than you already are. ”
“I just got her back.” He falls to his knees instead, breath shallow and uneven as if he just ran a mile. “I just fucking got her back!”
I’m moving in a blur, sidestepping Alvaro and dropping to the ground in front of him. When he drags his gaze up to mine, I see defeat in place of wrath, obliterating the shattered pieces of my heart more than they already are.
“I just got you back,” he rasps, pulling me into his lap. “You can’t marry him.”
“I don’t want to, trust me. But what other choice do I have?”
None, none at all. My father made it clear.
It’s a done deal.
If I don’t comply, who knows what Benedikt will do to me, to my family.
To Rio.
“We need to come out, Ivory. It’s time. We have to be honest with our families and unveil the truth. I can’t lose you again. I won’t.”
I don’t just hear the verity behind that statement. I feel it. I feel the love, the adoration, the obsession that is so perfectly him and I, but I also feel the anguish, the fear, the absolute acrimony of Benedikt currently having the upper hand.
“We can’t,” I whisper, taking his face in my hands.
“Why?”
“Because this, you and me, it actually means something to me, Rio. They’ll flip the fuck out.”
“So what?” he growls. “They’ll get over it.”
“No, no they won’t.” They really won’t. “They’ll try to keep us apart, you’ll move on, and then it’ll be me losing you.”
“We’re grown, Ivory. They can’t keep us apart. If we want to be together, we damn well will be, whether they like it or not.”
“You have me on your side,” Alvaro chimes from somewhere behind us. “I’m sure Leo will be, too.”
“But what about Benedikt?” I press, because hello, he’s still a massive issue that isn’t going to magically disappear.
If anything, us coming clean might just make my father that much more inclined to move the impending nuptials up.
“Easy,” he deadpans. “We get married, sit our families down together, and when it’s all said and done—I kill him. Boom, problem solved.”
Did he just… No, there’s no way.
“Rewind. You want to do what?”
“You heard me.” His hold on me tightens, lugging me in closer. “Let me put a ring on it, and then we can come out. Both of our parents are still very much married and in love. They value the entire institution of marriage far too much to rip us apart if we’re legally bound to one another. It doesn’t matter who we are, what we’ve been through. Your arrangement to Benedikt will be null and fucking void, trust me.”