FORTY
I woke to the rustling of leaves outside, a quiet sound carried by the breeze. Zio’s fig tree stretched high in the backyard, its branches dancing lazily against the wind, casting shifting shadows through the sheer curtains.
The remnants of Cain’s scent were on my skin, on the sheets, deep in my bones.
I inhaled slowly, blinking against the softness of the night. My body ached in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. The places he’d punished me, the heat still throbbed there faintly like a pulse that blurred the lines between hurt and hunger.
It wasn’t normal. I shouldn’t have liked it.
I shouldn’t have wanted it.
I lay there, watching the lazy sway of the fig tree outside, and the truth settled like ash.
Cain had rewritten me this night – and put me back together on his terms.
I’d needed it more than I could say. He had drawn me into that darkness, and I hadn’t recoiled. My body had surrendered long ago and now, I wasn’t sure I knew how to exist without him.
A slow, sharp exhale left my lips, my fingers curling into the sheets.
I turned my head.
My breath stalled, the space beside me was empty, the mattress wrinkled yet cold, like he’d been gone for a while.
My stomach tightened, a sharp, unexpected jolt cutting through the lingering daze of exhaustion.
I sat up, scanning the room. Listening. There was no light coming from under the toilet door.
The toll of the week came crashing over me all at once, dragging at my limbs, my mind.
I reluctantly settled back into the pillows, sighing through the tightness in my ribs.
This was fine. It didn’t have to mean anything.
But I hated that small, twisted part of me – the one that clenched in disappointment. The one that had foolishly expected to wake up still tangled in him, still feeling his heat against me, his fingers tracing over the marks he’d left behind and rekindling the sting of pain.
I let my eyes drift to the window again, watching the branches tap against the glass in time with my pulse.
I’d never felt more wrecked and more at ease. And I’d never wanted to be touched again so badly. Cain D’Angelo had destroyed my damn reality, infused his own, and now I was utterly addicted to the man.
The vibration of my phone disturbed the stillness. I leaned forward, rubbing my face before pushing myself off the bed, the cold floor biting against my bare feet. My dress lay in a careless heap.
His clothes were gone so… he went out.
I bent down, one hand brushing the fabric, the other grabbing the phone. The screen glowed, the time flashing at me – past eleven in the evening. A deep frown settled between my brows.
I swiped to answer, my voice hushed. ‘Hello?’
‘Hey, Paula. Did I wake you?’ Vinnie’s soft voice drifted through the line. There was something grounding about it – something that, for a fleeting moment, made me feel less alone. And also, less guilty after the dinner.
Earlier, it had comforted me that he’d come to check on us, even if he had dragged Ezi along with him.
There was still a soft kind of warmth in knowing we could lean on him.
Even now. Even after everything that had happened.
But I couldn’t stop feeling as if we were on the precipice of something new. All of us.
I glanced at the empty bed, my stomach twisting at Cain’s absence. The unease that had been gnawing at me grew stronger.
‘Ah,’ I murmured, gripping the phone a little tighter. ‘No, I wasn’t really sleeping.’
‘How are you holding up?’ he asked with measured concern.
‘As best as I can, I guess.’
Back on the bed, my thumb brushed over the sheets inattentively before I stilled. ‘Is Cain with you?’
A pause.
‘No,’ Vinnie said. ‘Did he leave you by yourself?’
My throat constricted at the accusing tone.
‘Yeah, I guess. But he did just lose his home,’ I argued. ‘He probably just went back to the penthouse.’
I swallowed.
I pulled the phone away from my ear. No messages. No missed calls. Just Vinnie’s name glaring in the dark.
Vinnie cleared his throat lightly, filling the silence. ‘I was going to drop off some clothes for him. You know how he is about his fancy shirts. I didn’t want to wake anyone. Meet me somewhere?’
I hesitated, glancing at the window, at the dark city stretching beyond it.
In the distance, my eyes zeroed in on a small iron cross illuminated by reflector lights.
‘Do you know where the Church of Santa Lucia is?’
I heard the soft tapping of keys on the other end.
‘In Aventino?’
‘That’s the one. I’ll meet you there in a few?’
‘I’ll see you there, sweetheart. Do you need anything?’
I let out a slow breath. Thank fuck for Vinnie. Despite everything, he was always there, always steady, always patching up the cracks before they could split too wide.
‘I’m good. Thanks, Vinnie.’
The call ended, leaving only the sound of my breath mingling with the low whisper of wind outside.
I moved quickly, throwing on my clothes, tying my hair back into a ponytail as I stepped out into the night.
The air was damp, clinging to my skin as I adjusted my leather jacket.
A shiver ran through me, the lingering sting of winter still biting at the edges of the season. It was gnawing – the thought of Cain out there in the dark with Travis running amok.
I had a feeling that this night was spiralling – fast – and I was walking right into that shitstorm.
Chiesa di Santa Lucia, small enough to be mistaken for an afterthought in the wake of Rome’s grander cathedrals, sat nestled in its quiet corner like a relic too stubborn to fade.
Its weathered stone facade, pockmarked with time, bore the weight of whispered prayers and broken promises – the sort of place where sinners might come to pretend they weren’t.
I leaned against the tattered walls, the rough texture pressing cool against my spine. Tourists passed without a second glance at the humble structure, their eyes drawn to Rome’s more ostentatious displays of piety.
I exhaled slowly. The weight in my chest refused to lift. The wrongness in the air slithered up my spine and felt like a stain bleeding into fabric. Rome was always alive, always humming with movement, but tonight, it felt like the city was holding its breath.
Well, this was probably stupid. But Travis had no way of knowing where my uncle lived, and no way of finding that information. I was careful, and he wasn’t very good with technology. Maybe in jail he could have learnt more?
It’s been a couple of years since I’d last seen him, after all.
My gaze snapped to a passer-by, scanning his face. Every strong jawline, every blue gaze, every shadowed figure moving through the lamplight twisted into his face.
I blinked away the mirage – just strangers. Nothing more.
And yet, my pulse didn’t believe that. It hammered like an animal sensing a flood and wanting to be let loose.
Yanking my phone from my pocket, I called Cain. No answer. I tried again. Still nothing. It was a toss-up whether he had even taken the damn thing with him.
I clenched my jaw, rolling my shoulders, trying to shake the unease, but it only settled heavier. And then it hit me – why my stomach had been in knots this whole time.
My purse.
I didn’t bring it.
My gun? Inside it.
A slow anger began to simmer in my gut.
What the hell was I thinking?
A lifetime of instincts, of knowing better, and I’d waltzed out here without thinking. Without protection. Without a goddamn plan.
My fingers flexed against my thighs, restless, aching for the weight of steel that wasn’t there. I was exposed. Vulnerable. And if Travis really had been nearby – if my instincts weren’t just playing tricks on me – then I’d made a very, very stupid mistake.
‘Hello there, pretty lady!’
The American voice came out of nowhere, and I damn near jumped out of my skin.
Spinning too fast, I lost my balance, and just as I braced for an embarrassing and painful meeting with the stone pavement – strong hands caught me.
I looked up into warm blue eyes, a knowing smile framed by a freshly shaved jaw. Blond hair was neatly drawn back into a ponytail, not a strand out of place. He smelled like expensive cologne, as always.
‘For the love of God, Vinnie…’ I exhaled, stepping out of his hold, trying to steady my heartbeat. ‘You almost made me pee myself.’
He chuckled as he bent to grab the small duffel he’d dropped when he’d caught me.
‘I’ve had worse effects on women.’ He grinned, cocky as ever. And despite my frayed nerves, his easy-going energy was a welcome reprieve from the day’s tumult.
I rubbed my face, then nodded towards the duffel. ‘Thanks for bringing the stuff at this time of night. Cain will be happy – my brother isn’t the sharing type, and my uncle’s much shorter than him, so he wouldn’t fit in his clothes.’
Vinnie slung the bag over his shoulder, smirking.
‘Everyone is shorter than Cain,’ he quipped. ‘Lead the way, Honey Buns.’
I narrowed my eyes at the nickname, and he raised his palms in mock-defence.
‘No nicknames, no nicknames.’
We started up the road, weaving through the thinning crowd, brushing shoulders with the occasional lost tourist. The farther we went, the quieter the city became, and the usual symphony of Rome’s nightlife softened into a hushed, uneasy stillness.
‘I’m meeting Cain in a few,’ Vinnie said, glancing at the winding road ahead. ‘He’s at the office.’
I puffed out some air in relief. Good.
But that damn prickling sensation along my spine? It hadn’t gone away.
My eyes darted from one corner to another until they snagged on Vinnie – the effortless way he moved: relaxed yet alert, like a man who knew how to read a room before even stepping into it. He had a confidence that made people trust him, made them laugh, made them forget.
The thought drew a smile to my face. For all the darkness in Cain’s life, at least he had Vinnie to help him through it.
I’d had Gianna, sure, but at the time of my troubles she’d been on a different continent.
Then, as if Vinnie could sense the gears turning in my head, he smirked.
‘You know,’ he mused, tilting his head at me, ‘this whole thing serves you right for choosing Cain over me.’