41. Stefi
41
STEFI
J oao is sitting in an armchair in my room when I wake up, reading something on his phone. He must be absorbed in what he’s doing because he hasn’t noticed that I’m conscious again. I take advantage and study him covertly through my eyelashes.
He looks exhausted. He hasn’t found time to shave, and it’s not as much stubble that lines his jaw as it’s the start of a beard. As mad as I am, and as awful as I feel, I still think it looks hot.
He looks up. “Hello, little fox,” he says with a smile. “You gave us all quite a scare there. How are you feeling?”
His concern reminds me that I’m still mad he brought me to Venice. “I’m not happy with you.”
“Fair enough,” he says mildly, refusing to get drawn into an argument. “I’m just going to continue to sit here.” A plaintive meow sounds from the other side of the closed door, and a small body thumps against it. “Meet Mimi,” he says with an affectionate laugh. “This is the first time her wishes have been thwarted, and she does not like it.”
I smile before I can help myself. “You shouldn’t have brought me to Venice,” I say sulkily. I’m aware I’m acting like an ungrateful child, but I’m in the city run by a man I’ve sworn to kill, and everybody around me is pretending like there’s no problem here whatsoever.
“In normal times, the two of us would sort this out by having a screaming match followed by passionate sex,” Joao replies. “But unfortunately, Matteo has ruled out both things and told me that my job is to keep you calm and happy. So, I’m just going to agree with everything you say.”
“And now you’re patronizing me,” I snap.
“What do you want me to say, Stef?” he asks, suddenly sounding weary. “You spent twenty-four hours in a hospital in Nuremberg. The kid who shot at us got away when Dante and Goran showed up, and I fully anticipated him running back to Dachev. All the time you were in surgery, I kept expecting a mercenary team to burst through the hospital doors, guns blazing. And if they did, who was going to fend them off?”
He gets to his feet restlessly and draws the curtains open. Brilliant sunlight floods the room. “There were only three of us,” he continues. “Four, if you count Ignazio. Dante and Goran are crack shots, but we were severely undermanned. There weren’t even enough of us to guard each entrance and exit of the hospital, damn it. We were sitting ducks there.”
A shudder runs through him. “It was the worst twenty-four hours of my life, even worse than Puerto Vallarta. I kept picturing you getting shot to shreds, dying in front of my eyes. The padrino got a team there in record time. Three hours after you went into surgery, he sent six people as reinforcements. But when the king of Venice masses his troops outside his home territory, people take note. It’s the sort of thing that gets viewed as an act of war. He couldn’t send any more, and we had no idea how many people Dachev could mobilize in Germany. Yes, we were safer there than in Poland, but home is where we needed to be.” He stares at me, his eyes bleak. “Be angry if you want. But you’re alive.”
The way he’s telling it, he didn’t have any other choice other than to bring me to Venice. And I, more than most, should understand impossible choices. After all, I had to make my own impossible choice eight years ago.
And Joao forgave you for it, my conscience reminds me. Instantly, readily. Without a word of reproach.
Damn it. I’m feeling things I don’t want to feel right now. I look outside the window to avoid looking at Joao, and the sheer beauty of the view outside hits me like a punch.
It’s spectacular.
Immediately in front of me, the water, an impossible turquoise, sparkles where the sun’s rays fall on it. Across the lagoon, the houses are painted in vivid shades of ochre, yellow, and rust. To the right, the twin domes of the Basilica Santa Maria della Salute reach for the sky. Boats of all sizes zip around on the water. The large tour boats are crowded with tourists, even in November, while the smaller water taxis hold one or two people.
It’s a scene out of a postcard, and it’s my childhood fantasy brought to life.
“Nice view,” I admit grudgingly. “I can’t complain about that. And this bed is nice too. It’s the most comfortable hospital bed I’ve ever had.”
I should stop there, but I can’t—the same words from yesterday tumble from my mouth before I can force myself to hold back. “I’m still a prisoner, though. Under the guise of protecting me, you’re going to force me to stay in Venice.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Joao has the patience of a saint, but it’s hanging on by a thread. “You are not a prisoner. As soon as you’re fully recovered, you can leave.”
“Really? Just like that. And you’re not going to stop me? What’s the catch?”
“Not a catch. Just a promise. Wherever you go, I’m coming with you.”
I stare at him in shock. “What about your life here? Your cat, your friends? You’re going to give all of that up to live out of a suitcase with me?”
He sets his jaw in a stubborn line. “I don’t know why you’re surprised. I’ve already told you, Stef. I love you. I’ve tried living without you, and I’m not going to do that again. It doesn’t matter that you hate me right now—I love you anyway. I’m just going to keep loving you until the day I die.”
There’s a lump in my throat. “Does my choice not matter?”
“Your choice is the only one that does,” he responds, his expression serious. “Tell me you never want to see me again, and I’ll stay away. But that is the only thing that’s allowed to come between us. Nothing else. Not this stupid shit with the padrino, not some child with a gun, not Pavel Dachev, nothing else.”
I blink furiously to keep the tears from falling. Why does Joao have to be so damned perfect? Why can’t he be more like me, held together by revenge and not much else?
I try to stay angry with him but can already feel it drain away. I look around the room and my gaze rests on the orchids overflowing from the two tall vases on either side of the window. “Nice flowers. Where did you find cattleyas?”
“Is that what they’re called? I called a florist Signora Moretti recommended and told her that orchids are your favorite flower.”
His thoughtfulness makes me weepy. I blink the tears from my eyes. “They’re breathtaking. Thank you.”
His expression turns tender. “You’re welcome.”
Mimi throws herself against the door and yowls indignantly, interrupting the moment. I laugh at her angry tirade and regret it immediately when a hot knife of pain slices through me. I exhale slowly, counting to ten to keep from screaming aloud. Joao holds my hand, his expression distressed.
“I’m fine,” I tell him to stop his worrying.
“Sure you are.”
“Stop hovering over me.”
“Are you trying to distract yourself from the pain by starting another fight with me?” he asks. I don’t have to answer; my expression gives me away. “Here.” He holds out a phone. “This might help. I thought you could call Charlie.”
Charlie. “Oh God, I can’t believe I forgot to call her. She’s probably going out of her mind with worry.” The last time I talked to her, I told her I’d call back in a day or two, and it’s been at least twelve. She probably thinks I’m dead.
“I checked up on her when we got back to Venice,” he replies. “I knew you’d want to make sure she’s okay. She knows you got hurt, but that you’re recovering nicely.”
“You called her?” My heart swells with emotion. “Why are you making it so difficult for me to be mad at you?”
He chuckles. “It’s part of my master plan to make you fall in love with me. What do you think of the color of the walls?”
“Make me fall in love with you?” I gape at him in shock. Is he out of his mind? “I’m already in love with you, you idiot.”
His head snaps up. “You are?”
“For a supposedly smart guy, you can be pretty dumb sometimes. How do you not know that? Of course I’m in love with you.”
“But you’re angry with me,” he says. “You’re pissed off that I brought you to Venice.”
“A little. Both things can exist in the same space at the same time.” He looks confused, and I don’t blame him. Right now, even I don’t understand my own emotions. “I love the color of the walls. I didn’t think you liked yellow as much as I did, though.”
His expression makes it clear he realizes I’m changing the topic. “I don’t,” he replies. “I painted them yellow because that’s the color you were going to paint our bedroom walls. I thought if I lived in the house of your dreams, in the city of your dreams, it would feel like you were here with me. Spoiler: it didn’t.” He smiles cheerfully. “But that’s the past. What matters is that you’re here now.”
My heart clenches painfully. “You’re not listening to me. Stop pretending we don’t have any problems.”
“No, Stef,” he says, determination etched into every syllable. “You’re the one who isn’t listening. I’m not going to let anything get in the way of us. Don’t like Venice? Great, we’ll move. Hate all my friends? I’ll get new ones. Mimi annoying you?”
“I’m going to interrupt you before you offer to give up your cat for me,” I tell him. “And no, I’m not going to make you get new friends; that’s super controlling. They have every right to be pissed off with me. And when I get up, I need to find Alina and apologize.”
“Funny you should mention Ali,” he says, a little too innocently. “She wants to meet you too. Her phone number is programmed into your phone.”
His sunny optimism is giving me hope, and I can’t have any. As a teenager, I dreamed about a happily ever after in Venice with Joao, and then I was forced to leave him. I hoped for a stable life in Istanbul, but Pavel Dachev found me, and I lost Christopher.
I’ve learned the hard way that hope is the most dangerous of emotions.
I have to stop this conversation before I start wanting things I can’t have. “I’m going to call Charlie,” I murmur. “But first, I need a nap.” I give him a pointed look. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, and I don’t like it. His shoulder is still healing, and he needs to rest. “You should try one too. You looked wiped.”
He grins. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
My one-hour nap turns into three. It’s late in the afternoon when I finally call Charlie.
“Stefi,” she exclaims. “I’ve been so worried. Joao told me you’d been shot, and I freaked out . I’ve been so stressed that yesterday, I looked in the mirror, and I saw a gray hair. Gray!”
I bite back my grin. “I thought Joao told you I was fine. Is it at all possible that you’re imagining the gray hair?”
“Absolutely not,” she says indignantly. “And yes, your extremely hot husband did tell me you were fine, but that didn’t stop me from imagining the worst. Where are you?”
“Venice.” It feels really good to hear her voice. It’s a little slice of normalcy in an increasingly chaotic world. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
“Nothing.”
She sounds disconsolate, which isn’t like her at all. Worry trickles down my spine. “What do you mean, nothing? Did you get that job at the grocery store?”
“No, I didn’t apply.”
“Why not?” I feel like a nagging parent. “I thought you liked Madame Allard.”
“I just haven’t gotten around to it,” she mutters. “I talked to my mother. She’s found a new guy. Already. ”
Oh dear. “Anyone you know?” I ask casually. Who do I need to kill now?
“Yeah, I know Saul,” she says bitterly. “He’s a friend of Brando’s. The way he used to look at me made my skin crawl.”
I feel like strangling Severine Bellegarde. She should be protecting her daughter, not subjecting her to one creepy guy after another. “Have you been going to the youth center?”
“I went a couple of times.”
It sounds like she’s been sitting at home, all alone, brooding. And there’s enough darkness in Charlie’s past to overwhelm her. When I was there, she kept herself busy by cooking for me and bossing me around, but without me, she seems to be a little unmoored.
“Why don’t you come to Venice for a bit?” I ask. “You could stay with us while I recuperate. Joao has a three-bedroom house, so there’s plenty of room for you.”
“I don’t want to be a burden. You’ve already done so much for me, and?—”
“Charlie, if you don’t show up, I’ll have to cook my own meals. Or worse, have Joao do it.” I have no idea if my husband can cook, and of course I don’t want Charlie to be some kind of live-in help. But she’s more likely to come to Venice if she feels like she’s helping me out.
“You mean it?” she asks cautiously.
“If I didn’t, would I make the offer?”
“Joao suggested I visit too, but I told him no. I figured you’d want alone time with your husband. Or maybe you’d think that I was hitting on him. Which I’m not, don’t worry. I’ve decided I don’t like guys any longer.”
“You’re into girls?”
“No, I don’t like anybody.”
“That’s fair.” If I were in her shoes, I’d feel the same way. “I would love to have you here. And if Joao suggested it, you know he’s on board as well. Can you get on a train by yourself?”
“Your husband told me I needed an escort and that he’d send someone. Some kid called Ignazio.” She sounds disdainful. “I told him I don’t need an escort and can take care of myself, but he insisted. I can be in Venice next week if you’re sure.”
“I’m absolutely sure,” I tell her firmly. The truth is, I need Charlie as much as she needs me. The couple of months I lived with her were the most normal my life has ever felt.
The next few weeks are going to be. . . rocky. I’m going to need all the normalcy I can get to survive it.