Chapter 7
Cristiano
Mina walks away from me, and it takes every ounce of strength I possess not to go after her.
I drink her in like a man dying of thirst, because this is all I get.
These stolen moments. These glimpses. The way she moves, graceful and lovely in her jeans and cropped tee, completely unaware of what she does to me.
I know that top she’s wearing. She bought it three weeks ago at a store on Maple Street. I know those jeans. Her favorite pair she wears when going out with friends. I know the lip balm I handed back to her is strawberry flavored, because I watched her buy it.
She’s the only thing I think about. The first thought when I wake. The last thought before I sleep.
The ache that never stops.
Her shoulders are hunched, still tense from our conversation, where it took all my self-control not to give a single thing away.
I want to smooth away her tension with my hands, pull her against me and bury my face in her hair.
I want to feel her heartbeat against my chest. I want to hear her say my name the way she used to, soft and sweet, like I’m precious to her.
I want. I want. I want.
It’s all I ever do anymore.
Mina.
Priya’s beat-up Honda pulls out of the parking lot, and I track it until the taillights disappear around the corner. Mina’s in the back seat. I can just make out her profile through the rear window, her head bowed, cheeks probably still burning with embarrassment.
She thinks she’s paranoid. She thinks she’s the crazy one. I stood there and watched her confidence crumble. Watched her doubt her own instincts. But what choice did I have but to lie to her when the truth would destroy the last chance I have with her?
I’ll do it all over again tomorrow if I have to.
It’s been four years of staying away, being patient, proving to her that I can control myself, and she still flinches when I say her name.
How strong do I have to be? How much restraint do I have to show before I convince her that I won’t lock her in a wardrobe again?
I’m smarter now, and I won’t lose it and panic the moment I feel her pull away.
I’ll remember to be the kind of man she wants me to be.
Protective, not threatening. Thoughtful, not violent. I’ll be good.
I’ve done everything she asked. Watched from afar while she lived her life without me.
When I have her in my arms again—and I will, I will—I’ll make sure she feels safe.
I know I can make her trust me as long as she never sees me lose control again.
I’ll prove to her that I’m not the monster she remembers.
And if I slip? If the mask cracks?
I’ll just have to make sure there’s nowhere left for her to run.
No. No. I won’t think like that.
I’ll be good.
A hand lands on my arm. Manicured nails. I’m suffocated by perfume that’s overpoweringly sweet.
“Cristiano? Did you hear what I said? I’m sick of this dive. We can all go to my place.”
I look at the hand. Then at the girl attached to it. Valerie. Or maybe Vanessa. I can’t remember. None of them are Mina.
But what she should remember is not to fucking touch me. She did this in front of Mina in the restaurant earlier, and I wanted to strangle her.
I flick my gaze up to hers, and the words she was about to say die in her throat.
“Sorry.” She snatches her hand back like I’ve scalded her. “I just— Sorry.”
Mina needs to see me among friends so she believes I’m normal, well-adjusted, and I’ve moved on without her, but my patience is rapidly running out with these people.
I turn to find Tony.
He’s laughing with the guys about something, gesturing broadly, completely oblivious. Of course he is. He knocked Mina to the ground and scattered her belongings across a dirty floor because he’s so careless, when he knows she’s the whole goddamn reason we come here.
“Tony.”
He turns, grinning. “Hey, man, are we all going to Val—”
I grab him by the collar and shove him against the wall.
The grin vanishes. His eyes go wide with shock, then fear. “Cristiano?”
“Didn’t I tell you never to talk to her?” My voice is deadly quiet. “Any of you?”
“I didn’t talk to her.” Tony’s voice pitches higher. “I just bumped into her. It was an accident.”
“You knocked her down. You scattered her things across the floor. You made her kneel on that dirty fucking floor in front of everyone while you walked away.”
“I—I panicked. I thought you didn’t want me talking to her, otherwise I would have helped her, I swear.”
I tighten my grip on his collar, pulling him closer. “You shouldn’t have been near her in the first place.”
Tony’s face is white now. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay? It won’t happen again.”
“No,” I agree. “It won’t.”
I hold him there for a moment longer, letting the fear sink in. Then I release him and step back.
Tony sags against the wall, rubbing the back of his neck. The others are frozen, watching us with wide eyes. The girls have stopped whispering. Tony looks like he wants to be anywhere else.
“Let me make this clear once more,” I say, addressing all of them. “Mina Santoro is off-limits. You don’t talk to her. You don’t touch her. You don’t look at her. If you see her coming, you get out of her way. Am I understood?”
A chorus of nods. Murmured agreements. They don’t understand. I can see the confusion in their eyes. Why do I care so much about the housekeeper’s daughter? What is she to me?
They’ll never understand, but I don’t need them to.
I just need them to obey.
“Good.” I collect my helmet from my motorcycle a few feet away. “I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.”
No one argues.
I swing onto my motorcycle and kick it to life, the engine roaring beneath me. The sound drowns out the whispers, the stares, but not the ache in my chest that never goes away.
I pull out of the parking lot and head in the direction Priya’s car disappeared, gunning the engine, weaving through the scant traffic. It doesn’t take long to find them because I know the route Priya takes after the pizza place, and that she drives Mina home first.
I’ve memorized every detail of Mina’s life. I know where her friends live, where she stops for coffee on Saturday mornings, the places she likes to shop. I know which bus she takes when Priya can’t drive her.
I spot the Honda three blocks ahead and ease off the throttle, letting the distance stretch between us. I ride three cars back. Just close enough to see her silhouette in the rear window but far enough that she won’t hear the bike.
I’ve gotten good at this. I’ve had four years of practice.
The first year was hard. I wanted so badly to approach her, to beg, to make her understand that I never meant to scare her. That I would never hurt her. That everything I did, I did because I love her.
I nearly broke several times. The worst moments were when my father beat me, and I couldn’t go to her for comfort.
He used his belt on my back until I couldn’t stand.
I’d spoken out of turn and embarrassed him in front of a capo.
I don’t even remember what I said, but I remember crawling to my room afterward, my shirt stuck to my skin with blood, and all I could think was Mina.
I wanted to limp upstairs to her. Let her see what he’d done.
Let her tend to me with her soft hands and her soft voice, and have her hold me and tell me it would be all right.
But I couldn’t, because she was afraid of me now, and if I showed up at her bedroom door bleeding and broken, she’d only be more afraid.
So I lay on my bedroom floor with my face pressed into the carpet and taught myself to need nothing. No one.
Except her. Always her.
It was agony, but I learned to follow her from a distance. To watch without being seen. To be near her without her knowing.
It’s not enough. It’s never enough. I’ve been testing making myself more visible to her, because time is running out.
She’ll move into her own place sooner or later, and the little control I have over her life will slip out of my grasp.
I expected her to become suspicious of me, but not right away.
It’s disappointing how little she trusts me.
The Honda turns onto our street, and I hang back, pulling to the curb a block away.
I watch her climb out of the car, wave goodbye to her friends, and walk toward the mansion’s side entrance.
The one that leads into the garden so she can enter the house through the kitchen and climb the stairs to where she and her mother live.
She pauses at the gate, and for one heart-stopping moment, I think she’s going to look back and see me sitting here in the dark, watching her like I’ve done a hundred times before.
But she doesn’t. She just pushes open the door and disappears inside.
I pull into the mansion’s grounds, but I don’t go inside. Instead, I park my bike by the garage and walk through the darkened garden to find my usual spot. The stone bench beneath the oak tree.
I can see her window from here. Just barely. A warm yellow glow in the night.
She’s probably changing out of her clothes.
Maybe taking a shower. Getting ready for bed.
I imagine her moving through her small room, brushing out her dark hair, crawling under the covers.
Falling asleep with no idea that I’m out here in the dark, just like I was last night. Just like I’ll be tomorrow night.
I did everything right tonight, I reassure myself. I can control myself. I’m not the boy who terrified her four years ago.
The light in her window goes out.
I stay on the bench, staring at the darkened glass, feeling the loneliness seep through my jacket and into my bones. I’ve waited four years. I can wait a little longer.
But God, it’s getting harder.
I don’t know when I’ll hold her again, but I know one thing for certain: this time, I’ll never let her go. She’s mine. She’s always been mine. And someday soon she’ll realize this too, once and for all.
Three blocks behind her on my motorcycle. Close enough to watch, but far enough to stay invisible. The usual distance.
Mina is walking slowly today, her schoolbag slung over one shoulder, her face tilted up toward the trees. Watching the birds, maybe. Or the clouds. She does this sometimes, gets lost in her own world, and drifts through the streets like she’s dreaming.
The corner of my mouth quirks in a smile. I love watching her like this. Unguarded. Soft. The version of Mina that exists when she’s not aware of anyone looking. The Mina that belongs only to me.
But she’s not paying attention to the sidewalk. It’s broken up in places, and as she’s watching a bird fly overhead, her foot catches. Her stumble turns into a fall, her ankle wrenching violently.
“Mina.” My warning is lost behind my helmet, too far away for her to hear, and then she’s on the ground.
I gun the engine before I’ve made a conscious decision, weaving through traffic, my heart slamming against my ribs. Three blocks vanish in seconds. I pull up beside her and kill the engine, my boots hitting the pavement before the bike has fully stopped.
She’s sitting in the gutter, face twisted in pain, both hands wrapped around one ankle. A sob escapes her, and she bites her lip to hold back the rest.
She looks up when she realizes I’m there, and I see tears clinging to her lashes. Making her dark eyes shine. Such pretty hurt on her face.
Even from here, I can see the swelling. The angry red flush spreading across her skin. It’s bad. Soon the skin will be stretched tight and shiny. She won’t be walking on this for days. Maybe longer. My poor Mina.
She looks so small crumpled on the ground like this.
So fragile. Her schoolbag has fallen off her shoulder, the contents spilling across the pavement.
I want to gather her up in my arms and carry her somewhere safe so I can tend to every scratch and bruise.
Nothing will ever hurt her again. Not while I’m breathing.
And then, another thought. Darker. Sweeter.
Like this, she’s completely helpless.
Like this, she can’t run away from me.
Heat floods through my veins, pooling low in my stomach. I don’t fight it. I let it wash over me, let myself feel the full weight of what I’m looking at. Mina. So pretty and stranded on the ground. Tears in her eyes. So desperately powerless.
My pulse is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. In places I shouldn’t be thinking about while she’s sitting in a gutter with tears on her face.
The fantasy unfurls in my mind, vivid and intoxicating. Scooping her up. Her arms around my neck because she has no other choice. Taking her somewhere she can’t leave. Keeping her there until she understands that she’s mine, that she’s always been mine, that fighting it is pointless.
I stare at her through my visor, her flushed cheeks, her trembling lip, the way she’s cradling the injured ankle like a wounded bird.
My whole body is hot and tight with wanting.