Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
“It’s not Cyan’s world that scares me. It’s how easy I’m beginning to breath in it.”–Aria Boschett.
My mood is so fucking heavy for such a calm-looking evening.
Johnny pulls the car to a stop in front of the house.
The engine shuts off. “Thanks for bringing me home, Johnny.” The word home slips out before I can catch it and hangs between us.
I swallow hard. “I went from wanting nothing to do with you…” A weak laugh escapes me. “To actually being glad you’re around.”
Johnny glances at me, warmth flickering behind his usual mischief.
“Anytime, Aria. I’d go to hell and back for Cyan…
and now, for you too.” The words land deeper than they should, comforting and terrifying all at once.
His expression shifts. “I know that this hasn’t been easy for you, this whole thing with Cyan killing Leo… it’s messy. His father...Don Rizzotto.”
“Leo’s father?” The name hits me like cold water to the chest. Don Rizzotto. A Don.
Pieces slide into place, the driver by the morning after...Chester’s murder. I’d been so wrapped up in Cyan’s control that I never stopped to look at what’s unfolding. Mob rules I don’t understand. Cyan didn’t just kill someone–he started a war in the syndicate.
Johnny nods, jaw tightening. “Lorenzo’s out for blood.”
“This is my fault.” The confession spills out. My fingers curl into my sweater sleeves. “If I’d never crossed paths with Leo…Chester wouldn’t–”
“Bullshit.” Johnny cuts me off. “We were always headed for war with the Rizzottos. Leo was just the excuse. This isn’t on you.” It is. Johnny doesn’t know the whole truth. He doesn’t know about Ethan. About the FBI. I’m always a curse.
I stare at my hands. “But…Johnny”
I hear him unclipping his seatbelt and turns toward me. “Is there something else bothering you?”
I hesitate, looking toward the cliffs. I told Ethan and his FBI buddies no.
Cyan and his guys, they’ve got enough going on.
No sense making things worse by telling Johnny about my real reason for being in the alley that night.
“Your cousin,” I say quietly looking his way.
“I shouldn’t want to get to know him, right? ”
Johnny lifts a brow. “That sounds less like a question and more a confession.”
I groan, rubbing my temple. “There’s this pull with Cyan. It’s… complicated.”
Johnny exhales. “That’s Cyan.”
“That pull puts me at a disadvantage.” I fiddle with my earring. “I see his softer moments, and they make me question everything.”
“You don’t have to figure it all out tonight.” He’s right. Cyan isn’t rushing me–but I want him to.
I reach for the door handle, the cold metal grounding me. “Thanks, Johnny.”
“Anytime, Ari.”
I step out of the car and walk up the path, the evening’s air cool against my skin.
The last of the sunlight casts a warm spill across the entryway as I press my hand to the keypad.
Cyan had my biometrics added yesterday. The lock clicks open.
When I push the door open, the house greets me with its familiar hush.
An unsettling sense of comfort washes over me, settling low in my chest. Home.
When did my feelings about this house change?
The ocean hums through the open window, its rhythm steady and soothing.
This place shouldn’t feel safe. I was forced here.
None of this is mine, and yet...I’m sinking into his space day by day.
My phone buzzes in my bag, yanking me out of my thoughts.
Tasha’s name glows on the screen. More guilt surges up.
Tasha: Hey, Aria! Just checking in. It’s not like you not to call me back. What’s up you good? I’ll be back soon this case got more complicated. I’ll have it sorted soon. How’s everything going with you… and Nonna? I miss you. Call me back!
Guilt hits hard and fast. My thumbs hover, suspended above the phone screen I unsure of what to say. I’ve been avoiding her calls.
Me: Hey, Tasha! I miss you too! Things are… good. Really busy with work. Call you later.
The message is bright and fake I see a new text bubble Tasha’s typing–the bubble vanishes seconds later, leaving the screen blank guess she changes her mind.
I toss the phone onto the couch and let out a deep breath.
I dislike avoiding Tasha, but I know her she’ll be able to sense I’m off with one phone call.
Every day I feel like I’m sinking deeper into Cyan’s world and not caring to claw my way back out.
The house is unusually quiet. No Rosa humming in the kitchen.
No pots clinking, no warm delicious smells drifting through the rooms. It’s weird that she’s not here.
Her absence prickles at the back of my neck.
I’m alone. For the first time since the alley. Since Cyan dragged me into his life.
A strange flutter of freedom rises in my chest. I can explore.
I’ve never really gone beyond the spaces I use–the bedroom, living room, dining room, kitchen.
But the mansion stretches so much farther.
So much more of him is here. Before I can talk myself out of it, I head up the stairs.
The hallway splits, left toward the master suite, right toward the unknown side of the house.
I go right. The first door opens into a guest room, immaculately neat and seem to be unused.
The next one is identical. But the third makes me pause.
Rosa’s belongings are on the nightstand.
Her reading glasses and an open book sit there.
I step back. Violating her space feels wrong.
I move on, opening the next closed door, and the shift is immediate.
Cyan’s scent hits first; bold, masculine cologne with a faint whiskey cedarwood undertone. It wraps around me.
I take an excited step inside and head into the bathroom first, seeing his electric beard trimmer sitting on the bathroom counter, charging. This is where he escapes every morning. I picture him standing here bare-chested
The cracked closet door draws my attention, and I wander in.
There isn’t much; a few suits, ties, tees, slacks, and shoes.
My fingers brush the charcoal pinstripe suit hanging at the front.
My pulse kicks at the image of him. His broad shoulders, open collar, and the hint of throat exposed.
Back in the bedroom, I see a single picture frame on the nightstand; I lift it up for a closer look.
Cyan’s teen eyes stare back at me, not the hard, calculating pair I’ve come to know.
He looks somehow softer, a boyish smile on his face.
With his mother’s arm around him, her features delicate.
His father’s stare mirrored Cyan’s. A girl with bright red hair, her mother’s eyes, her grin wide and free.
I wonder what her name is. It must be his sister.
A lump forms in my throat. What would he have been like if they had not died? If his world hadn’t shattered?
My gaze shifts to the side, Collin, embraced in the family fold, but somehow, he still looks apart from the family.
No smile. Guess he’s always been this detached and distant.
The portrait punches something deep in my chest. My own memories stir.
Dad’s gentle smile before everything collapsed.
Mom’s laughter before she disappeared. Our home before I destroyed it.
Grief grips me, like always, and my vision blurs.
I squeeze my eyes; shut the edges of the room fade as my past claws its way up, relentless.
I’m there again. Back in the moment everything changed…when I lost all.