Chapter 40
Elowen
Hey Love,
I miss you. And I’m mad at you, even though I know you must have some valid reason for not showing up at my concert. But I’m still mad, and you can’t throw logic at a mad girl. It’s illegal.
I hope you’re fine. You know how my mind works—I always imagine the worst, picture something terrible happening to you, and with no way to reach you, it’s impossible not to spiral. Especially since it’s been three whole months since I last saw your face or heard your voice.
I kept expecting to see you at every turn. At the concert you promised you’d come to. Then during Leo’s wedding, when we were in Russia. I even let myself hope I’d find you here in San Diego—I’ve gone shopping five times in the past month, just hoping to catch a glimpse of you.
Tomorrow is my next concert, in LA. Please, please show up to this one. Even if you can’t get close, just let me see you from a distance. I need to know you’re okay.
Again, I’m more afraid than excited. Leo will be there with me. He’s heartbroken and subdued, nothing like his usual annoying self, but I still don’t think he’d hesitate to hurt you if he finds you there.
These past three months, I’ve done too much acting to make my family believe I’ve moved on from you.
Maybe it’s working. Tomorrow, we’ll see how convinced they are.
If the security is like it was at my previous concerts, that’s a green flag.
If it’s like that last concert—where not even ghosts could breathe near me—then it means it’s still not over.
Anyway, there’s an update about the NGO. Today Dad called to tell me the building is fully constructed, and now they’ll start recruiting volunteers. Once everything is settled there, I might even be able to visit.
I love you, even though you’re a very, very bad man.
Please meet me tomorrow. I miss you, desperately.
Your Elowen
It took me a full week to convince Dad to help with the NGO.
He refused at first, so I started working on it myself, even though I knew nothing about how any of it worked.
Eventually, after watching me flounder for a few days, he relented.
Uncle Alex helped too. He’s always been easier to persuade than my father.
Now the work is progressing quickly. For my father, it’s as simple as snapping his fingers—hire the best person for the job, and it’s handled in no time. They even managed to build a proper office building within two months.
My goal is simple: first, clean up the city.
Then start planting trees, reclaiming the land with greenery—turn gray into green.
Once it’s even remotely habitable, I’ll go there myself and find the families who survived.
I’ll offer whatever compensation might help.
I know nothing can undo their loss, but maybe it’ll bring them some comfort.
And maybe, just maybe, it’ll ease my guilt too.
I take a deep breath. God, I hope I see him tomorrow. I need to ask him why he did it.
I slide the journal into the drawer and open my laptop. I steel myself. There are videos in my private tab, untouched for three months. I’ve never been strong enough to watch them.
I start the first video. It’s an interview with an elderly woman, recorded a year ago. The interviewer and the woman speak in Italian, with English subtitles running along the bottom.
“Where were you during the fire?”
“I went to visit my sister in Perugia. She was in the hospital. I saw the news about the fire.” Her aged eyes well up. “Everyone died.”
She dabs the corners of her eyes with a small handkerchief, her trembling hands struggling to hold it steady.
“My daughter. My grandson. I had just spoken to him minutes before. He was eating gelato. My daughter was scolding him, and he was laughing. He said, ‘Come back, Nonna. Mom is bullying me without you.’”
The woman breaks into tears. And so do I.
“The fire ate everything. The Butcher killed my children.” She looks up, wiping at her tears. “Why does God show us such wrath? We are His children. What wrong did we do?”
I press my forehead to the desk, sobbing silently. The woman keeps speaking in Italian, her words swallowed by sobs.
If this had been any other man, I would hate him to death. But I can’t do that with Salvario. I cannot hate him. He isn’t only the monster who killed innocents, he’s also a man tortured by the demons that won’t let him go. Without them, he would have been different. At the very least, not a killer.
I stop the video. Close the window. There are thousands more just like this. I wasn’t strong enough to watch even one. How could I possibly watch the rest?
I push back from the desk and lie down on the bed. I command the room assistant to turn off the lights.
No one else can believe he’s capable of love. They don’t know the shattered man, they only know Il Macellaio di Napoli.
After staring blankly into the darkness for what feels like hours, sleep finally takes me.
???
“I’m not in the mood to kill anyone. Just hope your Stockholm lover doesn’t show up.” Leo mutters, standing beside me backstage.
“No one’s asking you to kill him.” I say flatly. “Anyway, he probably won’t come. I think he’s lost interest in me.”
He hums. “Nice try. I might have believed you if you’d said it with tears running down your face.”
I press my lips together. “I’m over him. It’d be best if you never mention him again.”
He falls silent, offering no argument. I glance at him. The film of sadness hasn’t lifted from his face since he let Lyn go. I’m starting to get worried. He isn’t taking care of himself. This is the first time I’ve ever seen my brother so lost.
Ida comes backstage. She was doing a final check of the stage.
The announcement of my arrival echoes from the stage.
Eda squeezes my hand. “Good luck!” She grins. “Don’t be shy about playing a last-minute masterpiece lament.”
I chuckle. “Let’s stick to the setlist tonight.”
The sound of applause from behind the curtain is my cue. Eda releases my hand with an encouraging nod.
I walk onstage and wave to the crowd. My eyes scan the faces in the front row. In that DC concert footage, when he was there, he sat in the front row with five empty seats around him. Today, there’s nothing like that.
He isn’t here.
Disappointment clamps around my chest, but the fear is worse. More suffocating.
I sit on the bench and rest my trembling hands on the keys.
Calm down, Wen. He’s fine. The security’s just too tight, that’s why he didn’t come. Not because something happened to him.
Not because he’s forgotten me.
The second thought slithers from the pit of my insecurities—a visitor that’s been dropping by too often lately.
Three months is long enough for someone to forget you.
I start to play. People paid to hear the music, not to watch the pianist spiral at the piano.
Once the concert ends, I head to my suite, where Eda has gathered the gifts for me. I search for the rose.
“What are you looking for?” Eda asks as I rifle through every bouquet and box.
“Nothing. Just looking for something interesting.” I keep checking.
Maybe he was here. Maybe he left a flower and it got mixed in with the rest.
“Oh, there were so many interesting things, but your bodyguards wouldn’t let any of them through.”
I pause. “Like?”
“Like diamond jewelry. Custom watches.” She laughs. “One man argued with Travis for ten solid minutes to let him in so he could propose to you.”
I chuckle. “Well, those aren’t what I’m looking for.”
Once I’ve checked every flower, I slump onto the couch. Another wave hits—disappointment, fear, insecurity, all at once. I stare at the gifts scattered before me, my head a mess of jumbled thoughts.
I decide not to process them. These thoughts have no end. No conclusion, no matter how much time I spend on them.
I stand and hug Eda. “I should leave now.”
“Stay a little longer.”
I manage a smile. “It’s better to leave on my own than to be dragged out by my brother.”
She laughs. “How could I forget that?”
During my last concert, I didn’t leave my suite for hours. Eventually, Leo came in and dragged me out. We argued for an hour before I left straight for Pa’s house.
The next day, Zo was shot.
Eda walks with me to the door. We head down the hall, bodyguards trailing, toward the guest suite where Leo is waiting.
I stop at the table at the end of my suite hallway—the spot where guards place approved gifts.
I walk toward it and crouch down.
My fingers reach for the lone rose lying there. My hand goes cold as I pick it up.
Still crouching, I stare at the rose. It’s a fresh bloom. A bud, not yet opened. The petals are slightly crumpled, like they’ve traveled a long way to get here.
The longing and happiness this small flower gives me, it fills my whole heart. I smile, pressing it against my chest.
“Is everything all right, miss?” one of my bodyguards asks.
I stand and tuck the flower into my dress pocket.
“Everything’s fine.”
He’s fine.
He didn’t forget me.