Chapter 20
ISLA
“Everything you need should be right here,” Alessio tells me as he finishes up the grand tour of the safe house.
Safe house is a misnomer for this place. It’s actually a palace that’s been built deep underground, complete with a swimming pool, state-of-the-art kitchen, and luxurious en suite bathrooms.
To my relief, I’m not having the panic attacks I expected to have.
The first one in the kitchen seized me, but I’ve been holding my own since then.
Maybe it’s Alessio’s fake windows that are helping.
Maybe it’s his reassuring presence. Maybe I’m drunk on all the sexy pheromones he exudes, or maybe it’s just the shock of today finally getting the best of me.
All I know is that I’m surprisingly calm, given that I’m holed up in a mobster safe house built under a casino, hiding from lethal Russian Bratva men who will probably want to either kill me or take me hostage after they find out that Scorpion stole their leader’s sister.
But I don’t want to think about that right now.
Scorpion must have taken her out of the safe house and moved on to his next destination during the tour, because by the time we emerged from the pool room, it no longer sounded like an angry feral cat was fighting for her life in one of the locked rooms. Alessio’s brother was nowhere to be found.
I decided not to ask. The less I know, the better. Just like he said.
Yup, I’m definitely existing on a don’t ask, don’t tell policy for the foreseeable future.
“You’re quiet,” he says, coming alongside me and settling a hand on my lower back. “Is the anxiety coming back?”
“Strangely, no. I think you’ve finally pushed me over the brink, because as much as I would think being trapped down here would make me come unglued, I feel okay.”
“Good.” He wraps an arm around me and tugs me into his side. “How long have you had anxiety and panic attacks? Your whole life?”
I’m staring at one of the fake window decals we put on the wall together, this one a scene of a garden in full bloom beyond the white shutters.
It’s the kind of garden my mom used to keep, back when she was alive.
The memory of plucking a snapdragon and pinching it between my thumb and forefinger hits me.
I used to put on puppet shows for her with them.
It’s a memory I had completely forgotten until now.
Grief is funny that way. It’s like driving along on a highway in pitch dark when suddenly your headlights and your gauge clusters go out, and there’s no way to see where you’re headed. Everything is just upended.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he adds, and I realize that I’ve been staring at the fake window for way too long.
And that tears are pricking my eyes.
I don’t know why I’m thinking about my mother now.
The last thing I want to do is break down or have another panic attack.
But I also feel like I want to tell Alessio.
At first, when I lost my family, everyone knew.
They looked at me with pity. They whispered behind my back.
Do you think she blames herself? Do you think she ever feels guilty that she wasn’t on the plane when it crashed?
Then later, I moved away from my small town, to a place where no one knew me or my story.
It was a relief but also felt a little bit like a betrayal, like I was simply packing up their memories and locking them in a storage shed, the same way I did with the family antiques and mementos I couldn’t bear to part with but couldn’t take with me.
I take a deep breath, tamping down the old voices, the old pain. “I want to tell you. It’s just…complicated.”
He glides his hand up my spine, finding my nape, his fingers meticulously massaging the new tension there. “I understand complicated, tesoro. I grew up in the fucking Mafia.”
He’s right. And he’s a solid, comforting presence at my side. I don’t know why, but I have this feeling that I can trust Alessio with this part of myself. With the part of my heart that’s still bandaged and broken and bruised.
“It started when I lost my family in a plane crash,” I blurt, still looking at the window so that I don’t have to see the pity on his face.
“My dad had a pilot license. I grew up on that plane. He loved it, I loved it. I have so many happy memories of being on board, watching my dad guide the plane. We were supposed to all be together that day, on our way to a beach trip at our family friends’ summer house.
Except that I had woken up with a bad cold, and I decided not to go at the last minute.
They hit a storm unexpectedly on the way, and visibility was bad.
The plane went down with my mother, father, and my younger sister on it. ”
“Fuck, Isla. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
His voice is raw, and so is the expression on his face as he turns me gently to him, his arms wrapping around me in a tender hold.
I hold him tightly, taking comfort in his strong, powerful body.
He’s so vital, so alive, and all I can do is bury my face in his hard chest and breathe in as old sobs bubble up from the dark place inside me where I keep all my pain locked away.
“I d-don’t like to talk about it,” I tell him. “It’s been a few years, and I’ve mostly learned how to cope with everything that happened. But when I’m stressed or in an environment that is uncomfortable, the panic attacks sometimes hit me.”
“I had no idea. I’ll get you out of here as soon as I can. I promise you that.”
I hear the steely determination in his voice, and I know he means it. “Thank you. I’m… I think I’m okay for now.”
Even after talking about the crash, I don’t feel like I’m going to have an attack. The sadness and grief are here, lodged in my chest like a stone. But I can breathe. My heart doesn’t feel like it’s been kicked into overdrive.
That could change. My attacks have never been predictable, and they’re not always triggered in the same way. I’ve learned to expect anything at any time.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you, tesoro,” Alessio murmurs, kissing the top of my head. “I wish I had been there for you then.”
I do too, but I don’t say that. It would have been impossible anyway.
I was a different person then. I hadn’t met Luna yet.
I took some time to try to piece myself back together with the help of a therapist. And then I transferred to another college and started fresh in a new place.
I met Christian. I tried to move on as best as I could, knowing my family would want that for me.
And then the fragile world I’d built for myself came toppling down, and I found myself at the mercy of a mobster. Wrapped in Alessio’s arms right now, it doesn’t feel like a bad place to be.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
We stand there like that for I don’t even know how long. I soak in his presence like we’re about to be parted for a lifetime. Because one day soon, we will be. And God, how I’m going to miss this man.
The phone in his pocket dings with a notification, and he straightens, reverting to Mafia mode as he releases me and pulls it out of his pocket.
He frowns as he taps the screen. “Looks like we have guests incoming. Lucky, my two half sisters, and the woman who birthed my brothers and me.”
I notice he refuses to use the word mother, just like he did before. “I take it you’re not happy about this development.”
“I don’t want her here,” he says bluntly.
“I have no use for the bitch who abandoned her sons to go raise her precious twin daughters. We went through hell all these years, and now she wants to come back into our lives like she never left? Bull-fucking-shit. Not happening. But Lucky pointed out that if we leave only her behind, the Russians could try to use her as leverage. I’m not going to have her death on my conscience. She’s not worth it.”
His voice is thick with bitterness and resentment.
It occurs to me that maybe this is one of the reasons we’ve connected so well.
We both lost our mothers in different ways and at different ages.
We both understand that emotional toll. Alessio has buried his in duty and obligation, carrying out his roles in the Andriani family.
I buried myself in school first, then work and a relationship that never truly made me happy.
I take his hand and lace my fingers through his. “Let’s go greet them together.”
He doesn’t shrug away. Instead, his fingers tighten on mine, and then he brings our joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the top of mine. “You’re fucking amazing. You know that?”
It strikes me suddenly, how easily I could fall in love with him. Without even trying.
But that’s a fear for later, so I smile. “You’re not too bad yourself, bartender.”
We walk out together, headed toward the elevator that’s lit up to show the latest arrivals are almost here. Instinctively, I know it’s going to be a long night.
A ding and the doors slide open, revealing two beautiful dark-haired women in their early twenties who have the same bright-blue eyes as all the Andriani brothers. The same noses too. One is a bit taller than the other, but otherwise, they’re obviously identical twins.
That’s not what strikes me the most, though.
What hits me, as they both smile and step off the elevator, a stately, middle-aged woman behind them who can only be Alessio’s mother, is that they look a whole lot like my best friend.
But that’s weird. How can they look like Luna?
I can’t stop staring. It’s like one of those internet optical illusions where half the population sees the dress as pink and the other half sees it as blue.
Lucky emerges from the elevator last, looking cocky as ever, but also a bit strained. Today has obviously been rough on everyone. Lucky’s gaze dips down, taking in the way Alessio and I still have our hands linked, before flicking back to his brother.
“Frattore mio,” he greets Alessio.
“Any trouble?” Alessio asks curtly.