Chapter 45
45
E ventually, Father Alessio paused in front of a heavy, wooden door. He pushed it open to reveal a modest-sized room filled with warm, soft light. The stone walls were decorated with the same ancient art that adorned the corridors. Two beds sat against the side walls and a quick look confirmed the room had a small bathroom.
The balcony was the room's crowning jewel. Overlooking the expansive monastery grounds, the view was nothing short of breathtaking. From their high vantage point, Leslie saw a placid lake, its tranquil surface mirroring the azure sky above. Lush green forests stretched beyond, the verdant canopy undulating with the gentle breeze.
"The room has everything you need. If you need anything else, please feel free to ask," Father Alessio's voice broke through Leslie's reverie. His gaze, however, was on Alex. " Possiamo parlare di più quando sei pronto ."
Alex nodded, his expression unreadable. " Lo apprezzo, Alessio."
As the priest left, closing the door quietly behind him, Leslie's mind went back to the whispered conversation. Who was Mia to Alex? Despite the peaceful surroundings, her mind was restless, her thoughts circling around questions she didn't have the answers to yet.
Finally gathering her courage, Leslie asked, "Who's Mia?"
Alex froze in the act of stripping off his shirt; he’d bought it from a man at the airport after he’d landed the helicopter at the first airport given his had been covered in blood. His shoulder tensed and he lowered his hand. After a long pause, he let out a sigh, turned to her, and tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
"Leslie," he said, his voice holding an uncharacteristic edge. "We've had a long day. We're safe here. Let's just focus on settling down for now, okay?"
"Alex, you're avoiding my question, just like you’ve brushed off most of my questions. Who is she? Was she someone important to you?"
His gaze fixed on her, searching, probing. There was something in his eyes, something that suggested a battle being fought within him. But then, he looked away, his expression closing off. "It's not the right time, Leslie," he clipped out.
As he turned around again and stripped off his shirt, Leslie felt a knot tighten in her stomach. For the first time, looking at Alex’s bare upper body didn’t make her feel a hint of desire. He was concealing something, something important, and a heavy dread settled inside her. Because at some point, he was going to answer her questions. Yet she no longer was sure if she wanted to hear his answers.
Later, in the hushed silence of the dining room, surrounded by several monks, Alex and Leslie ate a simple meal at a small table near the window, overlooking gardens of the monastery. Father Alessio sat with them, switching between Italian and English to talk to Alex, Leslie, and the monks. Once the meal was over, Father asked to speak to Alex alone, but Alex said he didn’t want to leave Leslie, to which Father nodded before saying good night.
Alex and Leslie made their way back to their room, their footsteps echoing in the quiet corridors. The day's events had left them drained, the emotional toll evident in their strained smiles and the weariness that hung about them like a cloak.
Retiring to their separate corners of the room, Alex moved towards the small, attached bathroom, leaving Leslie to prepare for bed. Stripping off his clothes, he stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade down his body. The steam enveloped him, muffling the sounds of the monastery beyond the bathroom walls.
As the water sluiced over him, he scrubbed his skin, his actions desperate and relentless. He could still feel the stickiness of blood on him, Nico's blood. It was as if it had seeped into his skin, staining him, haunting him.
Memories swamped him. Nico's lifeless body, so devoid of the energy and vibrancy. Leaving Leslie on that boat. The men who’d shot at him. The panic room, and the men he’d fought on his way back to Leslie. The desperate need to protect, to shield, to fight back.
He pressed his forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall, the water washing over him in a torrent. He squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to push away the memories that threatened to consume him. His fists clenched, his knuckles white against the backdrop of the dark tile.
But no matter how hard he scrubbed, how hot the water, he couldn't wash away the feelings of guilt, of responsibility. They clung to him, stubborn and unyielding. And with each pulse of water against his skin, each bead of moisture that ran down his body, he was reminded of his failure.
He stayed in the shower until the water turned cold, until his skin was raw and the memories were but echoes in his mind. He was clean, but the feeling of being soiled, of being tainted, clung to him. He shut off the shower, dried off, and slipped on a fresh t-shirt and lounge pants that one of the larger monks had given him. Then he stepped into the bedroom.
Leslie avoided his gaze, muttered that she was going to shower, too, then closed the bathroom door. He rubbed his hands over his eyes.
She’d asked him about Mia, and had been hurt when he’d brushed her off.
He was so tired of brushing her off.
Two beds stood separately in the room, a chasm of space between them. Lying on his bed, Alex stared up at the shadow-dappled ceiling, his thoughts a chaotic whirlpool.
A question was at the back of his mind, a question he was trying hard to ignore, but which kept floating back into his consciousness—should he tell her about Mia? Would it change anything? Would it change her view of him?
A short while later, Leslie stepped out of the bathroom wearing a large t-shirt, also once owned by the monk who’d given Alex the clothes he was wearing. She turned off the lights then hopped into bed. She seemed so far away, an unbridgeable distance separating them. Yet, her voice cut through the silence, a soft whisper in the vastness of the room.
"Alex," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Who is Mia?"
His gaze dropped to the sheets and he drew a deep breath.
Tell her, Alex.
Before he could do so, she spoke again.
"The men attacking the island, what was it about?”
“I don’t know, Leslie.”
“Did it have something to do with you?”
“Maybe.”
“Did it have something to do with Mia?”
The truth was, he was starting to think more and more that the attack did have something to do with him and Mia, and not so much the Bratva or their deal with Pearson and Anderson.
The reasons ticked through his head, starting with the fact that he’d recognized one of the intruders, the man he’d killed, as mafia from his days with Mia. Luca could have sent them, betrayed them, but Alex didn’t believe that—mostly because Nico had been killed, and Alex knew very well that Luca’s loyalty to family would never allow that kind of risk. No, it made much more sense that the attack had been staged by mafia soldiers, either ones who’d rejected Lucas’s rule or ones who pretended to accept it but no longer would once they’d learned that Alex was back.
Suddenly, it all became too much for Alex to bear—the memoires, the secrets, the lying to Leslie. She was part of this, and if her life was once again in jeopardy because of him, she at least deserved an answer to her questions.
Who was Mia?
"Mia was my wife," he confessed, his voice hollow, his gaze fixed on the window.
The admission hung heavy in the silence, a confession of a past he'd long since buried. His gaze shifted to Leslie, watching as her features morphed from shock to understanding, the pieces of the puzzle finally falling into place.
“How—how did Mia die?” she asked.
“Mia…," he began, his voice barely a whisper. "Mia was killed by members of her own family. Not Luca nor anyone on the island,” he quickly explained as her expression contorted with horror. “But still her blood. Her brothers. And others in the mafia.”
“Renee mentioned she had three sons,” Leslie breathed out.
“She had three sons. With Nico gone, they’re all dead.”
Because of me, Alex thought, but he didn’t tell her that.
“Why? Why did they kill her?”
“Because she renounced them. She had to, to leave the mafia behind her. She did it for me. Us. So she could start over. And that wasn’t something they were going to allow." The words hung heavy in the room, a suffocating cloak of silence enveloping them.
He watched as Leslie absorbed his words, her face a mask of horror and sympathy. He saw the questions in her eyes, the confusion and fear etched in the lines of her forehead.
"She chose me over her family,” he continued. “And they... they killed her." His voice cracked, the memory of Mia’s death too raw, too painful.
“But Luca…”
“He wasn’t the head of the mafia then, Mia’s brother, Antoine, was. When he learned what they’d done, Luca hunted down Antoine and the men who’d killed her, and took over as the head of the family.”
“And that’s why he helped us,” she said, realization in her eyes. “Because you were married to Mia. So he considers you family.”
There was more to it than that, but he’d opened his veins enough to tell Leslie about Mia. He couldn’t tell her the rest. Not without breaking.
Not without dying when he saw the look of horror in her eyes – directed at him, as she realized what a monster he truly was.
"When was this?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"Eight years ago," Alex replied. His voice was a low murmur, carrying the burden of a past he'd rather forget.
There was a moment of silence, both absorbed in their own thoughts. Alex felt the intensity of Leslie's gaze on him, her curiosity mingling with a certain degree of unease.
"That’s why you can’t be with me," she said. “Because you blame yourself for Mia’s death. Because you can’t bear the thought of danger following you and ultimately finding its way to me.” There was a deep sadness in her voice, a resignation that mirrored Alex’s own turmoil.
"Yes," he said. “But that’s exactly what happened anyway, didn’t it?”
“That’s what you believe. And yet, here we still are. You’ve saved me time and time again, Alex. I’m here, alive, because of you.”
“You should be in New York, living your life.”
“We had to leave New York because Pearson and Anderson hired the Bratva.”
“ Because of me , Leslie. Because I took Pearson down. Either way, I’m the common denominator.”
“I don’t care,” she said.
“I do.”