Chapter 21
Gemma
I'm trying.
That's what I tell myself every morning when I wake up.
I'm trying to be good.
Good means quiet.
Good means compliant.
Good means not causing problems.
Good means being what they want.
A perfect wife. An obedient daughter-in-law. A Marini.
Not a Nero.
Never a Nero again.
I can do this. I can be this.
Even if it's killing me.
"Gemma."
Saint's voice pulls me from wherever I was. I wasn't sleeping. I don't really sleep anymore. Just... drift.
"Yes?"
"I made you breakfast." He's holding a tray that contains pancakes, fruit, yogurt, and coffee. "Let's eat together. You can make fun of my shitty cooking."
I look at the food, and my stomach turns. The idea of eating with Saint makes me ill. I don't want to be around him longer than necessary. Every time we are together, I feel like I'm barely able to keep it together. I just keep reminding myself that he actively betrayed me.
It makes my stomach turn.
"I'm not hungry." I truly am not. I know he thinks I'm trying to be difficult, but I'm not.
"Please." He sets the tray down on the bed and sits next to me. "Just a few bites."
I take a strawberry. Put it in my mouth. Chew. It tastes like nothing. Like cardboard. Like ash.
I swallow.
"Good." He sounds relieved. "More?"
I take another bite because that's what good wives do. They eat when their husbands ask. They smile. They pretend.
Pretending is so much harder than I thought.
It takes too much energy, and it makes me want to lay back in bed and drift away.
"Tell me something," Saint says. "Anything. What are you thinking about?"
Death. The way Adrian's hands felt around my throat. The fact that I have no name. No family. No identity. That I'm a ghost pretending to be human.
I know Saint doesn't want to hear any of this. He wants me to tell him I'm thinking of rainbows and unicorns, but I can't fake it that well, so instead I say, "Nothing important."
"Gemma..." His hand finds mine. It's warm, and his thumb caresses my knuckles. "Talk to me. Really talk to me."
It should make me sad to see Saint look so desperate. It's not like him. He's an asshole. He's charming. He's not a beggar.
And yet, I don't care.
"About what?"
"About how you're feeling. About what I can do to help. About..." He stops and closes his eyes.
I look at him. At the man I love. The man who destroyed me. The man who hates me enough to betray me. Saint broke me, and what's worse is that he wants me to absolve him of his actions.
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're..." His jaw tightens. "You're disappearing. And I don't know how to stop it."
You can't. That woman is gone. You killed her when you gave me to Adrian. When you chose your position over me. When you proved I was right, I'm just a thing to be traded and used and discarded. I loved you. I let myself love you, and you spat on me.
But I keep my lips tight together.
"I'm here," I tell him. "I'm doing what you asked. Being a good wife. I'm trying to listen to you." I close my eyes. They are heavy. "Isn't this what you wanted?"
"No. This isn't..." He runs a hand through his hair. "I wanted you. The real you. The woman who challenged me. Who fought back. Who made me think."
"That woman was a problem." I use his words. Adrian's words. I didn't believe them at first, but they'd spoken them to me enough times that I now believe them. "This is better."
"This is not better!" His voice rises.
I flinch. I'm not sure why, but it's the first real reaction I've had in days.
He sees it and goes still.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell." He's gentler now, like he's talking to a child. "But I need you to understand, I don't want this version of you. I want my wife back."
Your wife was never real. She was just playing a role. First the unwilling bride. Then the partner. Then the lover. All roles. All performances. And now I'm performing again. The obedient wife. The good girl.
None of it is real.
I'm not real.
I don't think I've ever been more than a puppet.
"I'm doing my best."
"Your best is killing you." His hand cups my face. "Fucking hell Gemma. Do you want me to beg for your forgiveness? Will that help?"
"No."
The word comes out flat. Empty.
He stares at me. And I see it, the moment he realizes he can't reach me. That whatever we had is gone.
"Eat your breakfast," he says finally. Standing. "I have meetings."
He leaves. I'm not surprised. He never wanted me. And when I became too much, like I always do, he couldn't take it.
Even now, I can't even be obedient correctly.
My phone starts ringing, and it's so jarring I nearly fall off the bed in surprise.
The number is blocked, but I know, instinctively, who it is.
I pick it up, place it to my ear and listen.
"Gemma." Alexei's voice. Smooth. Concerned. "I've been worried about you."
I should hang up. Should throw the phone away. Should do anything except listen. But Alexei might be all I have left, and there's still some part of me that craves connection, even if it's wrong.
"Have you?" My voice sounds scratchy and faint to my own ears.
"Of course. A little mole told me what happened with your brother." He makes a sympathetic sound. "Disowned. How horrible."
He doesn't sound sympathetic. He sounds pleased. Alexei loves chaos, and he's sewn a lot.
I helped.
That knowledge stings.
"Why are you calling me?" I ask. "To gloat."
"Never," he says, voice smooth. "I want to help you."
I laugh. It sounds wrong. Broken. "Help me? You're the reason Adrian knows. You're the reason Saint..." I stop. I don't want to talk about Saint.
"The reason Saint what? Betrayed you?" His voice is silky. "No, Gemma. Saint betrayed you because he's weak. Because he chose his position over you. I had nothing to do with that."
"You told him..."
"You got caught. You were sloppy." I can practically see him in my mind's eye.
Sitting in Eclipse. That ugly ass gold chain around his thick neck.
A smarmy smile on his greasy face. He's confident now.
"Saint wanted to give you up. He wanted to secure his position.
I was just convenient timing. The perfect reason. "
The words hurt because he wasn't wrong. I saw Saint's face when he thought I was pregnant.
Antonio was dead. He didn't want me anymore. A barren wife...well...no one would blame him for discarding me.
"What do you want?"
"I told you. I want to help." A pause. "You have no family now. No protection. No one who cares what happens to you."
"I have Saint..." He'd been trying. Maybe that means he cares.
Or maybe he just doesn't want to look like a failure as a Don. Can't even keep his wife alive.
"Do you? I hear he allowed your brother to beat you." Alexei laughs softly. "That's not protection, sweetheart. That's ownership. And bad ownership at that."
I close my eyes. I wanted to scream. I'm not a fucking pet. Instead, I bit my tongue and speak softly, demurely. "What kind of help?"
"Come see me. Let's talk. No pressure. No demands. Just two people having a conversation."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because what do you have to lose?" He lets that sit. "You're already nothing, Gemma. Already dead in every way that matters. What's one conversation?"
He's right.
What's one more bad decision added to all the others?
"Where?"
"Eclipse. Tomorrow. Two o'clock." He sounds satisfied. "Try not to get caught this time, love. I don't think Saint is looking to let you live."
He hangs up before I can respond.
I sit there, phone in hand, trying to decide if I'm actually considering this.
Going to Alexei. The man who helped destroy me. The man who's dangerous and manipulative and definitely has ulterior motives.
But what else is there?
Alexei is right.
And it's time to end it.
All of it.
Saint tries again at dinner.
"I talked to Marcello today. He thinks we should take a trip. Get away from the city. Just us." He's watching me push food around. "What do you think?"
"Whatever you want."
"Gemma, I'm asking what you want."
I want to matter. I want to be someone. I want to feel something other than this endless nothing.
"I don't know."
"Try," he pushes. "Tell me one thing you want."
I look at him. Really look at him.
"I want you to go to bed."
He goes still. "What?"
"I'm tired. I want to go to bed."
Saint looks like he's about to explode, but he takes a deep breath. "Fine," he says, getting up. "I have meetings."
He cemented my choice.
We are done.
This ends, now.
Morning comes.
Saint is already up. Already dressed.
"I have meetings all day," he tells me. "But I can cancel them if you need me to stay."
He's watching me carefully. Looking for signs I'm about to break again.
"I'll be fine," I tell him. And I sound convincing enough that he believes me.
"Okay." He hesitates at the door. "Lyla will be here if you need anything. Call me if..."
"I will."
I won't. But the lie is easier than the truth.
He leaves, and I wait until I see Emmanuel drive him away.
Then I get dressed. Black jeans. Dark sweater. Nothing that stands out.
I look at myself in the mirror.
A ghost in dark clothes.
Appropriate.
I grab my cell phone. Then I look down at my hand. The platinum band Saint slid on my finger the day we married. It feels heavy now. Wrong.
I slide it off. Set it on the dresser beside his cufflinks.
He'll understand what it means.
Or maybe he won't care.
Either way, I'm not a Marini anymore. Not really. Adrian made sure of that.
Getting out is easier than I expected. The house has several trapdoors that lead to the street, relics from when the Marinis smuggled alcohol during Prohibition. I'd discovered one weeks ago, exploring the house during one of my many sleepless afternoons, finding old blueprints in the library.
I never thought I'd actually use it to run.
I wait until Lyla is occupied in the kitchen, then slip through the passage. It opens onto a side street two blocks away.
No elaborate plan. Just walking away.
I make it to the subway entrance before I have to stop. Grip the railing. Wait for the dizziness to pass.
When was the last time I ate something that stayed down?
The platform swims when the train arrives. I make myself get on.
Eclipse is quiet during the day. The staff is setting up for tonight. No music. No crowd. Just harsh lights and the smell of cleaning products.
The same man from before stops me. Igor.
"Mrs. Marini." He looks surprised to see me. "You're expected."
Expected. Like I'm predictable.
Maybe I am.
He leads me to the back office. Knocks once. Opens the door.
Alexei is behind his desk. He stands when I enter. Smiles.
"Gemma. Thank you for coming." He gestures to the chair. "Sit. Please."
I sit because my legs won't hold me much longer.
He studies me. I can see him taking inventory. The weight I've lost. The hollowness in my face. The deadness in my eyes.
"You look terrible," he says. Not unkindly. "Has Saint been taking care of you?"
"Saint is busy."
"Busy being Don. Yes, I heard. Congratulations on his coronation." The words are mocking. "Though I notice he didn't invite me."
"He beat you nearly to death, so I don't really think he considers you a friend."
Alexei laughs, but there's something in his eyes. Annoyance. He doesn't like that I brought that up. His weakness. He's all psychopathy and bluster. But he's weak. And I know it.
"So." He steeples his fingers. "What do you want, Gemma? Really want. If you could have anything."
"Does it matter?"
He gives me a small smile, like we are friends. "It does to me."
"I don't want anything."
He shakes his head. "I think you do. I think you want power. Real power. The kind your mother had. The kind Saint will never give you." His eyes are sharp. "The kind I can help you get."
"Why would you help me?"
"Because you're useful. And because watching Saint Marini suffer brings me joy." He smiles. "We could help each other, you and I."
"How?"
"You give me information. Not about the Neros, that ship has sailed. About Saint. The Marinis. Their operations. Their weaknesses." He leans forward. "And in exchange, I give you protection. Resources. Power of your own."
It's a trap. Obviously, a trap.
"You're asking me to betray Saint."
"I'm asking you to save yourself." His voice is soft. Hypnotic. "Saint betrayed you first. Gave you away like trash. Let your brother hurt you. Took everything that made you who you are."
"Yes."
"So why protect him?" Alexei spreads his hands. "Why be loyal to the man who destroyed you?"
It's a good question.
I don't have a good answer. Saint has done nothing to earn my loyalty.
"What would you want from me? Specifically."
"Schedules. Security details. Upcoming deals." He's casual about it. "Nothing that would get anyone killed. Just information that helps me... position myself advantageously."
"And in exchange?"
"Money. Protection. And most importantly..." He pauses. "Purpose. A reason to keep breathing when breathing feels pointless."
He sees me. Really sees me.
Sees that I'm drowning.
And he's offering a rope.
It doesn't matter that the rope is poisoned.
When you're drowning, you grab anything.
"I need to think about it."
"Of course." He stands. "But don't think too long. The offer has an expiration date."
"How long?"
"Until I get bored. Or until Saint realizes you're here." He comes around the desk. Too close. "Which means you should probably leave soon."
I stand. My legs are shaking.
He reaches out. Touches my face.
I don't pull away. Can't pull away. Don't have the energy.
"You're so broken," he murmurs. "Like a beautiful toy someone played with too roughly."
I freeze. I don't like this.
"Saint doesn't deserve you," Alexei continues. "Never did. You're Bianca Nero's daughter. You should be powerful. Feared. Respected." His thumb traces my cheekbone. "Not this empty little ghost."
"I'm not a Nero."
"You'll always be a Nero." His voice is firm. "Adrian can disown you. Saint can break you. But blood is blood. And you have Bianca's blood." He presses his nose to my neck, and I cringe. "You could be a powerful woman, Gemma. A good girl. With the right man at your side, of course."
For the first time in days, I feel something.
Small. Distant. But something.
Anger.
"What?" I ask.
Alexei trails a finger down my sweater, to my non-existent cleavage. "You just need the right master. The right hand."
I'm a rubber band, and I've just fucking snapped.