Chapter 27
Lennon
I sit in the aftershocks of the earthquake that was my night with Sandro. The beautiful disaster that has turned my world upside down, my heart to rubble. I’m on the sofa, still in the auction dress, sand on my feet, trying to process what he told me.
The police said Mom walked in on a robbery in the hotel room.
It never made sense to me why someone would risk killing her over some money.
Most of the guests there were mob-affiliated in some way.
Everyone knew better than to screw up and make a mess on their territory.
But her walking in on a Russian mobster with a trafficked girl, yeah that would get her killed.
My mind has to rearrange, reshape the day of her death, what it entailed for her. The images I’m conjuring up are ugly and unbearable. She would have known immediately she was in trouble. The last thing she would’ve felt would’ve been raw terror.
My body hurts everywhere, my soul is numb.
I’m drowning in a pitch-black pool of sorrow.
I lean my head back and close my eyes. I can still feel Sandro’s arms wrapped around me, his lips on mine, the soreness between my legs that was pleasure just hours ago.
His touch is a phantom imprint, haunting me.
It was so freeing to replace the deep longing with joy for one night.
To let go and indulge. But now the agony of being without him is a hundred times worse.
I’m a junkie. And my drug of choice is a beautiful mobster.
Against my will, my mind begins to explore the implications of what he told me.
What he and Gunnar did. I’m so torn between the horror of how easy it was for him to kill a man, and the shameful fact that I’m glad the man is dead.
I’m glad he’s not still walking around this earth, enjoying breathing after ending my mom’s life.
I also can’t help the warm feeling in my chest at the thought of Sandro caring enough to avenge my mother.
And that makes me feel like a terrible person.
I can’t condone murder. No matter how much the asshole deserved it.
I mean, I don’t believe in an eye for an eye, do I?
Actually, I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.
What does justice for Mom look like? I’ll have to think about that later. When my brain isn’t mush.
The ache, the sorrow, the resurfaced anger, the magical night Sandro and I spent indulging in each other, it all swirls into one ball of chaos in my mind as I drift off into a restless sleep.