REBECCA #2
He's quiet for a moment, processing my words.
His fingers start moving again, slower now, more thoughtful.
I close my eyes and lean back against his chest, letting the hot water and his touch soothe the sharp edges of the memories.
But the truth is still there, buried under the surface.
My father didn't just prepare me for the end of the world.
He prepared me to survive it. He's quiet after that.
The hot water laps gently around me as Alessio continues massaging my shoulders.
For a moment, everything feels almost peaceful.
Then the question slips out before I can stop it.
"You haven't told me why you're digging into the Reapers."
His hands still completely.
I turn in the tub so I can see his face. "Alessio?"
He looks… contemplative. Not closed off exactly, but like he's wrestling with something heavy.
There's a storm raging behind those crystal blue eyes, something old, sharp, and painful.
I've never seen him like this. Not vulnerable, exactly.
A man like Alessio doesn't do vulnerable. But whatever this is, it runs deep.
I stretch up and cup his cheek with my wet hand. My thumb brushes across the rough stubble along his jaw.
"You don't have to tell me," I whisper. "Forget I asked."
I start to pull away, but his hand shoots out and catches my wrist firmly. Like the thought of me withdrawing bothers him more than whatever he's about to say.
"No." His voice is rough. Lower than usual. "Wait."
I go still. For a long moment he doesn't speak. Just stares out across the city beyond the penthouse windows. Vegas glitters in the distance. A kingdom he and his friends rule. Yet somehow, he looks older than I've ever seen him.
"My mother disappeared eighteen years ago."
I wet my lips and digest his words; this, I did not expect.
"Well..." His mouth twists. "According to my old man, she disappeared." Something dark flickers across his face. "That's what I always believed. Audra changed that."
I stay quiet. Letting him work through it. "Growing up, I got one version of the story." His laugh is humorless. "The woman packed a bag and left."
He tilts his head, trying to appear nonchalant. "Simple. Happens all the time."
Underneath his tough demeanor, I can hear the bitterness and resentment, can sense the wound her leaving left.
"She walked out. Never came back. Never called. Never sent a birthday card. Never checked if I was alive. After a while, I assumed she wasn’t."
He shrugs. A sharp, careless movement. The kind people make when they're trying very hard not to care. "Problem was, Audra saw her."
I blink. "Audra?"
"Gabe's woman?" he reminds me. I nod, because yeah, I know who he is talking about, but where and how would Audra have seen his mother? And how would she have known who she was?
"At the club," Alessio adds, but I still don't understand. He must see it on my face. "My old man is part of the Reapers."
What? How did I not know that? He never told me. I assumed he was a rich boy, born into a rich world. What he's telling me now contradicts pretty much everything I've assumed about him.
"How?" It's probably not the most immediate question, but one that sits on my mind, nevertheless. "How did Audra recognize her?"
He smirks and points at his face. "The eyes. She asked Gabe about it, and he produced an old picture of her."
Oh, yeah. That makes sense. I've never seen eyes like his before. Maybe in a magazine, but not on a real person. They're so intense, so crystal blue. You'd think they would be cold, and they are, most of the time, but right now, there is no coldness in them, only a turmoil of emotions.
"She saw her six, maybe seven years ago."
The implications hit immediately. If Audra saw her... then she hadn't vanished. She'd chosen not to come back. And his father… as a Reaper, he must have known it too. My chest aches.
"So you're looking for her." The words come out softly. "Like I'm looking for Rachel."
His expression hardens immediately. "No."
The answer is too quick. Too automatic. A defense. I wait, because I know there is more behind it.
Eventually he sighs. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing."
There it is. The honest answer. "My old man is a nobody." The contempt in his voice is impossible to miss. "A drunk. A burnout. Just another patch sitting on a barstool pretending his life amounted to something."
Something tells me that assessment isn't entirely objective.
"If my mother was there..." His gaze drifts toward the skyline. "If she stayed with them..."
The silence stretches. Heavy. Dangerous. "If she chose that life over me..."
The words come out quieter. Rawer. Like they cost him something. I don't interrupt. I don't move. I barely breathe. Because this is Alessio. And this is probably the closest thing to vulnerability he's shown another human being in years.
"I need to know why." His voice drops. "So I can stop wondering."
A muscle jumps in his jaw. "So I can stop thinking maybe I did something."
My heart cracks. Just a little. Because there it is. The truth. Not anger. Not resentment. Not even abandonment. A little boy wondering what was wrong with him. "I need to know if she's still breathing."
His eyes find mine. Cold blue. Sharp. Dangerous. And hurting far more than he'd ever admit. "And if she is..." His voice goes deadly calm. "I need her to look me in the eye." His fingers tighten slightly around my wrist. "Then I want her to explain why the fuck I wasn't worth staying for."
Silence settles between us. The city glows.
The water laps quietly against the side of the tub.
I don't see the man who terrifies half of Las Vegas.
I see the boy he used to be. The one who got left behind.
The one who learned people leave. The one who built walls so thick nobody could ever hurt him like that again.
My chest hurts. I slide closer. Water spills over the edge.
Neither of us notices. I rest my forehead against his. "I'm sorry."
The words are barely above a whisper.
His eyes close. Just for a second.
"I'm sorry she left."
His hand comes up slowly. Cups the back of my neck. Holding me there. Grounding himself. Or maybe grounding me.
"I'm sorry she made you think you weren't enough."
Something changes in his expression. Not much.
Just enough. Like a crack appearing in stone.
We stay like that. Forehead to forehead.
Two people carrying ghosts neither of us asked for.
And for the first time since I've known him, Alessio doesn't look away.
He lets me see the wound. And somehow that feels bigger than anything else he's ever given me.
This is not a my past is worse than your past kind of contest, but suddenly, I want him to know.
I want him to know about my most vulnerable parts too, like he's let me into his.
I've never told anybody about this. Not the counselors they made me see, not even Rachel, who tried to talk about what happened.
I thought she was too young. I thought she would forget.
I thought protecting her from the memories would save her. I was so fucking naive.
I pull back just enough to look at him. My voice is barely above a whisper. "My father… he killed them. I was fifteen."
Alessio goes very still, his hand frozen on my back.
I swallow hard and continue, the memories scraping inside my head like broken glass.
I take a shaky breath, and they flood back in vivid, merciless color.
Memories I have suppressed for a very long time.
Ever since Rachel went missing. Finding her had been so much more predominantly on my mind than anything that had preceded that event.