Chapter 2
DAMIANO
Alessia is taking over my life. This is not at all what I planned. If I could stop her constant grasping while keeping her safe, that would be ideal.
Damiano, he’s here. I know he’s here.
Why aren’t you answering me? I’m in danger. I need you, and I think you need me, too.
Luckily, she has slowed down with her attempts to get me in bed with her. But this last text is getting dangerously close.
If you’re scared, I write back, stay in the building. The security is excellent and nobody will get into your apartment without your permission. I’ll have groceries delivered if you’re hungry.
She doesn’t write back, so I know she’s miffed.
So is Madison, after I had to leave her last night. I’m winning with women this week.
Five minutes later, Alessia knocks on my door.
I groan. Bad enough I had to return to the building to check the “emergency” she thought was happening last night—which turned out to be a guy having a drink in the lobby downstairs where Alessia was hanging out.
An innocent guy, who has absolutely no connection to her ex.
I open the door, but stand in the way so she can’t force herself in. “Alessia. What is it?”
“You don’t have to sound so mad about it, Damiano.” She shakes back her wavy, black hair. “It’s not like I chose to be here.”
She chose to date Francesco—while I was still in prison and we were still married—despite the warnings of every family member and friend we had. I don’t want to blame her because she is a victim, but at the same time, she made many bad choices to get her to this point.
“I’m tired, Alessia. Let’s not fight.”
“Good, because I brought you dinner.” She holds up a bag I hadn’t noticed. “My mama’s recipe…”
The scents of tomato, cheese, and spices reach my nose, tempting. But this is just another one of her tactics to win me over.
“I already ate, but thank you.” I start to close my door.
Her light brown eyes fill with tears. “You can’t keep shutting me out—I’m your wife.”
“No, you divorced me. While I was in prison—”
“It was a mistake.” Her words catch on a sob. “I told you I wanted to reverse it when you were released.”
“And you were still with Francesco. You aren’t here to rekindle our relationship. You’re here to escape him.” I take a breath to say more, but she’s already whirling around and marching toward the elevator.
I rest my head on the doorframe, exhausted.
As soon as Alessia is out of sight, I close my door and find my phone. Fucking Seth has only texted once since he landed in Germany, but I could use his advice. I pull up his number and call him.
“What’s up?” Sounds of the city create a busy soundtrack behind his voice.
“Where are you? Hamburg?”
“Munich. What do you want, Damiano? I’m between meetings with realtors.”
“I have a problem and I don’t know what to do.”
Seth says, “And? Is this a professional problem, or a personal one?”
“Personal.”
“Does it have anything to do with the black-haired Italian woman you have living on the eleventh floor?” His voice drips with censure.
Fuck. I’ve screwed up in more ways than one. “I was going to tell you—”
“Just don’t hurt Madison.”
Oh, now he cares about Madison? But I’m too smart to say that out loud. “I’m not hurting anyone.”
“So Madison’s aware that you have your ex-wife holed up in an apartment in our building.”
“No, but I’m hoping to get Alessia out soon.”
“You’re sitting on a grenade. And Alessia already pulled out the pin.” He laughs. The asshole laughs.
“Never mind.” I end the call and look across my empty apartment.
I’m not hurting Madison—this is why I haven’t told her.
It’s too complicated and I really am working on plans to move Alessia to another apartment.
Alessia insists my building is the “safest,” but her ex is in Italy, of all fucking places.
She is separated from him by the Atlantic and an entire continent. I will get her out. Soon.
* * *
MADISON
My phone rings while I’m washing dishes in the kitchen.
I quickly dry my hands and pick up the phone.
Damiano. I haven’t heard from him since the apology he texted me last night.
I responded that it was okay, but I’m not sure it is.
Maybe he’s just not in the kind of place right now where he can pursue a relationship.
If that’s the case, he should gracefully step back, shouldn’t he?
And if he won’t, maybe I should.
The phone rings again. I slide my finger across the screen to answer. “Hey.”
“Madison.” His low, rumbly voice goes straight through the speaker, into my ear, and tightens my nerves with pleasure. “How are you?”
I keep my voice as neutral as possible. Not warm, but not frosty, either. “I’m fine.”
“I apologize again for last night. I wanted to insist on staying, but I was trying to respect your wishes. I still feel it might have been better to stay.”
I scoff. “Not with your phone blowing up like that.”
“Fair. I’m hoping to make it up to you—dinner on Friday. What do you say?”
“I—I don’t know. I have to check my schedule.”
“Madison.” His voice deepens. “Be honest.”
“I don’t know, because I can’t trust it won’t end like last night.
” I grip my phone and try to keep my voice even.
I need him—every part of my body strains toward his voice.
But remembering his abrupt departures stings like lemon in a cut.
“Who’s to say you won’t have an emergency and need to cancel at the last second?
Or you’ll have to leave in the middle of our date and strand me somewhere again? ”
“I wish I could say I’ll silence my phone. But that’s impossible, with Seth out of the country. I have to be reachable. But I will do everything possible to have someone else be the go-to person in the event of a crisis.”
I stare out the kitchen window. Some of the fruit trees look smaller. Less robust. Did someone prune them? I really need to have a chat with Ford, in case it was him. He doesn’t need to do all this work here—he doesn’t live here anymore, and I’m sure he has a paying job he can be doing instead.
“Madison?” Damiano brings me back to the present.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“I’ll do everything in my power to spend a full evening with you. I crave you, bella. I need to hold you, kiss you.” He pauses. “Please, Madison. Come out with me on Friday.”
Like I could actually say no. Even if I toyed with the idea of saying no, even if I wanted to say no…I have to see him. My dirty dishes laugh at me for being such a pathetic pushover. “Okay.”
* * *
SETH
Madison is everywhere in Munich, and she’s nowhere at all. I’ve been in this city for about a week, and I still see Madison in every woman with light brown hair, every woman with her stature or gait, every laugh that sounds like hers before I realize, no, it’s all wrong, wrong, wrong.
Munich itself is nice. Clean, efficient, lots of parks. I wish I could enjoy it.
I return to my hotel room, exhausted after another day with a realtor, drawing up papers to purchase a building for our new offices.
Should I be doing this at all? Is it a mistake? If Nove goes through with this purchase, I’ll need to make frequent trips here to get us established. I suppose Damiano and I could delegate someone, but we’ve always been control freaks.
I pour myself a whiskey from the minibar and collapse onto the couch, toeing off my shoes so I can put my feet up.
I’m bored. Lonely as fuck. I grab my phone so I can catch up on the latest with the Surf Rats. Some mind-numbing baseball stats should curb my boredom and loneliness.
Before I can go to the stats page, my phone shows me a photo reminder.
Six Years Ago! The top photo is from Kyle and Madison’s wedding, and it’s followed by many, many more.
My heart squeezes in my chest. Kyle looks so fucking happy.
He only has eyes for Madison. His arms are possessively around her or he’s touching her in some way in every single photo.
I was their unofficial photographer. The paid photographer was a buddy of Kyle’s who had just started his business. Kyle took me aside before the wedding, nervous as hell, and asked if I’d snap a few extra photos “just in case.”
My phone is full of them now. I don’t have the heart to delete them, especially not now when they’re the last pictures I have of my brother.
I stop scrolling when I reach a photo where both Kyle and Madison are laughing, their mouths open and heads thrown back in glee. They were too young to get married—my opinion of that will never change. But they were happy.
And Madison. She looks so young in the photos, but I can see hints of the woman she’s become. Her cheeks are less full now, and her eyes betray her experience, her sorrow.
Would they still be together, if Kyle hadn’t died? I had predicted they would divorce within three years. I was cruel enough to frame it as a bet to Kyle prior to their marriage. Would I have won that bet? I’ll never know.
If he were alive, if they were still together, I’d never be lusting after Madison like I am today.
At least, that’s what I tell myself. She would be off-limits. She should be off-limits, even now. It’s why I’m sitting alone in a German hotel. It’s why I’m moping and sulking over a glass of whiskey. It’s why I put more than five thousand miles between us.
But in my heart, there’s no distance at all.