Chapter 5
SETH
I don’t like that Damiano’s call dropped so suddenly, but maybe he’s just pissed off that I’m right and he’s wrong.
Our attorneys have gotten everything set up as far as the business aspects. We’re still waiting on the formalization and acceptance of everything, but in the meantime, I give Cassidy Fletcher a call.
He picks up after the second ring. “Boss. How’s it going in Germany?”
“Great. How’s your German?”
“Toll.”
I pause. “Does that mean good or bad?”
“It means it’s good.”
“Would you be interested in training new recruits out here, to get the Munich site off the ground?”
“Fuck yeah.”
I love this motherfucker. He doesn’t even ask about the details—he’s ready to go. Always has been.
We talk out some of my ideas, and he has a few to share as well. I offer to arrange an apartment for him, but he shuts me down.
“Nah, I’ll get it figured out. Just tell me when—”
My phone rings with another call. I check the ID—Margaret Chung Medical Center.
“Fletch, I gotta go. I’ll call you later.” Before he has a chance to respond, I switch to the other call. “Hello?”
“Is this Seth Colton?” a polished voice asks on the other end of the line.
“Yes.”
“I’m calling on behalf of Damiano Romano. He listed you as an emergency contact—”
My gut goes cold and empty. “What happened?”
“He was in a car accident half an hour ago. He’s undergoing some tests.”
Shit. “Is he conscious? Does he need anything?”
“He’s in an out of consciousness. If you could come to the hospital in case any decisions have to be made for his care…”
“I’m overseas, but I’ll take the first plane back to California. Please keep me updated.”
“I will, Mr. Colton. See you soon.”
“Soon” will be about fourteen hours, but I’ll do what I can.
* * *
MADISON
On Tuesday, I wake up and stretch. It’s been weird, not having to go to work. Work provided some structure to my days, even if that structure was sometimes chaotic. Now, I’m left to find my own daily rhythm. It turns out, I like to stay up until eleven or midnight, and then get up around seven.
My heart aches, though. Damiano can’t call or text me anymore—I blocked him.
But at the most random moments, he pops into my head.
I keep wanting to tell him about my weird cousin mowing my lawn again or about how the latest season of Flesh and Teeth more than makes up for the lackluster Season Two that he gave up on.
I find the purple paisley scarf he gave me for the drive to Mirarosa, and I want to ask him if he bought it in Italy.
Loneliness. My old, cruel companion. That’s all this is.
I need friends. I’ve had contact with the outside world twice since I came home Friday night.
The first was an email from Marguerite Fenton with financial planning questions.
The second was my neighbor, Matthew, looking through the hedge when I went to gather oranges for a smoothie yesterday.
When I called out “hello,” he gave me the least excited wave I’ve ever seen.
He helped that night, when Derick and Crane attacked me. I never properly thanked him—maybe that’s the issue. I should bake cookies for him and his wife.
My phone shows a text from Seth. My heart gives a little pitter-patter of excitement before I shut it down. Seth has made it abundantly clear he wants nothing to do with me.
The message is cryptic, though—two words. Call me.
I’m curious, but not that curious. I pop my phone in my pocket and do my usual morning routine. Smoothie, shower, and then a trip to the library down the hall to decipher another one of the letters in Vivienne’s desk.
The morning light is muted today because it’s overcast. I snag a blanket from the linen closet and wrap it around myself before settling into the desk chair.
Dearest V—
I don’t know when I’ll be able to come to you. They say the borders might open, but I believe these are rumors borne of hope and desperation, not actual truth.
Daily life is tolerable, I suppose, but tinged with fear. Is it any better in America? Can friendship survive two opposed ideologies, and the suffocating grip that power seems to hold over these men?
Halfway through the letter, my phone rings. Seth’s name pops up. Frustrated that he’s interrupted my letter-reading, I answer abruptly. “What?”
His tone is somber. “Damiano was in an accident. He’s at Margaret Chung.”
* * *
SETH
A head of brown hair, just visible over the frosted portion of the windows, moves down the hospital hall.
Madison? She was extremely upset when I told her what happened to Damiano.
Maybe she had been angry about Alessia, but now she’s only worried about Damiano.
Her heart is so forgiving, perhaps more than it should be.
I stand up and start to say her name before realizing that the woman approaching isn’t Madison—it’s Alessia.
Of course. She’s been coming by every few hours—ostensibly to check on Damiano, but more, I think, to hassle us about beefing up her personal security measures.
I want to send her packing because all she does is make Damiano miserable with her sickly-sweet attention and her fear-filled diatribes about her ex-boyfriend.
But if I were to force her out, the ensuing drama could upset Damiano even more.
“Alessia’s here,” I mutter to Damiano.
“Great.” His voice is hoarse, but he’s so much stronger today than he was when I arrived yesterday. A minor concussion, and some bruising on his face, as well as on his chest and ribs where the seatbelt pinched when his car spun.
A moment later, Alessia steps into the room. I greet her as politely as possible. I need to hurry her through this visit. I don’t want her to be here when Madison arrives. Damiano needs to remain as calm and stress-free as possible.
Alessia goes straight to Damiano’s side. “Baby. How are you feeling today?”
“Good. Ready to get out of here.”
She tries to hold Damiano’s hand. He pulls away. She reaches for him again.
I speak up. “Is there anything you need, Alessia? Damiano should be resting right now. I can manage your Nove guards.”
Alessia gives me a scornful look and starts talking to Damiano in Italian. I recognize the move for what it is—an attempt to push me out of the conversation.
“Alessia,” Damiano says, “enough. We’ve provided you with guards and an emergency number to call if you believe you’ve seen Francesco. Everything you need is taken care of. I have to rest.”
She starts to argue, but I stand abruptly and gently nudge her toward the door.
“Thank you so much for checking on Damiano—it’s really touching how you care for your ex-husband.
The doctor said that Damiano needs quiet, so how about we walk to the cafeteria and give him a little break from our company? ”
Her pink lips twist in a shape of displeasure, but she can’t find an argument. “Very well.”
I buy her a coffee, which she complains about, and see her off. Her Nove guards escort her to her car—well, Damiano’s car which they’re using to take Alessia wherever she wants to go.
He needs to cut her off. She’s far too comfortable with the perks of his protection.
When I return to his hospital room, I’m shocked to see Alessia’s head of dark hair. How’d she get here before me? Then I realize, this time it isn’t Alessia, it’s Madison. Madison’s hair is a bit lighter, but something about the way they both style it made me do a double-take.
I wait outside the room, not wanting to intrude. Damiano says something and Madison responds, her voice a high counterpoint to Damiano’s deep rumble. Damiano laughs at whatever she said.
I could be in there, laughing with them. But the whole reason I went to Germany in the first place was to create much-needed distance.
Madison laughs, and I can picture those pouty lips stretching in a smile.
Fuck it.
“Hey,” I say as neutrally as possible when I step into the hospital room.
“Hey.” Madison’s face lights up, and damn if it doesn’t make my heart do a flip.
She sits in a chair next to the bed, her fingers interlaced with Damiano’s. If she’s still angry about the Alessia issue, it doesn’t show.
“So tell me about Germany,” she says.
I pull up an extra chair. “Unfortunately, I didn’t get out of the city while I was there. But Munich has so many parks, it doesn’t have such a big city feel. It’s very lively, very clean.”
Madison and Damiano ask me more about what I did while I was there, but as I was mostly working, the conversation doesn’t have far to go.
“How about things here?” Madison asks Damiano. “You said you aren’t in pain, but you must be bored.”
“I’m not bored now, with my two favorite people in the room with me.”
The flash of pain across Madison’s face is so quick, I’m not sure if Damiano registers it.
But I can tell she’s thinking about Alessia, and she’s wondering where Alessia falls on the list of Damiano’s favorite people.
When I called her about the accident, I mentioned that Damiano and Alessia are divorced, but there wasn’t time to go into detail—that wasn’t the point of the call.
I mainly wanted to make sure she knew he was hurt, and he’d appreciate a visit.
Our conversation meanders to zombie shows. After a while, Damiano’s eyes start to close—he’s getting tired.
“I should go,” Madison says.
“Stay.” He squeezes her hand.
“Of course.” She settles into her chair and sends me a smile. “I can hang out here if you want to take a break, Seth.”
“I’ll stay for a bit. Why don’t you pick a show to watch—we can stream it on my tablet.”
Her grin turns wicked. “Well, of course it has to be Flesh and Teeth. Damiano still needs to watch Season Two.”
That evil smile on those pouty lips. Her kindness as she makes sure Damiano is comfortable. The way she laughs with her whole body—her eyes dancing, her shoulders shaking.
The distance did fuck-all for my feelings. I’m just as in danger of falling in love with her as I was two weeks ago.