Chapter 12
MADISON
I stand before my great-aunt’s desk, unwinding the red ribbon from her love letters. There are only two letters left for me to read.
Last night, I asked Damiano to bring me home after Low Vice. I think he was disappointed I didn’t want to go home with him, but everything he said to me about having a relationship with both him and Seth was swirling in my head. I needed distance, time to think.
Of course, he exhausted me so thoroughly with orgasms, I couldn’t think much at all once I got home—I fell straight to sleep as soon as I landed in my bed.
But this morning, all I have is this great, empty house and a head full of conflicting feelings.
Today is Kyle’s birthday. He’s been gone five years, and for the first time, I feel guilty. I feel guilty because I’m not sad enough that he’s gone.
The thing is, I’m very sad. I miss him. And I still think it isn’t fucking fair that he was taken out of this world so soon.
But I also have feelings for Damiano…and Seth, Kyle’s brother.
Isn’t that wrong? It doesn’t feel wrong.
But my brain is telling me that it looks bad, that people would frown, that it’s inappropriate.
If I still talked to them, my parents would wonder—out loud—whether Seth and I always had something going on, even when Kyle was alive.
They’d think I must have been cheating on Kyle with his brother.
Fortunately, I don’t talk to my parents anymore. Or anyone else from that time of my life, really.
Which leads me to the other big question. Damiano says a future with him means a future with Seth, as well.
Damiano and Seth. I know what Damiano wants—all three of us together. I know what Seth doesn’t want—a relationship with his dead brother’s widow.
But what do I want?
I wish I had someone to talk to. A close friend, or a trusted relative.
Instead, all I have are these letters, which I’m reading like some kind of strange, time-traveling voyeur.
I open I’s next letter and hold up my translation app.
Dearest V—The darkness of winter is lightening to something warmer, more tolerable. Not quite spring, no, not yet. But small grasses emerge from the earth, hopeful. You will soon be here, at my side, and we can walk and talk together. No more of this cruel distance.
Is it too much to ask that you remain here to live with me, for a while? I am in need of a roommate. I have an extra room and bed; it would not be improper.
Little fish, with you at my side, in my flat, it will never feel like winter again.
M— and S— are engaged to be married. It is the most interesting talk of the village.
I wish to tell them that the far more interesting news is your imminent arrival.
However, nobody would understand the true depth of my excitement.
I am both envious of, and happy for, M— and S—.
Their love is within their grasp, not meant to be hidden.
If only everyone had such an opportunity.
Love would solve so many ills in the world. It should not be punished or feared.
I set the letter down because tears are blurring my vision so much, I can’t read the rest of the words. I’s yearning is powerful, and powerfully tragic. Especially knowing that Great-Aunt Vivienne ended her years here in the US, alone. What happened to I?
There’s only one letter after this one. Fuck it. I’ll pay for the stupid app. I have the money—I have more money than I know what to do with.
A few navigations through the app’s payment portal, and I now have a one-month subscription. All for one silly letter.
Dearest V—
Yes! Yes, I will come to you. I cannot wait for our visit, and to meet your family, and to see the beautiful state of California. No one is speaking of M—and S—’s upcoming nuptials any longer. They are all talking of strange Irina and her funny American friend sending her a plane ticket to America.
Soon, I will be at your side, little fish, and cold winters will be nothing but an old nightmare.
Wait a minute...I remember that name. Irina.
She was mentioned once or twice at family gatherings, usually in hushed voices.
I never made the connection that she was Great-Aunt Vivienne’s “friend.” There was a funeral, I think, after her death.
My parents didn’t go, of course. They wouldn’t have approved.
My memories are so hazy, I don’t trust them. I pull up Ford’s contact in my phone and send him a text. Do you remember someone named Irina?
While I wait for him to respond, I go to the window and look out toward the Kavlans’ house. I haven’t heard from Matthew or Charmaine since the other day. Good. It’s a shame I can’t be friendly with my neighbors, but I don’t need that kind of drama in my life.
I also haven’t seen any hints of what Matthew said. No one has been hanging around the place. Ford came by the other day and pruned the bushes in the side yard. Annoying, especially after I told him I was interviewing landscaping companies. But he’s just trying to be helpful.
A creaking noise downstairs makes me jump. For fuck’s sake. Matthew really got into my head. There’s nobody here—if there was, they’d set off the alarm system.
Ford’s response comes in. She was Vivienne’s partner. I never met her. She died fifteen years ago. Cancer or some other kind of illness. I can’t remember.
I write back a quick thanks and sit with the pile of letters. Irina made it here, and she and Vivienne were together. No more harsh winters of the soul for Irina. She got to live out the rest of her life with her “little fish.” Their love overcame so much.
Yet here I am complaining about the idea of loving two men instead of one. What am I thinking?
I’ve fallen for Damiano. If Seth would have me, I’m certain I’d fall for him, too. A crazy, dangerous part of me already has, if I’m completely honest. Which is heartbreaking, especially if Seth isn’t willing.
But Damiano should know where my heart lies—with him, and with Seth.
Vivienne’s star sapphire ring twinkles on my finger. I can imagine Vivienne’s eyes twinkling in the same way as she winks and whispers, You know what to do.
Quickly, I get dressed. I need to go there. I need to tell him.
* * *
SETH
Fucking hell. This day keeps getting worse.
It’s Kyle’s birthday—a day where I usually bury my head in work.
But now that I’ve reconnected with Madison, I wonder how she’s handling it.
Perhaps it’s a mistake, but I picked up flowers that I’m going to deliver to her later.
She should know that I’m thinking of her today.
But now, I get the news that Charles Dumond changed his mind again and went with Point Ops on the Alaska job.
I shouldn’t care, but I do.
“So what?” Damiano leans back in his desk chair. His office is pristine and full of sunshine. It’s good to see him off his couch, back in his element. “Let Point Ops have the mission. They’ll do a shitty job, and then Dumond and Kerrick will know what a mistake they made.”
“You know it isn’t just that,” I say. “Now Point Ops has a foothold. Even if they fuck it up—”
“And they will.”
“You’re right, they will—they’ll make excuses, blame everyone else, and try for the next job. That’s their MO. It’s always ‘mitigating circumstances’ and pointing fingers at anyone else. They’re worse than politicians.”
Damiano’s phone buzzes. He glances down at it and frowns.
“Is that Alessia again?” I ask.
“No.” His expression darkens. “Although she’s putting up a fight about moving to another building.”
“Of course she is.” I shake my head. He was an idiot to try housing her in the Nove building to begin with.
“She keeps going on about how she’s seeing Francesco around the city. I believe she is manufacturing drama.”
“Ya think?” I shake my head again.
He rolls his eyes and taps at his phone, his frown deepening. “This is a message from Baldwin at SEPD. He says they went to question the truck driver who hit me, but he disappeared.”
“That’s odd.” I stare at the gleaming surface of his desk, thinking. “Isn’t it? Well, the guy was uninjured, so maybe he’s on another job. Truck drivers go all over the place, don’t they?”
“I suppose they do.” Damiano sets down his phone, leans back, and sighs. “But if that were the case, I doubt Baldwin would say the guy’s missing. He wants me to be on the alert.”
“Like—wait.” My mind races. “Does Baldwin think the guy hit you on purpose?”
“I guess. But if the driver is gone, no one can ask him.”
* * *
MADISON
I pull into the parking garage of Palazzo dei Nove. Last night, Damiano gave me a key and access card for the elevator. I think it’s a bit soon for such a show of trust—I haven’t even slept over here before. Our one sleepover was in Mirarosa and ended abruptly. Because of his ex-wife.
But I can’t lie, not even to myself. A large part of me is thrilled that he trusts me so implicitly.
It feels like a sign that he could be falling for me in the same way I’m falling for him.
We’re exclusive, I have a key to his place, and I just…
well, for the first time in my life before Kyle died, I feel secure.
Once I tell him that I’m open to including Seth in our relationship—if Seth is ever willing, that is—we won’t have anything holding us back.
I get out of my car, which doesn’t look at all like it fits in with the luxury cars parked around it. There is an older, white SUV down the line, so I’m not completely out of place.
A few steps toward the elevator at the other side of the garage, and I stop cold.
The woman facing me stops, as well. Alessia, Damiano’s ex, is only five feet away.
Her body is encased in a deep green sweater dress that accentuates her curves, and she wears matching heels.
She turns to the man standing a few feet behind her and says something quietly.
He nods once, then returns to the elevator.
Now she faces me fully. “You.”
I shrug. I’m tempted to add some sarcastic jazz hands and a jingle, but I simply say, “Yeah. Me.”
Her golden-brown eyes narrow. “You need to stay away from my husband.”
“I would…if he were actually your husband.” I really didn’t want this kind of confrontation today. I just want to talk to Damiano, tell him everything on my mind. Tell him that I’m choosing a future with him, even if that future might include Seth.
Instead, I have Alessia here, standing in my way like some kind of beautiful bridge troll in a green dress.
I take a step to go past her toward the elevator. She moves as if to block me.
She can’t be serious. She’s in heels and a dress. I have on jeans and tennis shoes. I could outrun her.
She seems to realize this at the same time as I do. She sneers. “Go ahead. You can try to steal him from me, but he knows how good I am for him, and he’ll come around.”
Instead of allowing me to go past her, she stomps by, knocking my shoulder with hers as she goes. What an asshole.
At the elevator, I have to wait because whoever she was with has used it to go back upstairs.
I try to calm my breathing. I won’t let her upset me, I won’t let her get to me.
This day is momentous. It’s Kyle’s birthday, and it’s the day I stop wandering aimlessly and start living for myself, choosing what—and who—I want in my life. For good.
As I’m about to step into the elevator, however, a surprised yelp catches my attention. I turn around.
Alessia disappears around the corner of a vehicle, but the angle of her leg makes it look as if she’s being dragged.
That’s…odd. And scary. I get my phone from my pocket as I rush toward the place she disappeared. That old SUV I noticed earlier. Over the top of the car next to it, I see a man pushing Alessia into the SUV.
I recognize that guy—he’s the same one who grabbed me in front of Nove.
“Hey! Cut it out—let her go!” I start dialing 911 on my phone.
I get as far as the first one when the guy says, “Drop it. Now.”
I look up. He’s holding a gun and pointing it at my head.
My heart jams in my throat. This can’t be happening, but it is. That gun is in my face. I can see the hollow of the barrel.
I don’t think. All I know is I don’t want to get shot.
I drop my phone. It clatters to the ground with a cracking sound.
The man says something in Italian to Alessia. Then he takes a step toward me and says, “Don’t fucking move.”
No. No, no, no. Never let them put you in the car.
I start running, eyes on the rough pavement, the bright white lines of parking spaces blurring as I go past.
His footsteps get closer. I don’t dare look back.
I’m maybe ten feet from the elevator when a big arm bands itself around my chest and yanks me back. I scream, kick, fight.
“Shut the fuck up or I’ll shoot you in the fucking head.” His Italian accent is strong, but I understand him just fine.
I understand the cold metal pressing against my temple even better.
I whimper, clawing at his arm. I don’t think I’m doing much damage through his jacket.
He drags me to the SUV, where Alessia cowers in the back seat.
“Hands together.” He waves the gun between us.
Alessia and I do as he asked, and he fishes a zip tie from his pocket with his free hand. He sets the gun on the floor, far away from my reach. Seeing me look at the gun, he shakes his head in warning. “Do not think about it or I will shoot you in the face.”
I bite my lip, eyes filling with tears, as he ties Alessia’s and my hands together, then our feet.
“On the floor.” He gestures with the weapon.
Alessia and I have to contort ourselves to fit behind the front seats, but we somehow manage. She avoids my gaze, her face an expression of terror and misery. What the fuck has she gotten me into?