“Do you have any idea how it feels to have someone look at you and have the reaction she had?”
I hear resentment in his words, but there’s more. There’s sadness. A sort of resignation.
“No, I guess you wouldn’t,” he says when I don’t reply.
“She was unprepared.”
“You think it goes better when they’re prepared?”
I’ve thought about this. Thought about it a lot. “No, I don’t.”
“Well, you’re right. But do you know how it fucking feels?” He gestures with a nod to my hand. “You deal with that, but you can wear a glove. I don’t have that luxury.”
“Your doctors are good,” I say. I mean it. Last time I saw him, it was a lot worse.
“Like you said, they’re putting me back together piece by piece. A sort of Frankenstein.” He shakes his head, mouth in a sneer. “But answer my question, Brother. Do you know what it feels like to have a woman scream when she sees your face?”
“Why don’t you tell me. You clearly want to.” Resentment marks my words too. That and guilt.
I should hear it, shouldn’t I? I owe him that much. Because he was right in a way. It was my fault. I was driving.
And maybe subconsciously I saw my opportunity to hurt him and took it. I mean, I’d been taking the fucking hurt for as long as I could fucking remember. Would anyone even blame me?
I drink my whiskey.
No.
That’s not how it happened.
And what followed the accident, I certainly never intended that.
“The Gates of Hell.” He gestures toward the entrance, changing the subject. “Fitting for this hell. You’ve gotten better.”
I nod my acknowledgment of the compliment. I’m still waiting for him to continue with the other topic.
He stands, walks toward me. “You got everything you wanted in the end, didn’t you?”
“No one gave me a damn thing. I earned it all.”
“Damian Di Santo. Head of the family. A man more feared than even our father was in his day. Business is good, I hear.”
“I worked my ass off to get here after Dad dropped the ball and you disappeared.”
“And now you get the pretty girl, too.” He goes on as if I haven’t spoken.
My jaw tightens at the mention of Cristina like it didn’t at those other things.
“What’s it like to have it all, Brother?” he asks.
“Tell me what it feels like to have a woman scream when she sees you, Lucas.”
“You don’t want to know, Damian.” He puts his empty glass down. “I’m tired. It’s been a long day.” He walks away. “Long fucking life.”
“Brother.”
He stops and turns back.
“Tell me.”
He studies me, eyes narrowed. Resentment. Not sadness now. “You and your fiancée have a big day tomorrow. Get some sleep. You look like shit.”
“Fuck you.”
“You already fucked me when you drove our car onto those fucking tracks.”
I step toward him. “That’s not how it happened, and you fucking know it.”
“How does revenge taste? That’s what it was, wasn’t it? For all those years you took it while you think I stood by and let it happen? While you think I wanted it to happen.”
“I didn’t realize the fire damaged your brain, too. The accident was caused by Joseph Valentina. And I lost as much as you did.”
“No, not quite as much,” he says and stalks away.
“Lucas.”
He stops and turns again.
“It was us against them once. Or don’t you remember?”
He snorts, and even in the dimly lit rooms, I see his pain. “That was a long time ago, Brother. You just make sure your girl stays out of my way or she’s fair game, ring or not.”4CristinaI took shelter in his arms.
After seeing his brother, I felt safe in Damian’s arms.
“What’s the point of keeping you when I’m through?”
I groan as I make myself remember what he said, then push the covers off and get up. Something is seriously wrong with me.
I walk into the bathroom only pausing for a moment on my reflection—I’ve looked better—before bending down to open the cupboard under the sink. Inside I’d hidden the knife I took from the hallway. After cleaning it, I’d stored it here, and now, given the circumstances, I’d feel better sleeping with it under my pillow.
But as I look through the cabinet, which is stocked with toiletries, I empty everything onto the floor to find it missing.
I’d hidden it inside one of the boxes of tampons.
For a moment, I doubt whether or not I’m remembering clearly. I go through the cabinet again, and then all the drawers, but I don’t find it. The knife is gone.
Damian had asked me about my walk the morning after. Did he have my room searched once we’d gone to the city and confiscated the knife? Was it Elise?
“Crap.”
I straighten, meeting my eyes in the reflection. I really do look like shit.
Turning on the tap, I wash my face before going back into the bedroom. I test the doors to double-check they’re locked before I get into bed. I can’t sleep, though. My mind is racing, and that eerie tune keeps playing in my head.