That itch turns into a stabbing pain that hits me right in the heart. No. No, it can’t be. A dread seizes me. I’m the Ice Man, impossible to shake, impossible to crack, but Ella’s words have me terrified.
“In Los Angeles…?”
She nods. “Yeah. Downtown.”
No. Please God no.
The world is cruel; I know that, but this would be the cruelest joke ever played on a man.
Cold adrenaline dumps through me. I try not to show it, but Ella knows me already. She tilts her head to the side. “What? What is it, baby?”
I take a deep breath and grip the table for support. “Ella. What…what is your last name?”
Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.
“Corllando,” she replies. “Why?”
And then my entire world ends.
“Sasha?” Ella says with concern as she pulls her chair over beside me. “What is it? I’ve never seen you like this. Are you okay?”
“No.” I shake my head as everything comes crashing down.
Don’t tell her. You can’t tell her.
It will ruin everything.
But as I look at her—as I see the hope and innocence in her face, I know I can’t lie to her. She thinks I’m a good man, but this proves once and for all that I’m not. I have to tell her for her own good.
“Sasha, baby,” she pleads, her hand on mine. “Tell me. What is it?”
When I tell her, I can’t even look her in the eye.
“Ella. I…I killed your father.”
6
Ella
Stop. Why is he saying this?
Is this some kind of cruel joke? I wait, staring at his face, praying with every fiber of my being that he’s about to crack a smile and tell me it was all just some big joke. That way I can just be mad at him for being a little bit mean to me.
But I wait and wait and wait, and nothing happens.
Slowly, the tears fill my eyes. The expression on his face doesn’t change. It’s a vulnerability I’ve yet to see, even when we made love.
Christ…I just made love to the man who killed my father.
“Sasha…” I mutter. “What—what are you saying?”
“I can’t lie to you, baby.” Even his voice falters as he speaks. “Do you know what your father did?”
“He was an insurance salesman!” I cry out as images of my dad, proudly dressed in his suit and tie, waiting at the foot of the stairs to hug me before going to work, fill my mind. “Why would you kill an insurance salesman!?”
More pain washes across Sasha’s face. Seeing him this upset hurts me. They call him the Ice Man; couldn’t he stay cold right now for fuck’s sake?
“Your father wasn’t an insurance salesman,” he tells me. “He was known around Los Angeles as Big Frank. He…he was a gangster, Ella.”