Tears stream down my cheeks. His name is on the tip of my tongue, so I bite on it hard enough to spill blood.
He shoves the dresser into the corner with a loud scrape and leaves the bedroom without a single glance at me.
CHAPTER 32
GEMMA
When I wake up, I’m alone.
Ras’s side of the bed is cold.
A ball appears in my throat as I remember last night. I lied and said I didn’t love him even though nothing could be further from the truth.
My fingers claw at the sheets, nearly tearing the fabric, and I press my face into his pillow, searching for his scent. It fills my lungs. Silent sobs wrack my chest, and my tears soak the pillowcase, but the cathartic relief is temporary. When I dry my eyes, everything is still the same.
I’m leaving the man I love today.
I pull myself together and get out of bed. I don’t want Ras to see me looking like a mess, so I take my time putting on my makeup and fixing up my hair. The bruise on my cheek is gone, but the one on my heart will be there forever.
Papà’s plane is supposed to come for me this morning, landing in a small private airfield a short drive from here. There isn’t much to pack. I pull the linen shirt and dresses I bought at the market off their hangers and stuff them into my tote. The necklace Ras got me from the jewelry shop in town hangs off a hook in the closet. I can’t bring myself to leave it, even though I know every time I’ll look at it, it’ll probably make me cry. I slip it around my neck, and the stone is cool against my skin.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m ready to go.
I find Ras in the kitchen, slumped on a stool by the island. He looks like he hasn’t slept.
My gaze brushes over his profile, noting the dark bags under his eyes and the disheveled hair. On the counter is a half-empty bottle of whiskey. Has he been drinking through the night? There’s no glass in front of him, but I spot one in the sink.
He hears me and shoots me a lifeless glance.
I don’t think he’s drunk.
I think he stopped drinking a while ago and spent the rest of the time thinking about what a bitch I am.
I hope that’s what he did. I hope he hates me. I deserve it. God, I deserve it.
Maybe when he returns to Damiano and smooths things over with him, he’ll forgive me. With time, he’ll realize what a mistake it would have been to throw his life away for someone like me. He’ll see me by Rafaele’s side and wonder how he ever could have loved me.
No matter how much it hurts now, I’m making the right choice. After I’m home and everything is fixed, Dem will take Ras back. He’ll forgive him. I’ll make sure of it.
I drop my bag on the ground, pick up the burner phone and start flipping through a local newspaper for a taxi number. I should have done this yesterday, but after our fight, I was too much of a coward to face him.
“I’ll take you,” he says, his voice no more than a harsh rasp. He stands up and drains a glass of water.
Grief batters my insides. “I can take a taxi.”
He doesn’t answer, just takes the keys, picks up my bag, and brushes past me.
We get into the car. The silence is suffocating, but the alternative—speaking—would be even worse. What is there to say? Words won’t make this better.
He must be thinking—I’ve given up so much for her but it’s still not enough to make this work. What more does she want from me? I have nothing else to give.
He doesn’t understand. When you love someone, you don’t want them to lose everything because of you. You don’t want to be the end. You want to be the beginning.
When we get to the edge of the airfield, my throat is in a vise. He parks the car and places his palms on his thighs, his gaze aimed forward at where the plane is waiting.
I want to kiss him, but even after the lies I’ve told him, I discover that my cruelty has a limit. I don’t move except to curl my fingers around the pendant.
“I’ll never forget this,” I whisper.
His Adam’s apple bobs. For a moment, it looks like he wants to say something, but then his jaw hardens, and I know he won’t.
I take one final breath, savoring the way his scent is laced through the air, and then I get out of the car.
Vince is waiting for me in a black sedan when I come out of the airport. I’m escorted by two of Papà’s guys. I’m fully aware they’re watching my every move. One of them opens the car door, and I slide into the back seat beside my brother.
Vince studies me for a long moment. “You okay?” he asks finally, his tone guarded.
I give him a terse nod. “I’m fine.” My anger at him pales in comparison to the other emotions swirling inside my chest. I don’t have the energy for a confrontation, but I’m determined not to let him see how much I’m hurting.
His gaze lingers on the side of my face before he says to the driver, “Take us home.”
A bitter feeling solidifies inside my gut. Home. Where we’re going isn’t my home. Not anymore. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to walk by Papà’s office without remembering what happened there.
“Why did you decide to come back?” Vince asks as we start moving.
The long flight gave me a chance to put together my official story, and it hangs on my ability to mask my true feelings for Ras. I’m going to say I begged him to take me away, and that he obliged despite the grave risk to himself. I’ll blame my poor decisions on my distressed state after Papà’s attack. And I’ll explain that when I calmed down, I realized my place is back in New York.
If anyone asks why Ras didn’t escort me back, I’ll say it’s because Damiano summoned him back to Italy.
By now, Ras has to be on his way back home, right? What else would he do? And Damiano will take him back. He has to. I wanted to call Vale as soon as I landed so I could tell her the same story I’m about to tell Vince, but my phone was practically ripped out of my hands by the guys who came to pick me up. Something tells me it will be a while before I get it back.
“Did Cleo tell you what happened before Papà got arrested?”
Vince looks uncomfortable. “Yes.”
“Then you can understand that I wasn’t thinking clearly. I convinced Ras to help me get away because I didn’t know what else to do. I was scared.”
A jolt of surprise travels up my spine when Vince reaches over and takes my hand in his.
“Gem, I’m sorry,” he says, his voice wavering. “I had no idea Papà was hurting you. Cleo told me you said it wasn’t the first time either.”
I bite my tongue. You may have had an idea if you hadn’t left us here to do whatever the hell you’re doing in Europe.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. I told Papà if he ever does it again, I’ll tell Rafaele to cut the five years Papà has left as don short. The only reason he’s getting out of jail is because you’re here now. He owes you everything.”
He squeezes my limp hand, but I quickly tug it back on my lap. His words feel empty and a few years too late. I don’t need his protection and love now. It’s too late for that.
“When are you going back to Europe?” I ask.
“After your wedding.”