His eyes didn’t stray from me as he spoke on the phone.
I thought I could hear a man on the other line, and it didn’t sound like he was speaking any language I understood.
“When did you last see him?” Allister was quiet for a while before a spark of frustration lit in his eyes. “I’ll be there tomorrow.” He hung up.
Silence swept into the room.
This was over.
Disappointment . . . and something heavier flooded me.
But then he dropped to his haunches in front of me, ran a hand across my cheek, and kissed me. Shock and warmth erupted in my chest. I moaned, wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and climbed onto him until I sat on his thighs. He tasted so good, so addictive. And I savored every lick and dip, every press of our lips. He kissed me without any reservation, like he had a right to, like I was his.
The kiss became different than any I’d ever experienced. More gentle . . . more momentous, and I didn’t like that. I reached for his belt, but he stopped me with a vise grip on my wrist.
“Allister,” I begged.
“I just had my tongue inside you,” he said, annoyed. “You can start calling me by my first name.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
His eyes darkened as he took in my expression. “You forgot my name.”
When I didn’t deny it, he shook his head and then dropped me on my ass on the bed. Oh, God, what was it? I’d been tipsy when I’d asked him a while ago, and it hadn’t helped that I only ever referred to him as Allister or Officer.
“I have to go away for a while,” he said, slipping his suit jacket on. “You can stay here tonight, or I’ll take you home.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Do your goddamn homework before getting in someone’s bed, Gianna.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You know the name of every woman you sleep with?”
“Yes.”
I sighed, suddenly feeling very naked. And tired. I didn’t want to go to my apartment, not tonight. Magdalena only came by a few times a week, and it was lonely there.
“I’d like to stay here,” I murmured.
He stopped in front of me. “We’ll talk about this when I get back.”
“This?”
“Us.”
Oh. A myriad of confusing feelings rushed me at once, so I decided to avoid all of them.
“Do you have a decent cereal selection?”
He ran a thumb across my cheek. “You won’t forget me.” It was an order, but a tiny amount of vulnerability showed through. It warmed my chest. My hair was a mess, the hair tie slipping halfway down my ponytail. He pulled it from the messy locks and then put it in his pocket.
“How could someone ever forget your face?” I said.
For some reason, he thought that was funny. A smile touched the corner of his lips, and it was so sexy I stood up and kissed him. He made a noise of disapproval in the back of his throat, but he let me have that kiss. Soft, wet, and sweet.
He slipped a business card into my hand. “Call this number if you need anything.”
“Sure thing, Officer.”
He smacked me lightly on the ass and walked out of the room.
I later did my homework. His name was Christian.
But it didn’t matter.
It would be three more years before I’d ever see him again.
I walked down 7th Avenue, struggling to balance my phone, latte, yoga mat, and purse.
“I mean, what kind of guy goes down on a girl and then doesn’t even call her back so she can reciprocate?” Those were the first words out of Valentina’s mouth after I’d had to juggle my things to get my phone to my ear.
“Why did I tell you about this again?” I asked.
“Because I’m an expert of men, and you wanted me to dissect your pretty fed’s brain.”
True. “And?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but, honey, I don’t think he’s into you.”
I mulled that around. I couldn’t say her words felt right—he kissed me—but why else wouldn’t he have even called after two weeks? A vulnerability had followed me around since that night. He’d seen me naked, had made me come apart under his hands. I’d begged him for more. And I’d gotten nothing from him. He hadn’t even taken off his stupid tie. Maybe it was all part of his game. Or maybe he was already bored of me. Frustration heated my cheeks.
“He only had Raisin Bran,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I took a sip of my latte, then said, “He gave me his number.”
“Really? Why haven’t you called him?”
“Because I don’t want to call him. I just want to know why he hasn’t called me.” Perfectly logical.
Valentina laughed. “Listen, your fed is a total hottie—God knows, I wouldn’t tell him no if he’d like to go downtown—but he’s dirty. And I mean, really dirty.”
“Trust me, I already know. He killed Prince Charming.”
“What? Oh, never mind. I don’t want to know. Ricardo told me nobody knows where the fed’s from, that he sort of just popped up in the underworld one day with connections from La Eme to the Bratva.”
I dodged a cyclist at the last second. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, he’s this super-important guy with super-important connections . . .” I muttered, rolling my eyes.
“Apparently, he’s good with computers, like some kind of genius or something. Like Einstein, just without a conscience. Guess that’s why the Bureau picked him up. You can’t trust anyone who works for the government, Gianna. He’d probably knock up another woman with twins the second you two became steady.”
“Your imagination is extraordinary.”
“Thanks.”
A beep told me I had another call, and when I saw it was from Chicago a zip of anticipation shot through me.
“I have to go, Valentina. I’ll chat with you later.”
“Toodles.”
I answered the other call. “Hello?”
“Gianna.”
The sorrow in her voice cooled my veins.
I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, my pulse fluttering in my throat. “Tara . . . how is she?”
A long pause, and I knew.
I knew my mamma was dead.
“No . . .” I stood still, but the ground moved, threatening to crumble and swallow me whole. My throat felt thick, and my words were nearly inaudible. “I’m supposed to see her tomorrow.” The plane ticket to Chicago suddenly weighed twenty pounds in my purse.
“Gianna . . . I’m so sorry, but she’s gone. She was strong for so long . . .”
My latte slipped from my fingers, splattering on the pavement. The sun warmed my skin, but inside, I was nothing but ice. My ears rang, and the bustle of this New York City street was shrouded by the hands of grief.
“I’ll come see her tomorrow,” I said mindlessly.
“She loved you so very much.” Tears and a smile touched the nurse’s voice. “You were everything to her.”
Pink church dress. Her smile. A hand on my heart. “Dance to this . . . whenever and however you want.”
Pain, raw and angry, escaped from its cage deep inside and grabbed me by the throat.
“Why?” I sobbed. Why her? Why was this world so unfair? So bitter? Why did love hurt worse than pain?
“The fact she survived such an aggressive cancer for so long was a miracle, Gianna. You were blessed with more time with her.”
The only blessing was Tara. She was the only reason I could see my mamma in the hospice center she’d resided in for the last two years. My papà forbade me from visiting—from breathing,if he could.
Tears burned the backs of my eyes, my heart, my soul. “Thank you, Tara, for everything you did for her . . . for me.”
“Yes, well, I couldn’t live with myself if I kept a mother from her daughter.”
As I stared blankly ahead of me, the world felt so big, so heavy, its weight too painful to bear.
Someone bumped into my shoulder, knocking my phone from my hand.
It cracked on the sidewalk.
I didn’t remember how I made it home. But sometime later, I stood on my terrace as rain spilled from the sky. Cold. Lonely. High. I cried, sobs that rocked my shoulders. I cried twenty-four years’ worth of pain. I cried until my stomach ached and I could cry no more.
It was the last thing I remembered as I woke on a hard jail cell floor.
One count of drug possession and driving under the influence.
Numbness had spread through my veins and settled in my heart. I sat with my arms around my knees, staring ahead. I somehow knew Allister wouldn’t come, but I didn’t want him to. I didn’t want anyone to save me. Maybe this was where I needed to be. Nonetheless, I was escorted out of the precinct thirty minutes later and straight to Ace’s club.
He glanced at me, shook his head, and looked back at the papers on his desk. “Do you understand the shit it takes to get you out of jail? I have enough on my plate without having to look out for you.”
I understood the significance of what he’d said, but still, I felt nothing. Someone’s suit jacket rested on my shoulders. It was heavy, and for a second, I thought it was guilt.
“I’d fucking leave you there if I didn’t think you’d crack like an egg the first time someone interrogates you. You need a damn therapist, Gianna,” he bit out, running a hand through his hair. “The shit you went through . . . Your papà makes me fucking sick. I wanted to end him when I was ten years old.”
Our fathers had been family friends. I’d known Nico since I was five, and he six. Maybe it was the perfect romantic story—Nico had seen most of my twisted little pieces. But I could never love Nico. He hadn’t saved me.
“I know what you’re going to say, but I have to ask it: Would you like to go home to Chicago?”
I shook my head.
“Then your single life is over.” His gaze met mine. “Pick one of my men, Gianna, or I will do it for you.”
One week later, I became Mrs. Richard Marino.