Antonio was like his son, only wrapped in pain and delivered with a side of righteousness, even as the cross around his neck singed a hole through his skin. After two years of marriage, I didn’t believe he could even feel sympathy, and I knew it was how he’d climbed the ladder to be one of the most feared men in the United States.
As for why he was revered—well, when Antonio was warm, he was like the sun. Everyone wanted his attention because, when he gave it, it was absolute, as though you were the only one who had ever mattered. Regardless of the heartache he’d caused me, the walls I’d put up and some I still maintained, I wasn’t a match.
Now, I had to figure out how to give up the sun.
“I really don’t like waiting around for you.”
“I really don’t like you fucking my friends.”
“Watch your mouth,” he chastised, walking us back into the hotel.
Sometimes, it felt like a scream was trapped in my throat, one that had been struggling to get free for the past twenty-two years. It had a voice, a body, fiery red hair, and a heart of steel. I was terrified she would escape, that her echo would burn this world to the ground and leave me standing alone, in smoke and ash. I pushed the feeling down, down, until a light sheen of sweat cooled my skin.
We passed the ballroom doors and, as I glanced inside, my gaze collided with Allister’s.
The exchange was a blur of heat, the burn of liquor, a flicker of pitch-black as his eyes dropped to Antonio’s grip on my arm. And then it was gone, replaced with gold wallpaper as we walked down a hall toward the terrace.
We stepped outside, and I sucked in a breath. The night was cold and dark, but instead of rubbing my arms for warmth, I let the icy breeze bite into my skin. Maybe I was a masochist, or maybe pain was one of the only things that made me feel alive.
The terrace was empty, save for two guests from the benefit smoking a cigarette.
“Give us a moment, yeah?”
It wasn’t a question, no matter how my husband had voiced it.
The men shared a hesitant look but didn’t take more than a couple of seconds to drop their cigarettes and head back through the double doors that led into the ballroom. Light fanned across the terrace floor before the doors closed and darkness consumed us once again.
A distant memory swept into the present.
“How could you love such a terrifying man?” my ex-best-friend Sydney had asked me as we sat on my husband’s office couch together and he talked on the phone.
I’d only had to think about the question for a moment.
“He listens to me.”
I guessed he listened to her, too.
“Care to explain what this is?”
I turned to Antonio to see he held a small, round compact in his hand. My heart beat in the base of my throat. Here was one of those walls about to come tumbling down.
“What is it, Gianna?” he bit out.
“Birth control pills.”
“Why do you have them?”
“Birth control.”
Antonio’s eyes blazed with anger, like two flames in the dark. We were devotedly Catholic, and birth control was frowned upon by the Church. But I knew what bothered him even more was that he wanted another child. Another son to rule his empire.
“How long?”
I looked him straight in the eye. “Since the day we were married.”
Since the night you stepped on my heart.
The slap across my face was immediate. It whipped my head to the side and knocked the breath from my lungs. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.
“The things you make me do, Gianna,” he growled. “Do you think I want to hit you?”
My bitter laugh carried on the wind.
The sad part of it all was I only knew from TV this wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
He chucked the pills over the railing. “No more, do you hear me?”
I shook my head.
“No. More. Or, I swear, I’ll cut you off. No more money, no more secret trips to Chicago—and yes, I know you’ve been there.”
My heart froze to ice and shattered.
“You know your papà forbade you from visiting your mamma.” Softness laced through his voice. “I haven’t told him, only because I know what it means to you.”
She’s sick. I couldn’t say the words because I knew they wouldn’t be steady.
“I have to see her.”
“I know.” He stepped closer, the smoky scent of his cologne reaching me. “I know everything about you, Gianna. Where you go, what you do, who you speak with.” He ran a hand into my hair, and I fought the urge to jerk away because he’d only pull the strands. “You’re mine. And I look after what’s mine.”
“If you care about me at all, Antonio, you’ll get your filthy hands off me and give me a divorce.”
“Do you think I would take just anyone for a wife? I wanted you”—he pressed his lips to my ear—“so I took you, and I’m going to fucking keep you.” I tried to pull my head back, but his grip stayed strong. “I allow you free rein, Gianna, but test me, and I will lock you up so fast. Do you understand me?”
“If you think I will even sleep with you now, you are delusional.”
“You’ll cool off.” He ran a thumb across my cheek. “And when you do, you’ll realize you want children, too, cara.” His grip found my chin, a rough caress. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re not wearing your ring. You’ll put it back on when you get home, or you’ll wake up tomorrow with it glued to your finger.”
The glow of the ballroom highlighted his gray suit as he left through the double doors.
A tremor started in my hands.
The doors closed, and his words came out to swallow me with the shadows.
No more secret trips to Chicago.
No more secret trips to Chicago.
No more secret trips to Chicago.
The tremor moved up my arms, creeping into my vessels and veins. I shook from the inside out. My lungs tightened, and every breath closed them a little more.
Black spots swam in my vision.
I grasped the terrace handrail, the stone like ice beneath my fingers.
In. Out. In. Out.
Light fanned across the terrace, alerting me that someone had stepped outside.
I squeezed my eyes closed, tears escaping my bottom lashes. Gianna, Gianna, Gianna. I tensed and waited for it. I waited for the world to recognize how damaged I was on the inside. To crack me open and see everything my papà had from the beginning. A different part of me, one quiet but strong, wanted to shout, to scream, to let her rule with a steel heart and red hair.
“Do you want to know my favorite?”
My grip tightened on the railing.
In. Out.
“Andromeda.” Allister moved closer. “An autumn constellation, forty-four light-years away.” His steps were smooth and indifferent, but his voice was dry, as though he found my panic attack positively boring.
His attitude brought a small rush of annoyance in, but it was suddenly swayed as my lungs contracted and wouldn’t release. I couldn’t keep a strangled gasp from escaping.
“Look up.”
It was an order, carrying a harsh edge.
With no fight in me, I complied and tilted my head. Tears blurred my vision. Stars swam together and sparkled like diamonds. I was glad they weren’t. Humans would find a way to pluck them from the sky.
“Andromeda is the dim, fuzzy star to the right. Find it.”
My eyes searched it out. The stars weren’t often easy to see, hidden behind smog and the glow of city lights, but sometimes, on a lucky night like tonight, pollution cleared and they became visible. I found the star and focused on it.
“Do you know her story?” he asked, his voice close behind me.
A cold wind touched my cheeks, and I inhaled slowly.
“Answer me.”
“No,” I gritted.
“Andromeda was boasted to be one of the most beautiful goddesses.” He moved closer, so close his jacket brushed my bare arm. His hands were in his pockets and his gaze was on the sky. “She was sacrificed for her beauty, tied to a rock by the sea.”
I imagined her, a red-haired goddess with a heart of steel chained to a rock. The question bubbled up from the depths of me.
“Did she survive?”
His gaze fell to me. Down the tear tracks to the blood on my bottom lip. His eyes darkened, his jaw tightened, and he looked away.
“She did.”
I found the star again.
Andromeda.
“Ask me what her name means.”