Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I wake up alone in a strange room. No, not a strange room. Marcel's bedroom. He really needs to let me redecorate.

My mouth is so dry. Argh.

I climb out of the bed and head for the adjoining bathroom. After freshening up, I find a new toothbrush in the cabinet and use it to brush my teeth. Trying to erase the awful taste in my mouth. As soon as my teeth don't feel like they have a coating of fur on them, I comb my fingers through my hair before helping myself to Marcels closet. I pull down one of his hoodies and throw it over my head. It's so long it's practically a dress on me.

Then I walk out of the room and head downstairs. I have no idea where he is. And, honestly, it's probably going to take me an hour just to find him in this house. Unless I ask one of the many men standing around. I find one of them at the bottom of the stairs.

"Hey, um, do you know where Marcel is?" I ask.

The guy stares at me like I'm some kind of alien for a full minute before he clears his throat. "Games room. Down that way, third door on the left," he says.

"Thank you," I say, moving in the direction he pointed.

I don't find Marcel in the games room. I do, however, find one of his brothers. Santo. The one I haven't met yet. I've met the other three, although briefly. Santo looks up at me, and there's a deadness in his eyes that takes me back to another time.

"Sorry… I was looking for Marcel," I say, suddenly feeling like I need to flee.

"He'll be back in a minute. You can come in. I don't bite," he tells me.

I walk into the room and sit on the sofa opposite him. "Santo, right? I'm Zoe."

"I know who you are," he says.

Okay, so this is clearly not the friendliest brother out of the lot of them. Where is Vin? I like that one better. I look around the room, trying not to fidget.

"What happened to you?" Santo asks.

My head snaps back to him. "Excuse me?"

"Your skittish as all fuck and you look… Well, broken knows broken. So, like I said, what happened to you?"

Broken knows broken. What the hell does that even mean?

I look at him, really look at him. And for a reason unknown to me, my mouth opens. "My father sold me to repay his debts when I was seventeen. I was auctioned off to the highest bidder and then my body was used against my will over and over again. So if I come across broken, maybe I am. But I have a damn good reason to be."

"Didn't say you were broken without reason. Just that you were," he grunts in reply. "My father beat my fiancée to death, while she was pregnant with our child on the night before we were meant to be married. Guess we're both the result of shitty fucking fathers."

"Guess so." I sigh. "I'm sorry about your fiancée."

"Yeah, me too." He frowns. "Do you think it's possible to know someone your whole life but not really know them at all?"

"Yes, I do," I tell him. "People only show you what they want you to see."

"You're smart," Santo says. "Probably too smart to be with Marcello."

"He's pretty smart too." I shrug.

"Sometimes. But he went and fell in love. And that's just plain dumb."

"Why is it dumb?" I ask him. It's way too damn early for a deep conversation like this, but looking at Santo, I don't think it's early for him. I'd say it's late. I doubt he's been to bed yet.

"Because love is the thing that will end you."

"We're all dying, Santo. We're born to die. Love isn't what ends us. Life is," I tell him. "Love is what makes us live. Love makes everything better, not worse."

"That's because you haven't lost love. And I hope for your sake you never do."

"I don't doubt that you loved her, but have you ever thought it's possible that maybe there's another love out there for you?"

Santo glares at me. "No," he snaps. "I'm not a cheater. I was fucking loyal. I am fucking loyal. Even if she wasn't."

Even if she wasn't? Did his fiancée cheat on him? But that's not a question I'm going to ask him. I'll ask Marcel later.

"Moving on isn't cheating. It's living. You might not be ready for it yet, but one day you're going to meet someone, and I hope when that day comes, you've healed enough to open yourself up to what could be."

"That day isn't going to come. Nice chat, Zoe. Tell Marcel I got tired of waiting for his slow ass." Santo pushes up from the sofa opposite me and walks out of the room.

There's a part of me that wonders if the saying it's better to have loved and lost, then to never have loved at all is all just bullshit. Because looking at Santo, seeing the heartbreak written all over him, yeah, I don't ever want to experience that kind of pain.

He's right. I am broken. But even with everything I've been through, I'm not as broken as he is. Maybe it's because I've had time to heal. Time to conceal my scars a little better. Or maybe it's because I found Marcel.

"Hey, I didn't know you were awake," Marcel says, walking into the room almost like I conjured him up somehow. He leans down and presses his lips to my forehead. And I melt into him. It's such a tender gesture. Something so simple, yet it gives me butterflies every time he does it.

"Um, yeah, I was just talking to Santo," I tell him.

"Santo?"

"Uh-huh."

"Look, whatever he said to you, don't listen. He's not himself right now."

"Did his fiancée cheat on him?"

"Shelli? Why would you ask that?"

"Just something he said… It was odd." I lift a single shoulder into a half shrug.

"What did he say?" Marcel asks while avoiding my question.

"Something about him being loyal even if she wasn't. It just caught me off guard."

"She did, but we didn't think he knew," Marcel says. "We found her journals. And, well, they're… descriptive."

"Why wouldn't you tell him? Show him?"

"Because he's already devastated. He doesn't need to lose her twice," he says.

Maybe Marcel is right, but knowing the truth might also free him in a way as well. I don't know for sure. I mean, I haven't experienced the kind of loss he has. I guess no one really knows how they would react until they have to experience it.

"Did you have any plans today?"

"It's Saturday. So, not really."

"Good, it's family barbie day," he says.

"Barbie day?"

"Barbecue. You know, sun, backyard, beers, meat on the barbecue."

"Oh, a grill out. You guys do that?" I ask him.

"Why wouldn't we?"

"I don't know. I just… I guess with all the suits and serious grumpiness wafting off you and your brothers half the time, I didn't see you as the grill-out type." I shrug.

"You're in for a treat, then. And I'm not grumpy. Gio definitely. But me? I'm the easygoing brother."

"I actually think that Vin might win the title for easygoing brother." I smile.

"You need to stay away from Vin. He's a bad influence," Marcel grunts.

"Too bad. He's the brother I like the most so far," I admit. "Do you think we can stop by my place so I can change?"

"I had Ivan get you some things. You've got a bag in my room. Our room. You're staying with me for a bit."

"What?"

"I just thought that I spend basically every night at your place. So it's time for you to spend some time at mine," Marcel says, but he's not looking me in the eye.

"What aren't you telling me, Marcello?"

"I want you here because it's safer. We have this place locked up tighter than Fort Knox. No one can get to you here."

"Why would someone want to get to me?"

"I don't know. But I'm working on finding out. These shootings aren't random, Zoe."

"I know that, but I thought… I guess I thought someone was targeting you."

Marcel shakes his head. "I wish they were."

Someone is after me? My hands start to shake. I can feel my heart rate picking up speed.

"Hey. It's going to be okay. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"I don't want anything to happen to you either. I just… I want it all to stop. I want to wake up and not even know the mafia world is real."

"You don't really want that. This world is your family, Zoe. The Petrovs, the Valentinos, me . We're your family."

"It's not safe, Marcel."

"Life isn't safe, babe. We're all born to die eventually. But you and I? we're going to live a long time. We'll die of old age. You'll probably get tired of me after about sixty years and stab me to death or something."

"That's not funny." I laugh. "I wouldn't stab you. It's too messy, remember? And I'll be old and weak. I'll just poison your food instead."

"When we get our own place, I'm hiring a chef. You are never going in the kitchen," Marcel replies with wide eyes.