Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
Angelo
The first step in laying down the cornerstone of building a new life is tearing down the old one.
I wait until Sabella is strong enough before I drive her to the new house. She's apprehensive in the car. Her hands lie still and relaxed next to her on the seat, but her body is tense.
Wrapping my fingers around hers, I take my eyes off the road for a second to smile at her. Despite the turmoil churning in her soft, honey-brown gaze, she returns the gesture like the brave woman she is.
I place her hand on my thigh to change gears before cupping it again.
I hate taking her there.
I hate putting her through this.
But she needs to face this hurdle before she can move on.
We both need to.
She stares through the window, withdrawing into herself. I sense it without having to look at her. Gently bringing her back to the present—to me—I rub my thumb over her knuckles. I want to tell her it's going to be fine. I want to tell her we'll tear down every obstacle that comes our way. There's no question about it. After surviving what we did, there's nothing we can't conquer. Yet I say nothing. Some words are redundant. The connection between us runs too deep. After living through what we have, we know each other's thoughts and feelings.
I check in the rearview mirror to make sure the convoy follows. I'm not taking my wife anywhere without an army of guards. The SUVs trail behind us in a cloud of dust. Another car has already gone ahead. My men would've scouted the area before we arrive.
The graveyard with its sturdy crosses comes into view. The branches of genista corsica bushes that grow in the rocky soil stoop under the weight of their yellow flowers. The spring scenery is different to the winter landscape I introduced Sabella to, but some memories grow roots that cling to the season in which they were made, not allowing the sun to break through the stark, cold darkness of an unforgiving winter.
That's why I decided to bring her here—to cut out those roots and to hack off the thorny branches that throw shadows over her heart.
When the house appears in the distance, she goes rigid. So do I. It's futile to try not to show her. She knows me better than anyone, even better than my twin knew me.
"All right?" I ask, drawing soothing circles over the back of her hand.
Her fingers tighten on my thigh before she pulls her shoulders straight and says, "Yes."
That's my girl.
I park next to the path but don't get out to open her door. I give her a couple of seconds, allowing her to find her bearings and to process her feelings.
I clench the wheel hard. The urge to turn the car around and drive to any other destination is huge. The only reason I cut the engine is because this is the only path to healing. I didn't consult a psychiatrist this time, but I feel it in my gut.
"Ready?" I ask in a gentle tone.
She nods.
I scan the surroundings by habit as I exit and go around the car to get her door. When I offer a hand to help her out, she places her palm in mine. Intertwining our fingers, I keep her close to me as I lead her to the edge of the path.
She tilts her face to look up at the house. I follow her gaze. What does she see? Bitter memories built on mistakes or an unbreakable bond that refused to be destroyed? What I see is strength and courage. A beautiful, remarkable woman. One of a kind. There's no one like her.
I'm honest enough to admit that she doesn't truly need me, not for this or for anything. She's capable enough to survive on her own. I'm not here to lend her my strength. I'm only here because she allows me to be. In this, there's no question who holds all the power.
Seemingly having had her fill, she steels her back and stands taller.
I wrap my fingers around her nape in a possessive and comforting hold. She may not need me, but I do need her. I always will.
"Would you like to go inside?" I ask, studying the perfect lines of her profile.
Her delicately sculptured jaw hardens. "I don't need to."
Pulling her under the crook of my arm, I nod at the crane driver.
The engine stutters to life. The exhaust pipe spits a blue-gray puff of smoke into the air. The breeze carries the oily smell of diesel fumes to my nose. The chain rattles. The heavy ball hangs like a corpse from the crane boom. A steel rope reels it toward the crane cab. There, it dangles without swaying.
A moment of deathly stillness follows. Time itself seems to be suspended, hanging like a wrecking ball on a silver cord of steel. The birds go quiet in the trees. The forest holds its breath.
I kiss the top of Sabella's head and tighten my arm around her waist, offering her the shelter of my chest, but she doesn't hide her face or close her eyes. Like with everything else, she meets the action head-on.
The crane driver waits.
Making eye contact, I nod again.
He releases the rope drum clutch.
The wrecking ball swings like a pendulum through the air, striking the wall with a crunching thud. The structure is strong, but it wasn't designed to withstand the onslaught of the metal that shatters the cement between the stone bricks and splinters the frames of the windows.
The wall splits apart, a crack running from the top to the bottom. The house shakes as the driver repeats the maneuver and swings the ball again. White dust billows at the impact. The crack becomes a gaping wound when the ball smashes for a third time into the side of the lounge.
The quiet before the storm is gone. The expectation that rode on that silence has been set in motion. The tension snaps like the metal framework of the house. The noise that replaced the silence is a constant now, the hammering of the ball against the walls. It's the anti-climax. The relief.
Sabella rests her head on my shoulder. "Are you sorry to see it being destroyed?"
My answer is honest. "No."
"A part of me is," she says with wonder, as if it surprises her. "It was a fine house."
"It was." I hug her against me. "But I built it for the wrong reasons."
"You could've just kept it." She shrugs. "Rented it out or let homeless people live here."
"No," I say, my voice harsh. "It won't change what happened, but I want to tear it to the ground like I tore the men who touched you from limb to limb. When I'm done here, there will be nothing left, not a single brick or stone. I'll flatten it like I wiped out every trace of those filthy bastards' existence."
Instead of making her anxious, my words have the opposite effect. She relaxes, her body softening in my hold.
The outer wall collapses, exposing the lounge. The north side of the house stands naked. I feel like a voyeur. It's like looking in on some of our most intimate memories. The driver keeps on pounding the ball until fine white dust covers our clothes and hair and the powder fills our nostrils. Sand crunches between my teeth. We remain in place, inhaling and tasting the past, cutting the cord and letting it go as the house folds in on itself and collapses.
There's only one thing left to say. The guilt will never leave me, but I deserve to live with that. It tears me apart, the hell starting anew with the break of every day. It'll be my penance, the bottomless debt I pay for mistakes that can't be erased.
Lifting Sabella's hand to my lips, I kiss her fingers. "Forgive me."