Red

I'LL FINALLY DO IT , today. I'll do it today. I swear I'll do it.

That's what I've been telling myself for the past two years, but every day, the words are nothing but self-deception at work.

Because love has turned me into a coward.

Help me, God.

Help me.

Please.

Ever since Cesare's imprisonment and subsequent release, the whole famiglia has changed. Everyone's softer now.

Humbler .

And the biggest miracle of all?

With the combined use of trickery, blackmail, and heaps of divine grace, Giancarlo and Gazelle have managed to make me attend Bible studies that inevitably changed everything.

Even though there's still a part of my soul that refuses to believe it's all going to be good—-

I believe in God now, and that's why...

Please.

All I can do now is pray.

Please, please, please.

Because to believe in Him means I'm no longer capable of hating Giancarlo...or lying to myself.

Let me please stop loving him, God.

Please.

I know Giancarlo has done so much for me.

But he's also the reason my heart is still in pieces.

So please, God.

Please answer my prayer.

Please.

It's all I've been praying for, ever since that day.

But God's continued silence worries me so.

Is it a sin to ask for my feelings to fade?

The more time passes, the more my confusion grows.

I just don't get it, God.

Why must I keep loving someone who regrets choosing me?

What am I supposed to learn here?

I'm desperate to leave, but my soul cries at the mere thought of never seeing Giancarlo again.

I'm willing to try and fix things, but it's just impossible.

I've been trying to put the pieces of my heart back together in every way I can think of.

But the moment I see or hear him—-

The moment I catch a whiff of his aftershave—-

Anything that has to do with Giancarlo is a trigger.

And I break like I'm fragile as glass again.

HOW LONG, O LORD?

Will You forget me forever?

How long will You hide Your face from me?

How long must I take counsel in my soul and have sorrow in my heart all the day?

I've been writing Psalm 13 for some time now.

Most times, it works to keep me sane.

But there are just days when everything simply fails, and I feel like throwing up because I can no longer stand what I'm doing.

I don't even know when this all started.

Did I not once promise God I wouldn't dream for more?

Is that why I'm being punished now?

Forgive me, God.

Have mercy.

Please.

I'm nothing but a fraud, and yet I can't seem to stop pretending.

I still smile at Giancarlo even as his smile tears me apart.

I still fly into his arms in secret even as his kisses make me cry inside.

I love him always, but there are times when the devil wins, and I just want to hate him.

When I hear people praise Giancarlo, I want to laugh at their faces and tell them they've all been deceived.

When Giancarlo acts like he's bothered by the difference in our age, I want to shout 'liar' to his face.

I know it's wrong, but I'm just hurting so much that I've started wanting to hurt him back.

How long, O Lord?

I want to stop pretending, but how?

Hope refuses to die but despair also begins to take root in my heart.

I know the Lord is my ever-present help, but I also know He will only grant what's good for us...and that's what scares me.

Giancarlo is good to me and for me.

But how can I say I'm good for him, too...when he regrets choosing me?

I'M SO TIRED OF PRETENDING , God.

I'm so, so tired.

Just so, so tired.

I'm not sure when, how, or why my feelings changed.

Maybe it's seeing his brothers marry one by one for love...and knowing that Giancarlo can't ever have the same happy ending because he's stuck with me.

Or maybe this is inevitable, and when you've been pretending for so long—-

You no longer know what's real.

All I know is that I woke up one day, and I realize I no longer know who I am.

Help me, God.

Please help me.

Please.

I don't even know how to articulate what I'm feeling.

All I know is something's wrong.

And Giancarlo, of all people, is the only one to notice this, too.

"I'd like to have a moment with my fidanzata, per favore ."

The words make me pale.

What's happening?

Giancarlo has never been the type to draw undue attention like this, with the whole famiglia about to have dinner when he makes his request.

La Strega raises a brow at us. "Is everything okay?"

"I have to leave early for my trip tomorrow." Giancarlo takes my hand as he speaks, and all I can do is follow his lead. To disobey him in full view of everyone will only invite more questions I just don't have the energy to answer.

Giancarlo glances at me as he leads me down the hallway.

He seems to want to say something.

But I'm just so, so tired, I can't even make myself care.

We enter his office, and he gestures to the couch. "Take a seat, Sarica."

I do as he asks, but this only makes his jaw clench.

Why is he so angry?

"I'll be leaving for Moskra tomorrow."

"I know."

His lips tighten, but it's just too much effort to understand where all this anger is coming from.

"Is that all?"

"No, it's not all," he bites out. "What's gotten into you, Sarica?"

I don't want to tell him anything, but I don't want to lie either.

God, I'm so, so tired.

"Say something."

I wish I could.

I really do.

And maybe that's why I find myself starting to cry.

" Dio, Sarica..."

Giancarlo sinks to his knees in front of me, and all I can do is cry harder.

"Tell me what's wrong. Please . I want to help you—-"

"Then let me go," I choke out.

His face whitens. "Per che?" Why?

"Just please—-"

"You know I cannot do that," he says tightly. "So just tell me—-"

"I heard you, Giancarlo. I h-heard you loud and clear two years ago...when you told your grandmother you regret asking to marry me—-"

" Dio—-no, Sarica, no. "

A cry rips out of my throat the moment he tries to reach for me.

"P-Please don't touch me."

I back away from him, and Giancarlo slowly rises to his feet.

"It's not what you think—-"

"Please just stop," I whisper. "Because I k-know what I h-heard, and I just want to stop hurting. I'm s-so tired of being hurt, and I j-just want it to stop."

Help me, please.

Please.

Please.

I walk out of the room.

And this time, Giancarlo makes no move to stop me.

I'M JUST TIRED. SO , so tired.

I feel like I'm about to explode and break at any moment. I don't even know where I'm driving until gates in front of me automatically open, and I realize I'm about to drop unannounced on Maryse's home, just like always.

The staff lets me in, and Maryse and her husband are already waiting for me in the living room. The expressions on their faces speak volumes.

"Giancarlo called you," I say.

"He did."

Tom is the one who answers, and I nod.

Figures.

Men stick together, right?

Maryse's husband excuses himself, and it's just like old times again.

I'm alone with the former Angel of Death, and I'm broken once more.

"How bad is it?"

I'm already crying even before she's done speaking.

"I'm just so tired of pretending."

"About what?"

Shame engulfs me, but I know I need to tell the truth.

I just need to get it all out, even if it's only this once.

"I h-heard him, Maryse...He...he r-regrets me. "

God, God, God.

"He says he w-won't let me go, but h-how can I stay when he r-regrets me?"

YOU NEED TO REST.

You need to sleep.

Tom will talk to Giancarlo tomorrow, and we'll talk, too, when you're thinking more clearly.

Maryse's suggestion makes sense, but it's already three in the morning, and my pain refuses to offer me a single second of respite.

How long, O Lord?

How long?

My heart starts pounding as I reach for my phone. I've switched it off since walking out on Giancarlo, and my tears fall anew when unread messages and missed-call notifications start flooding my screen.

Giancarlo: Come back, Sarica. Please.

Giancarlo: I've left you a voicemail explaining everything.

Giancarlo: Do you want me to go to you?

Heartbreak turns me into a monster, and I find myself forgetting God as I fall back into my old ways.

I want you to go to Hell.

And once you're there, I'll make sure to wear red at your funeral so everyone knows I'm on the lookout for another sugar daddy.

Shame eats me alive as soon as I hit Send, but it's too late to take the words back.

Hurting him only hurts me more, and shame turns to dread when my phone buzzes.

I'm tempted to delete his reply without reading it, and my fingers are shaking when I finally manage to click on his message.

Giancarlo: Go ahead and try, dolcezza.

Giancarlo: I'll come back from the dead if I have to.

Giancarlo: You are mine, and I will let no one take you from me.

I read his messages over and over without knowing why.

I read it again and again, and even though I know the world will think me a fool for this—-

I think it's going to be alright.

Even when I haven't yet listened to his voice mail, I can already feel His peace filling my heart.

Romans 8:28...

We'll find a way to make up, and it will be well.

Right, God?

It's the last thing I think of when I fall asleep.

But when I wake up, it's to find out that Giancarlo's helicopter has crashed, and local police are still searching for his body.