Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ELENA

I spend an hour moving around the townhouse as sneakily as I can. I’m doing something bad. If this experience has taught me anything, it’s that bad and good and right and wrong are flexible concepts, at least to the Morettis. I can still see, hear, and even smell what happened at the farmhouse: the noises and the fury on Dario’s face. I shouldn’t let these confounding feelings reenter my heart. I try to stamp on them, drench them in darkness before they take hold.

Yet it’s no good. Even as I put my contingency plan in place, they’re there, simmering beneath the surface. Let him go . I scream the words in my head. You hardly know him . I saw how he looked at me when Maria asked if he wanted to make the marriage real. He looked like he wanted to say yes.

In the back of the car, I hug close to Dario. It’s one of the ironies of our situation that he can inspire so much fear and want in me simultaneously. He looks down at me with serious, intense eyes, his arm wrapped comfortingly around my shoulders.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“You don’t?”

“Your opinion matters, too.”

“Maybe I want you to take the lead,” I say.

He gently kisses me on the forehead, a warm imprint that signals the rest of me, telling me to get more, more, more. Telling me to grab his face and sink against him, throw myself at him like I did right after the kidnapping, but that instance came from a different place.

“You look beautiful,” he tells me.

Something in his tone shapes my lips into a complicated smile. “You wouldn’t prefer if I wore one of your fancy dresses, like at the charity gala?”

I’m wearing faded jeans and a sparkly top from my old wardrobe, an outfit that would’ve seemed extravagant in my old life. Dario looks dashing in his steel-colored suit, his cufflinks glinting, his black hair combed aside.

“You always look perfect,” he says huskily.

When my cell phone rings, I almost ignore it again. Dario looks at the screen and says, “That’s your friend, isn’t it? Aren’t you going to answer it?”

“I’ve been ignoring her calls,” I admit.

“Why?”

“I feel like we’re from different universes now. She’d never understand why I’m still here after what happened.”

“Why are you still here?”

Money , I try to say, but it’s more complex than that. I answer the call, mainly to avoid his question, trying to make my tone casual so she doesn’t notice anything is wrong. “Hey.”

“Finally,” Giulia says. “How’re you doing?”

“Uh, good. You?”

“Yeah, we’re good. Except Mafia men are tailing us everywhere we go.”

“That’s just a precaution. They just want to make sure you’re safe. How’s Aunt Rosa?”

“That’s why I’ve been calling. She wants to speak with you.”

“But her therapy and everything, it’s going well?”

“ Very well. These fancy-pants therapists know their stuff. The doctors are much nicer when they realize we can pay any fee they throw at us. Hang on. I’ll take the phone to her.”

“No, wait …”

Giulia doesn’t hear me. Not consciously thinking about it, being on the phone with ordinary people makes me retreat to the other side of the car. Dario says nothing but looks hurt, a glint of pain through his savagery.

“Elena?” Aunt Rosa moans down the phone.

“I’m here,” I tell her.

“Oh, thank God. I thought that man had buried you in the woods.”

Her words make me feel sick. “He’d never do something like that,” I snap, defending him despite the confusion whirring through me. “Don’t even say that. That’s just sick.”

“I thought he’d used you and abused you and covered you with dirt.”

“Aunt Rosa,” I hiss. “Please.”

“Do you think he wouldn’t do something like that? These men, these criminals, they promise the world. They promise the universe, but they’ll never deliver. All they deliver is heartache. You should’ve learned that by now.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, wondering if, somehow, she knows about the kidnapping. But how could she?

“The flames,” she whispers.

“What, the fire? Are you talking about Mom and Dad and Stevey again?” When she doesn’t reply, instead moaning down the phone, I say, “Put Giulia back on.”

“Hey.”

“Is this why she wanted to call me?” I say.

“I guess so. I’m sorry. She’s worried about you. I am, too.”

“Dario wouldn’t do anything even remotely close to that sick shit she just said.”

“Are you sure?” Giulia asks seriously.

“I’m sure,” I sigh.

That probably isn’t the answer I should give, everything considered, but it feels true even if it shouldn’t. I try to stamp down on these feelings like Dario stamped on that man’s head. I try to remember that his father and my aunt will never approve and that I don’t belong in this world. Heck, I’ve probably got freaking PTSD from what I saw. That’s why this panic is tearing through me, but I’m still here .

“Rosa wants to speak with you again,” Giulia says. “Is that okay?”

“I guess I should, just to let her get it out.”

Giulia hands the phone back. “Remember, he’ll promise the world, and it will end in flames.”

“Is there something you want to tell me about the fire?” I ask sharply. “About Mom and Dad and Stevey?”

“What?” she says, sounding shocked as if the question has come from nowhere. “About the … fire?”

“You’ve brought it up several times now.”

“Oh, oh, no, this is all too much. Please don’t yell at me.”

“I’m not yelling.” There’s a pause. She moans some more. Guilt tugs at me. “I’m sorry, Aunt Rosa. I love you. Please, get some rest. I think you’re confused, but Giulia says you’re getting better. Just keep getting better.”

“I love you,” she murmurs. “You’re more than a Mafia man’s pawn.”

After hanging up, Dario says, “Is everything okay?”

“It’s Aunt Rosa. She keeps talking about the fire and …”

“What?” he says, taking my hand.

I move away, but a moment later, I regret it and take his hand. A battle rages inside me, punctuated with gunshots and visions of Dario becoming a monster. All to keep me safe, yet still, it’s so convoluted. “She thought you might’ve hurt me. Buried me in the woods, she said.”

“I’d die before I hurt you,” he growls. “I’d …”

“You were going to say ‘kill.’”

“Well, it’s the truth,” he snaps. “You never have to worry about that.”

“She’ll probably not want to be at the wedding.”

He grits his teeth, making his jaw look solid and sharp. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“That’s becoming a theme for us, isn’t it? Putting off the inevitable?”

“I wish I had more answers. I never expected this to be so complicated.”

“Neither did I,” I murmur. “I think that makes both of us incredibly na?ve.”

He smirks, and I feel something like my old sassiness trying to resurface. It’s like there are pieces of me buried beneath the trauma, trying to break free. “I’ve never been called na?ve before.”

I want to jab him in the side, laugh, and say, You have now, but I just can’t bring myself to do it.