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“Sandro was a good kid. Sorry—man. He’d always get mad at me for calling him a kid. All of you knew him as Rafe’s driver, but I got to know him as someone else. Sam Wilkins. Entrepreneur. Construction expert. A pain in the ass, on occasion.”
I was the one who needed him, especially in those early days. Whenever I got too quiet, too deep inside my head, Sandro would pull me out. Crack a bad joke. Make a comment about a shitty driver. Babble on about a viral video he'd seen. It annoyed me back then. Like, why the hell couldn’t he just let me think in peace? But now I see what he was doing. He could tell I was having a rough go at it, and instead of leaving me to my own devices, he cared enough to try to give me a hand.”
“Sandro used his last moments to save my wife’s life. And I’ll always be grateful to him for that.”
“You never made that commitment,” he whispers. “Not willingly. I forced you into it, and I kept telling myself it would all work out fine because I wanted you here with me. But seeing you fighting for your life made me realize I love you more than my own selfish desire to keep you with me. If what you want is a life far away from the darkness that comes with me, I won’t stand in your way.”
I love him, but it’s not him I’m running from. I’m running from the person I’ve become living in his world.
“Sometimes, Rafe comes home with the heavy scent of cruelty and fear practically radiating off him. I don’t delude myself by thinking he just pushes some papers around at a desk. But when he comes to me, no matter what kind of a day he's had, he’s still my husband. My love. My best friend. And there’s something beautiful in being that one person this powerful, terrifying man can just drop the mask and be himself with.”
Ring. Ring. Ring. Whoever’s calling can go straight into the fiery pits of hell. I hope they suffer as they burn. Ring. Ring. Ring. That’s the phone connected to the concierge desk. Alec, take a hint. I’m not interested in visitors. Closed for appointments until next month. Scratch that, next year. It’s fucking February, so yeah. Perfect. Ring. Ring. Ring. I’m going to fucking kill whoever this is.
“Alessio Ferraro is here for you, sir.” “Tell him to fuck right off,” I growl. “Sir, please! I’m afraid I can’t say that.” “Why not?” “He’s not taking no for an answer.” “What’s the point of having security here? Where are they?” “They're here. Cowering.” “Jesus, fuck,” I mutter. “Okay. Whatever. Send him up.”
HAHAHA!
“Because we’re over, Alessio. We’re done. So fuck you, and fuck the Ferraros, and fuck being a capo. I don’t give a fuck if you want to kill me. Go ahead and put me out of my misery, will you?” I don’t care anymore. Not now that Blake's decided I'm not worth the trouble that comes with me.
“This is why I don’t have friends. People are too complicated.” “You seem to know how to crack ‘em well.” “They’re only simple when their life is at stake. Everyone just wants to survive.” “Not me.” “Hence the confusion,” he mutters.
“That’s true, there’s nothing simple about you. Trying to fit you into a box would be like trying to contain all the beauty of the universe inside a single glass jar.”
“Let me finish before you make me cry.” A smile tugs on my lips. “I’m sorry. I’ll shut up.”
“Makes sense. Oh, Nero’s texting again... Wow, he’s really sorry. He’s promising to make it up to you tonight by— Damn, girl, he’s got a mouth on him.”
