Page 113 of Capo

I also lived a lie.

“What happened to you?” she asks. “Where have you been?”

“Here. And away,” I say, avoiding her gaze. I lift my gaze and Kerry turns her head. Luciano stands right behind her, towering over her, locking Kerry between him and me. Tension crackles, thickening the air surrounding us, and suddenly Kerry explodes, her little body tensing.

“You fucking bastard!” she screams. “You didn’t tell me Chloe was here! Why didn’t you tell me!” And then tiny Kerry Jackson slams her fist right in Luciano’s face. “How—”

She screams as he spins her around and pushes her face first into the wall. Then he snatches her with him into the next room.

I throw myself after them. “Luci! No! Leave her alone!” I grab his arm, trying to pull him away from my friend but he just shrugs me off him, his face white with rage.

“You—” he snarls in Kerry’s ear, “have just overstepped every fucking line I have! I won’t have anyone punch me in my own home! I don’t care that you’re Christian’s!”

All hell breaks loose. I keep pleading, Christian comes darting and tears Luciano off her. The two men face off, their fists tightened, then everyone comes rushing, yelling. People step in between Luciano and Christian. Kerry cries and cradles her hand.

Mrs. Russo glares daggers at Kerry. “You’re quite the little troublemaker, aren’t you?” she says, her voice cold. Kerry’s eyes widen and fill with tears.

Anna Raymond steps in between them. “She didn’t choose this, ma’am.” Her voice is just as stern as the older woman’s. I was dead wrong. There’s nothing meek about her whatsoever. “I’ll take it from here.” She lays her arm around Kerry’s shoulder and pulls her along.

I look at Luci, dazed, rage rising in me. Our eyes meet and I narrow mine. His lips tighten, then he inhales as if to speak, but I’m not fucking interested. I spin on my heels and run back to our room, locking it behind me, fighting to keep my tears in check.

Late afternoon has turned into evening and the sun has set when there’s a knock on the door. I’m still furious. The doorknob twists and snaps back.

“Open the door, Chloe, or I’ll kick it down.” His voice is low, measured, like ice cold steel.

I might as well open. I have some things to get off my chest. When I swing the door open, he stands with his fists clenched, towering over me. There’s a red swelling on his cheek, below his eye.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” he growls.

“Me? Kerry is back. How long have you been hiding that from me? You fucking asshole!”

Luciano steps forward, forcing me to back up. “You’re fucking begging for it.”

I refuse to take another step back and we end up chest to chest. “This is not a game! This is not the time or place for spanking or discipline, or whatever the fuck you think you wanna do.”

He clenches his jaw, oozing lethal strength and power. Normally I’d cower before his rage, but I can’t quell my own fury.

“I’m not playing games,” he growls.

“You’re playing me. I thought we were past that, but you’re just the same as you always were.”

“Why are you bitching about this? It’s nothing. I just haven’t had the fucking time to think about it. I forgot you were fucking friends.”

I slap him. Hard. Same cheek that Kerry hit. “Forgot! That’s the whole fucking reason I ended up here in the first place.” I scream as he grabs my wrist in a vice grip and I jerk to get free. I push at him with my free hand and he grabs that too, curling his lips as he looks down on me.

“I. Am. Not. Playing,” he roars in my face. “I didn’t fucking think about it. I didn’t hide it from you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He lets go of my wrists and backs away, spreading his arms. “What the fuck do you want me to do?”

“I want out,” I say, shocked at my own words, but now they’re out there and I can’t take them back.

Luciano looks stunned, for a moment sadness flashes across his face, then he closes it off.

“Fine. Go.”

I want to take it back. I want him to fight for me to stay, but he doesn’t, and I don’t call for him when he stomps off, both of us too proud to budge.

The tears finally come when I pack up my things. I have things now that I count as my own. A phone. A credit card. His money, but he fucking owes me. I’m guessing he’ll close the account now, but whatever, I’ll manage. I leave my heart behind as I walk up to the cab that awaits me outside the gates. My chest aches, empty and desolate.

It’s been a little more than a year since I came here in a cab, much like this one, beaten but not broken. I’ve fought so hard to stay sane, to make a life, to find a way to live with this rough man in his cruel world. Now I leave. My wounds have healed a long time ago, but my heart breaks.

I can’t love him. I shouldn’t. But I do.