Page 156 of Mafia And Maid
I follow wordlessly. It’s been two days. And I haven’t been able to stop myself from seeking out trouble. Needing to feel in control of my life. Needing to be ruthless and physical—just like the way the world sees me. Likeshesees me.
With demons clawing at my skin, I’d visited a list of people who needed a reminder of what the Marchiano name meant, what the Fratellanza meant. I’d left without a word to my family. I’d thought it’d be a distraction. Something to stem the bleeding of my heart as it poured out. All it’d done was give me more time to think—about Rosa and Ethan. About losing her. And losing him. About how ill-suited I am for her.
From the moment I laid eyes on her, I always knew she’d never be mine. I’m not a good man. And yet I’ve deluded myself into thinking I could have her—have them both. I’ve done nothing in my past to deserve someone like her by my side.
The thought of sleeping in my bed, surrounded by the scent of her, was enough to make me ill. I’d turned off the side of the road and lost what little was in my stomach before I decided it wasn’t worth it to continue down that line of thinking. Instead, I lost myself in the feel of flesh beneath my fists, the coppery smell of blood, and the high of an illegal boxing fight to drown my sorrows.
“Sit.”
I drop into the chair. “Marco, I—”
“I talk. You fucking listen.” This isn’t my capo talking now. It’s my brother. And somehow that makes this worse. At least with him taking on the role of capo, I could pretend and explain away my absence as being due to work demands. But I can’t do that with him as my brother. He’ll ask questions. Poke his nose into my business.
“What the fuck is going on? You don’t just go out and act like that without telling us! We thought—”
“I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”
“You’resorry?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I want a fucking explanation. Where the fuck were you? And why have you come home smelling like a damn bar? I want to know whatthe fuck made you think going dark on us was a good choice. Fuck, Camillo…”
He sags into the chair, staring up at the ceiling. The soft mutter under his breath makes me feel bad. It’s not so much an admonishment as it is the worry easing out of his tightly wound body. The man sitting before me looks older, his nerves frayed. The lump in my throat is hard to swallow.
“Well? I’m waiting.”
I don’t have the right words to tell him what’s going on. Whatever storm is still raging inside my chest hasn’t calmed at all in the last two days. There’s no cure that’ll soothe the darkness which is eating up my self-control. “She’s not coming back.”
His brow scrunches. “Rosa?”
I nod.
“She actually said that?”
I heave a sigh. “She told me she doesn’t need the job here anymore. Her father left her some money, so she’s got options now. She can leave Chicago for good.”
“Uh huh.”
“What?” I exhale, dragging my battered hand down my face.
“I swear to God, Millo, if you weren’t my brother—”
“Comforting as I know that your threat’s gonna be, let me stop you there. Look, I’m sorry I worried you,allof you. I just needed a distraction.”
“You’ve got a phone for a fucking reason.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I got it. Are we done?”
“Not by a fucking longshot.” I sink further into my chair, buckling up for the longest lecture of my life. You’d think I was fifteen again, having started yet another fight in school, and not a fucking grown man with the way Marco rips me a new one. Eventually, once he’s said his piece, he sits back, his face no longer reddened with anger. He looks tired. “So, that’s it? You’re just going to let her leave without a fight?”
“What?”
“You said she wasn’t coming back. And you’re letting her leave?”
“It’sherchoice. Plus…she doesn’t want someone likeme.”
“Someone like you? What the fuck does that mean?”