Page 161 of Mafia And Maid
The radio silence is enough for me to take a hint. All those tender moments with him, the way he accepted me and Ethan so completely, are blown away. The soft whisper of needing me, wanting me, swirl around me before stabbing at my heart repeatedly.
I always knew it would happen. A man like Camillo would never want something so broken like me for long. I’m not the person who soothes those demons that roar to life in his head; I cause reasons for them to flare up instead. It was only a matter of time until he realized this.
I wanted to believe he didn’t think like that. But another painful stab squeezes my heart.
Pulling my head away from the pillow, I stare up at the ceiling. Loneliness gnaws at my stomach, sharpening the bile and acid that bubbles within. I haven’t eaten much since the funeral. I’m trying so hard to remember to use the techniques I learned at therapy, but the tutting responses from my family every time I so much as sip a cup of tea are making it so hard. Not talking to Camillo only adds to the anxiety, turning anything that touches my tongue into ash.
For once, I thought I was enough. He made me feel like I was worth something.
Just Rosa. As is.
But I’m wrong.
A bitter laugh leaves me as I swipe at my eyes. If there’s anything I’m good at, it’s being wrong, being inadequate, being the problem. At least there I excel. It’s the only thing everyone can seem to agree on.
I press a kiss to Ethan’s forehead and lie back down, trying to distract myself from the darkness sinking into me as my eyes drift close.
Maybe in another life, things could have worked out. Maybe if I’d had more time to win him over, to transform myself into something he wanted to keep, to show him just what I have to offer, and to tell him I’m not afraid of him the way others are…
But what good would that do? The thought in my head doesn’t sound like me, but its hold on my mind is too hard to ignore.
It wouldn’t change anything.
“Rosa!” It’s Reagan’s voice. I furiously swipe my tears away. Any sign of weakness, vulnerability from me, and they’ll pounce like the viciousanimals they are, ripping my already tattered and worn away shield to shreds. “You’re needed downstairs, Rosa!”
Slowly, I open the bedroom door.
“Finally! I thought I was going to break a nail pounding on your bedroom door. You can’t just sneak off like that. What if someone needed something?” She tuts loudly. “You can’t expect me or our poor mother to deal with anything while we’re grieving. It’s really quite selfish of you, you know.So, hurry up.”
I spare Ethan one more glance before I slip out the door and past Reagan without a word. Seen and not heard, that’s how I survive here. That’s how I please them. Take up as little space as possible and hope I can melt into the walls.
And I hate myself for it. I hate myself for not being stronger, for not being able to stand up for myself. But it’s so hard. It’s not just a case of thinking it and doing it. Because every time I try to defend myself, my mother and Reagan make it seem like I’m being selfish and self-centered and only thinking about myself. And anything I say in my defense just makes their barbs worse.
I just can’t win with them. Deep inside me, I know what they’re saying isn’t true, but that they think it in the first place stabs at me and makes it so difficult to stand up for myself. I know it’s what the therapist terms as self-esteem issues, but right now, I don’t know how to get back on track—back to a place where I’m stronger again.
It’s like flipping a switch. The routines of the woman I once was click back into place. And the woman I was becoming with Camillo and his family vanishes like she never existed at all.
CHAPTER 41
CAMILLO
I return to the mansion after dealing with a debtor. It didn’t need to be done today—but I needed it. I needed the feel of warm blood on my knuckles. I needed a distraction after the funeral and Rosa’s text that she’s staying at her mom’s house.
I walk through the mansion’s front door. I’m home.
The house is quiet now, an unfamiliar stillness that feels like a heavy weight on my chest. I can still hear the echoes of Rosa’s soft voice and Ethan’s small footsteps. But they’re just memories now, hanging in the air like smoke that suffocates me. They’re gone. I know that. But I still can't believe it. And I don't know if it'll ever sink in.
As I look around myself, everything feels surreal. And the only thing that runs through my mind is the first day I drove Rosa here. And then I think about the first time I saw her smile, the first time I heard her laugh...and the first time I realized I was in love with her.
The house is so empty without her and Ethan.Ethan.Just the thought of his name makes my heart ache with such an intensity that I think it might burst. I scrunch my eyes shut, remembering the first time he wore his Marchiano baseball jersey, the first time he huggedme, and the first time he gave me that beautiful, unconditional love of his.
No, this isn’t home anymore. It can’t be my home without them here. I’m left just a shell of a man without them. I feel homeless, loveless…worthless.
I pause in the doorway of our bedroom, and it’s like I’m frozen there. Reminders of her are everywhere—the smell of her perfume on the sheets, her hairbrush forgotten on the side, a book she was reading on the nightstand. But so much also feels different so that it no longer feels like the cozy nest we had together.
Rosa asked in her text if I could send over some more of their clothes and things. My brothers and Lorenzo are in the living room, sorting through the toys, but I can’t move. I can’t step out of this room and leave it all behind. My brothers are trying to help, but their presence only underscores how much I need them—because I’m barely holding it together. They move around the house, carefully collecting items that belong to Rosa and Ethan, placing them in boxes with a tenderness that I can’t bring myself to emulate.
The thought of packing up Rosa and Ethan’s things, of folding away the life we had, it’s unbearable. By doing that, it's like I’m erasing us, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but a skeleton of a man who doesn’t know where to go from here. I hear Marco call my name, his voice firm and reassuring. He’s always been the one who holds it all together. And I know he’s just trying to do that for me right now, but I can’t help feeling like I’m slipping through his fingers.