Page 69 of Frozen Heart
I need—
A loud knock on the door, like an ear-shattering earthquake.
No! It can’t be. Three hours couldn’t have passed already.
My bottom lip trembles as I make myself pull back, breaking the kiss, but I can’t seem to untangle my hands, let go of my grip on his silky hair. I can’t break our contact completely.
“Don’t go,” I whisper. “Please, don’t go.”
A light touch lands on the tip of my chin. In a slow caress, the pad of his thumb drags across my cheek until it stops on my quivering lip. It hovers over my tender flesh for just a second before vanishing completely.
I suck in a shaky breath as I hear the sofa creak, feel the cushion give way beside me. The strands of thick hair, the fine wool of his jacket, slide out from beneath my hands.
Steps. Retreating. Taking the scent of the ocean breeze with them.
Taking my comfort, my serenity away.
I listen to their echo, my breath hitching with each sound. Fainter and fainter they become, until the door shuts softly behind them.
He left.
My silent guest left, and I will never be with him again.
All that remains is the rising dread of what awaits me tomorrow.
***
The engine purrs as the driver navigates the car away from the Annex. A sadness fills me as I reach for the white box waiting on the seat. Based on the shape and size, I think it might be another book. The last gift I’ll ever get from him. As I pick it up and set it on my lap, I notice significant lightness to the package. It feels practically empty. Furrowing my brows, I lift the lid.
A single folded sheet of paper lies on the bed of tissue inside. Strange. I unfold and scan the printed text that appears to bea copy of some sort of contract. I’m wondering if it somehow ended up in this box by mistake when my eyes catch on the listed address. My hand flies to my mouth, and my heart rate soars.
I’m staring at a sales contract for the building Adriano Ruffo plans to demolish. The document is dated earlier this week and indicates that the building, previously owned by Ruffo Enterprises, has been sold. The amount and the name of the buyer have been redacted, but despite that omission, there’s no doubt in my mind about who it might be.
I set the document to the side and reach for the only other thing left in the box. A torn-out page of the daily journal.
You can stop stressing about your neighbors.
The bad guy won’t get his way this time, and they will never be evicted.
I can’t suppress a sob as I read the note again. And again. My eyes sting with unshed tears. Happy tears.
Almost two months ago, I confided to my silent guest how sad it was to listen to Mrs. Dixon share her memories of living in our neighborhood while Evelyn and I helped her pack. She told us beautiful stories of her life with her late husband in that small apartment as the three of us sat surrounded by cardboard boxes filled with her meager belongings. My heart broke for her, and the others being forced to move, all over again, and I had to step out into the hallway to collect myself. A woman losing her home shouldn’t have to also see me cry.
Now, she won’t have to.
My silent guest bought the building from Ruffo.
Chapter 23
Like a lamb being herded to slaughter, she walks toward me with short, tentative steps. The long train of her wedding dress drags behind her. She looks like an angel, adorned in a cloud of white lace, walking among a crowd of wicked mortals gathered in the house of God.
A better man would have put a stop to this. Would have protected the pure flower but left her to thrive on her own. Would have allowed her to live her simple, now much less complicated life, surrounded by love and people she cares about. Away from the filth and scum that muddies my own. But I am not that man.
I am way too selfish.
So, instead, I’ve stolen the angel from Heaven. And I’m claiming her for myself.
Over anyone’s objections. If they have any, they’ll never find peace.
