Page 142 of Shades of Grey & Gold
“He gave me the penthouse key. He said it’s in my name,” I scoff with an incredulous expression. “He asked to meet there tonight to explain, and I could give the key back then.”
“Wow,” she lets out a long sigh, looking up at the ceiling. “A mysterious, hot Italian man with dimples offers you a multi-million-dollar apartment and you’re… what, exactly? Saying no? Please, someone drop a hot, Italian millionaire with a private jet on me, I promise, universe, I will not ask questions! I won’t even make you do it twice like Max did!” She throws her arms out around her and spins, looking up at the ceiling.
I shush her, laughing, pulling her arms down from praising the gods in the aforementioned universe.
“It’s complicated and you know it.”
She gives me a knowing look. We may have binged The Sopranos and all The Godfather movies at her insistence a week ago, her calling it part research and part grieving process.
“I know it is, babe. Do you want me to come with you to drop the key off?” She offers me a small smile as we walk. “‘Leave the keycard, take the cannoli’ style? We can ‘make him an offer he can’t refuse.’”
I wrap an arm around her and laugh harder than I have in a while at the reference, the mafia binging has paid off in spades with the humor during the hard nights.
“I think it’s better if I do it alone, ‘Those who want respect, give respect’ style.”
Her hip bumps mine. “You know Tony Soprano was my favorite. Gabagool and all that. But the ending was absolute trash.”
My laugh echoes in the hallway and the orange of the sun hits my face.
She continues, “I heard the creator of the show actually said that Tony died ineveryepisode, isn’t that insane? That no one could keep him dead, so he just woke up every morning 'with a gun in his hand,' like the theme song.”
Her words go on, but the box holding the keycard doesn’t feel so weightless in my hand.
It’s heavy; carrying the unbearable weight of what could have been.
Chapter Fifty-One
Max
IfinallyshookoffGio and Rudi right before graduation, telling them this morning their duty was done, and they had to accept me breaking up with them.
They, to my complete and utter shock, agreed with quite literally no argument.
They congratulated me on my graduation, they both hugged me, and got in their black SUVand left me.
And I felt what it was like to be alone for the first time in months—truly and actually alone. Not being watched over like something that might break. For a second, I got worried, but then I took a deep breath and reminded myself what Gio told me last week.
Nico had let him know he could share with me that the Volkovs had been taken care of; they wouldn’t be coming near me because they were gone, every last one of them. Gio said there was no more territory dispute because there was no longer another family to have a dispute with. I didn’t ask for details, but it was a relief.
Now, the car service Nico sent for me stops at the entrance to the penthouse building.
We’ve been sitting out here for ten minutes while I build up the courage to get out. I’ve apologized at least six times to the driver who kindly told me to take my time, and reassured me after the sixth time that he was paid for the night.
It’s now fifteen minutes past eleven, making me fifteen minutes late.
The keycard rests between my fingers, nervously twirling every couple seconds. I left the small box at the apartment, along with my graduation dress, opting for jeans and a sweater given the low spring temperatures tonight.
In and out.
That’s what I told myself in the mirror. I can just go in, thank Nico profusely for the offer, and leave.
I can’t accept this, regardless of the explanation.
I can’t walk into this place every day after work, sleep in a room that holds the memories of us together, alive.
So alive and so in love.
“In and out,” I whisper to myself and push open the car door to breathe in the cool night air. I stare up at the expansive building, stretching up to the stars, then focus back on my feet, willing them to move, my hair falling softly into my vision.
