Page 107 of Mafia Bride
“No. I didn’t.”
It goes quiet again, and in the silence, a thought presses impatiently behind my teeth.
“Sometimes,” I say, sure I’m going to regret this. “I think that’ll happen to you. I’ll say ‘see you later’ and you won’t come back.”
“I won’t leave you.”
“What if you get killed?”
Santinotsks, nonplussed.
“No, really.” The fear I’ve denied finds its way into words. “I don’t know what you do when you’re not in the house, and I know you won’t tell me. I trust you won’t leave but I don’t trust your career choices.”
“All you need to know is my word, and I swear, Violetta, you will not be left alone. Not ever while I breathe.”
“And if you’re not breathing?”
“I want you to know this…” He takes my chin in his hands. “If we’re separated, even by death, as long as your heart beats, I will walk the earth until I find you.”
He’s being insanely poetic to make a simple point, and I get it, but his expression is serious. To him, death is an inconvenience to his devotion.
I’m swept up in it.
I believe every word he says.
29
VIOLETTA
We eat in a neighborhood café.
We get in the car.
We drive back to the house.
With every word and every moment, I met him where he stood. I knew what he knew and believed what he believed.
Tonight is the night. He’s already chosen, and I’m going to catch up to him because I want to. Because it is what it is. I can’t avoid it any more than I can abstain from the sun rising and setting, nor do I want to. I won’t grin and bear the inevitable turn of the earth. I want him with every cell in my body, and there’s joy in wanting what’s true instead of wishing for something that isn’t.
When we get back to the house, it’s dark and empty. He slips the light jacket off my shoulders. I can feel his breath on my bare skin.
I don’t trust my words, so I don’t say anything. This trip has shown me an entirely different Santino. A man who enjoys my company. A man who listens to the things I have to say. A man who doesn’t take everything so seriously, except me.
I yawn in contentment, and he walks me to my bedroom. At the door, he takes hold of my chin with a commanding hand, and kisses my cheek. “Good night, my blood violet.”
He lets go, and I feel unmoored. We both know the facts of the night, and he’s walking away? I couldn’t have misinterpreted that badly.
I haven’t. But both my hands have a part to play here.
“Don’t go.”
“Go where?” He knows exactly what I’m talking about. His eyes lock onto mine and hold me still.
“I want… I…” I gape. I don’t know how to ask. I don’t know what to say.
“What do you want?”
I study his tall frame, his regal stature, the shoulders back and chin tilted up so slightly he’s still making eye contact with me.
