MIA
I’ve never wished death onto someone before, so this was a new experience. The rush in my veins. The prickle of heat creeping over my nape. The twisting, sick feeling inside my gut.
Vita Ferraro was a monster. And she deserved to die.
Put me and that vile woman in a room, hand me a gun, and I’d pull the trigger without any remorse.
I sat on the floor, my back pressed against the wall, my fingers frozen into claws against the carpet. Rom’s words played over and over in my mind, each horrifying detail searing into my brain. Nausea churned in my stomach.
This couldn’t be real. It was too awful, too cruel. The thought of a teenage Romolo being exploited and traumatized by the two people who should have protected him—his mother and a teacher—made me want to scream.
Rom had spoken in a voice so hollow it made my bones ache.
I’d tried to move closer to him while he was talking, but he stopped me with a flick of his hand. His empty gaze hadn’t lifted from the floor. He’d barely moved from his spot on the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders curled inward as if he were trying to disappear inside himself.
Now that he was finished, silence reigned.
The sun had long since vanished, leaving only the glow of the bedside lamp to paint his face in deep shadows. Shadows that seemed to extend far beyond the room, sinking into the spaces inside him where he had locked all of this away.
“I’m so sorry,” I breathed past the lump in my throat. Sorry didn’t begin to cover it.
It all made sense now with sickening clarity. The car accident, the panic attack…
He still loathed himself for the role he played in that entire situation, despite being the one betrayed and abused.
I understood now why he thought he didn’t deserve anyone’s care and love. His own mother hadn’t given it to him.
God, that thought made me see red.
I got to my feet and took a tentative step toward him. The need to comfort him, to hold him, to tell him everything was going to be okay gnawed at me.
He must have sensed my approach, because his head snapped up, and his eyes found mine. He looked startled. Like he’d woken from a trance.
I barely had time to process it before he shot to his feet and staggered toward the bathroom.
The door slammed shut.
A second later, I heard him throwing up.
I pressed my palm over my mouth, muffling a sob.
Vita. Deserved. To. Die.
And so did Alana, but fate had already taken care of that woman.
Even after all these years, what those two had done still haunted him. Still tormented him from the inside out.
If there was some way to take that pain away, I would have done it in a second.
Swiping at my damp cheeks, I paced the room, my body thrumming with restless, helpless rage and the need to make him understand that none of this changed anything between us.
I wasn’t going anywhere.
The retching stopped.
The faucet turned on, then off.
A long moment passed before the door finally opened.
Rom stepped out, his gray eyes locking on mine.
I lifted my shoulders in a small shrug. “I’m still here.”
He frowned, like he couldn’t quite make sense of it. Like he’d expected me to be gone.
Without a word, he brushed past me and went to the window, resting his palm against the frame as he stared out.
I moved to stand beside him. “You’re not a monster, Rom. You weren’t before you told me that horrifying story, and you aren’t now.”
His teeth grazed his bottom lip, like he was thinking about it, considering my point.
I stepped closer. Wrapped my arms around his stony form. Pressed my face into his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “About what happened to you. You were eighteen. Just a kid.”
“I knew what I was doing,” was his gruff response. He was stiff. Unmoving.
“You wanted your mom’s approval.” I pulled back enough to look at him. “Your mother set it all up. She didn’t give you a choice. She ordered you to do it. She was the adult in the situation, and she failed you. And let’s not even talk about how wrong Alana was…”
A shudder ran through him.
Anger coiled beneath my skin. “I hope I’m never in the same room as your mother again, because I won’t be able to hold myself back. How dare she? How dare she do that to you? Oh, I could kill her.”
His face twisted, a deep crease forming between his brows like once again, he couldn’t understand what I was saying.
“No.” He shrugged off my embrace and took a step back. “That’s not how it was. She’s not blameless, but I was the one who did those things. It was my choice to follow her orders.”
“It didn’t seem like much of a choice. She was your guardian. You lived in her house. You were dependent on her.”
“Even after I was no longer dependent on her, I still followed her orders. For many years.” A shadow passed over his face. “I’ve hurt people. Killed people. And I did it without remorse. I don’t want you to delude yourself into thinking I’m a good person. I’m not.”
“You didn’t follow her orders when it came to me.”
That made him pause. Think.
“People can change,” I said softly. “You don’t want to hurt me? Then, don’t. It’s that simple. And forgive yourself for what happened to Alana. You were a victim in that situation.”
His entire body went rigid. A bitter, disbelieving laugh tore from his throat. “Victim?” The word was a harsh whisper. “You think I was the fucking victim?”
Stupid. Stupid!
I swallowed hard. That was the wrong word. The absolute wrong word to use with someone like him. Someone used to being powerful and in control. “I just meant—”
“I know exactly what you meant.” He sneered. “You really are fucking naïve.”
My stomach clenched. “Rom—”
“I’ve never been a victim.” He yanked on his jacket, fists tight. “And if you think I have been, you’re even more wrong about me than I thought.”
I felt like an idiot. Why did I say that? He wasn’t ready to hear it. Maybe he never would be. “Rom, I’m sorry.”
He gave his head a hard shake. “I survived. I did what I had to do. I made my choices.” His eyes burned into mine. “I don’t need your pity. In fact, I don’t need anything from you.”
Romolo turned and without looking back, walked out of the room.
The door slammed behind him, leaving only the remnants of his anger and indignation lingering in the air.
I sank onto the windowsill, a sob wrenching from my throat.
What had I done? Why did I say that?
Romolo had handed me a piece of his soul, and I’d mishandled it. I’d tried to wrap it in words he didn’t want, didn’t need. Tried to fix something that wasn’t mine to fix.
I just wanted to help him see it wasn’t his fault. That his mother and Alana had broken him long before he ever broke anyone else.
But I said too much. Or maybe not the right thing at all.
The shadows seemed to press in, heavy and close. I buried my face in my hands and cried.
We were like two magnets reversed—drawn to each other with a force neither of us understood, only to be repelled every time we got too close.
And still, we kept trying.
Like some part of us believed we could overcome the laws of physics. Make the impossible, possible.
Or maybe just me. At what point did optimism cross into delusion? Whatever that point was, I had a feeling I was close.
I wiped the backs of my hands under my eyes and stumbled to the bathroom.
I needed to clean myself up and go home, where I planned to drown myself in a bottle of wine.
But as the faucet ran, something caught my eye.
Lying on the counter, out of place, was an old tube of my lip gloss.
