Page 141 of Be With Me
She crouched in front of me and yanked one of my hands down. “You left New York a boy,” she said, fingers digging into my chin. “Now you’re a man. Now you understand what it takes to stay on top. To run an empire that destroys its enemies. You don’t flinch. You don’t break. And you.Can’t. Be. Weak.”
Her face was no more than a smudged blur in the dark. “I was concerned whether you’d be able to kill that traitor next week. Worried if you might embarrass me.” She let go of me and straightened out. “Now I know you’ll get it done.”
I curled into myself, forehead pressed to my knees. My jeans were still damp. The fabric smelled musty, earthy, slightly rotten. I breathed through the scent, trying to ground myself, trying to pull myself back from the spinning void that had cracked open inside my skull.
I was breaking. Every emotion clashed at once—hurt, guilt, disbelief—until I couldn’t tell where one ended and another began.
My eyes squeezed tighter. Tighter. Just when I feared my mind would burst, all of the pressure suddenly released.
Something let go.
Numbness rushed in like a merciful tide. It dulled everything—my thoughts, my memories, even the shape of Alana’s face in my mind.
A breath escaped.
I felt nothing.
It was easier feeling nothing.
My mother cleared her throat. “Wipe your tears and let’s go. The men will handle the clean-up. We have a party tomorrow.”
CHAPTER42
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 todie.
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 everythingwasgoing 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.
