Page 98 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
“You’re right, and that’s the problem. Is this really what you want?”
It’s on my tongue to say no. To stop lying to myself and everyone around me. But instead, I say, “Yeah. It is. So, what?”
“There are other options,” he says to me, like I haven’t already considered that. His voice is raised, though, and I realize how much this conversation is affecting him.
One moment, he’s the one fighting whatever this is between us, and the next moment, it’s me. Maybe we should just give up. Maybe we should end this before someone gets hurt. But even as I think the words, I know I won’t.
I can’t.
I want him too much. And I’m too far gone. If this ends, I’ll be devastated. And as horrible of a person as it makes me, I hope he feels the same way, because, heck, I don’t know why we’re always fighting with each other when all we want to do is consume one another.
“Look at you, Minka,” he says, and I know whatever words he says next will piss me off. “Anger, bitterness and resentment. Those things only hurt you, Minka.”
I stare at the ceiling, hoping it’ll take away the same feelings he’s calling out. But it doesn’t. So, I fixate on a hole in the ceiling where an expanse of darkness and a sea of stars peak into the remodeled warehouse.
How can the stars still shine so brightly when there’s so much darkness between the two of us? My eyes fixate on the stars, as if the stars will answer all of my questions. The jerks, of course, don’t.
And so I fixate on the darkness of the night sky instead. And the darkness of us. Darkness is tethered to Niccolaio’s DNA, and I’m not sure what is the darkness of the night and what is him. It startles me that I can’t tell the difference, but more so that I don’t care.
I sigh, but my words still come out angry, violent and loud, “How can you say that when you’re exactly the same way?!” I take a step towards him, my fingers clenched in a familiar tight fist. “I see you Niccolaio. You’re more broken than you care to admit.”
And he is.
I don’t add that I think the fractures in his soul are beautiful. That I’d take every imperfection of his before I’d take anyone else’s perfections.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Grudges are for those who insist
that they are owed something;
forgiveness, however, is for those
substantial enough to move on.
Criss Jami
“You know what? I am. I am broken,” I admit. I don’t even bother hiding it, unwilling to do so after Vincent, of all people, pointed it out after I fucking stained my fist wit
h his blood. “But so are you, Minka. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”
She scoffs. “Get off of your high horse, Niccolaio,” she says, and I wonder if we’re horrible for each other.
Maybe we are. Maybe we both know this. But even so, our hearts aren’t listening. Mine is aching for her in ways I never knew possible, and I know she feels the same way. I’m sure of it. I can see it in her eyes, in the way her eyes flare every time I drift closer, even if it’s in anger, frustration and disappointment.
She can’t stand me, but she can’t stand to be away from me either.
“There are consequences to your actions,” she says, referring to Vincent, and it doesn’t bother me, because I know she’s hurt. That she’s just trying to piss me off. To push me away like she does everyone else, except Mina.
No, Mina she tries to pull close.
Too close.
“That’s your problem right there.”
Her eyes seductively flash with anger, and my cock rears its head. The damn thing wants angry sex, but I can’t. Not with her. Not when everything is so damn complicated right now. I can lust after her, sure; I can crave her, yes; I can help her on the right path, absolutely; and I can kiss her, perhaps.
But I certainly can’t fuck her.
