As the echoes of our scalding dialogues faded into the stillness of the room, I found myself engulfed in a storm of feelings. Anger, disappointment, and betrayal found their roots in my veins, each feeling vying for dominance.
Her words lingered in my mind, cutting deeper than any physical blow. The revelation that Xenia had betrayed me for mere compensation left me reeling. I had hoped for a nobler motive, perhaps a desire for vengeance, but the truth was a bitter pill to swallow.
I paced the room, the tension coiling tighter with each step. Questions revolved in my mind, they demanded answers that seemed elusive.
How could she betray me like this?
How could she choose money over loyalty, over trust?
But beneath the anger and hurt, there lurked a faint flare of longing. Despite everything, a part of me yearned to hold her close, to erase the distance that had grown between us. I wanted to understand, to find a way back to the connection we once shared.
Sinking into a chair, I ran a hand through my hair, frustration knotting my brow.
Xenia dared to speak, her voice cutting through the heavy silence like a blade. As she swept the bills off the bed, watching them crumble to the floor without a second thought, I felt a pang of surprise. For someone who had chosen money over loyalty, I had expected her to scramble to collect every last note. Yet, she seemed more concerned about my impressions than her own gains.
She cared enough to ask, "And what's the third question, Romano?"
My head throbbed with frustration, my palms slick with sweat, but amidst the turmoil, I found the courage to speak. "What happened with Joanna?"
Xenia's composure shattered at that point. As tears streamed down her face, her sobs echoed through the room. Part of me wanted to close the distance between us, to offer comfort without minding the animosity that lingered. But I remained rooted to my seat, watching her anguish unfold, unable to bridge the divide that had grown between us.
As Xenia faced the wall, her tears mingling with the rough texture of the bricks, each strike against it echoed with a fifty-fifty mix of pain and fury. Momentarily, I concluded that Joanna had met a grim fate.
The weight of grief was foreign to me; just a day prior, I had ended my father's life, yet I suspected my sorrow paled in comparison to Xenia's, who had lost her twin months earlier.
I stood there, witnessing her anguish, feeling utterly powerless in the face of her raw emotions. The comforting gestures I once knew felt inadequate now, overshadowed by doubt and uncertainty.
"Did she die?" I managed to choke out, even though my voice was thick with emotion. Xenia shook her head, tears still streaming down her face.
"She's in a persistent vegetative state." Her teary eyes met mine at last. In that moment, I felt a profound sense of brokenness. "I blamed you, Romano. Blamed every damn member of the TIF. Because if she hadn't tried to save me from Ivan's relentless pursuit, she'd still be alive."
I could only manage a single phrase, "I'm sorry you had to go through that," but it echoed with every ounce of sincerity I could muster. Regret flooded me like a crashing wave; I wished I had been there to shield her from pain, to care for her, to provide and protect.
Stepping closer, my fear melted away, replaced by determination.
With a newfound audacity, my hand found her shoulder, tentative yet steady. Surprisingly, she didn't shrug me off, so I dared to turn her around, locking eyes with her dilated gaze.
"The money was meant as recompense for all I'd endured. Enough to keep Joanna cared for in the facility."
The realization struck me like a blow to the gut. I had underestimated her, presuming she would squander the money on frivolous luxuries. But Xenia wasn't that kind of woman, and the fact that I had lost sight of that in the passing months filled me with shame.
"I'm sorry," I whispered again, this time for treating her as if she were just another transaction, for failing to recognize her true needs. "I'm sorry, Xenia," I repeated, my apology laden with remorse for not intervening sooner, for neglecting my duty to her.
Time appeared to warp, granting me an intimate view of her innermost feelings. Hate, fury, anguish, tenderness—each one a weighty presence demanding attention. The sheer magnitude of it all felt suffocating, as if it could swallow me whole
Time seemed to freeze as our gazes held, a silent dialogue passing between us, heavy with truths left unsaid. As she began to crumble before me, I revealed, "I tracked down Rossi today. Made him answer for his sins."
Recalling the vengeance exacted upon him twisted my insides, a tumult of conflicting sensations. Yet, amidst the chaos, guilt remained elusive, replaced by a strange blend of agony and euphoria.
"Answered how?" Her voice wavered, brimming with apprehension. "Did you..."
"No regrets," I affirmed. The whole thing had my resolve unshakable, even though I noe loathed myself for it. "Only wish I'd reached him sooner."
Her silence screamed louder than any words could, revealing a storm of shock, devastation, and confusion that had gained foothold.
Beneath the dull side lamp, tension rustled between us. It suffused the airspace with twisted anticipation. Her gaze locked onto mine. Uncertainty and desire spun in those depths.
I could feel the heat emanating from her body. It drew me in with an irresistible pull. As we stood there, our breath mingling in the chilly air, I was captivated by her presence.
With a tentative gesture, I reached up. Brushing a stray lock of burgundy hair from her face, the softness of her skin sent a jolt of vigor through me. It was so powerful that I bumped into her.
My heart pounded in my chest. When I leaned in, her lips were so close to mine. The suspense was almost unbearable.
She smelled different. No longer like the bubblegum and cotton candy that used to signify her. It was like catching a whiff of jasmine and musk. So delicate yet clinging to me like a loyal associate.
It brought back memories of kicking back on hot summer days. Sharing whispered secrets under the cover of darkness.
The world around us faded into obscurity. Leaving only the two of us hanging in this moment of possibility.
Her bottom lip, soft as I remembered it to be, was tucked between her teeth. I wanted to kiss her so bad. Yet not as bad as I sensed her longing to be.
Her legs crossed each other in a way that hinted at a desire to stop the ache between her thighs. In that fleeting instant, the universe held its breath.
We teetered on the brink of something profound. And just before our lips met in a searing kiss, a knock at the door jolted us back to reality. Like guilty adolescents caught in the act.
"Step inside," I commanded, and Max obliged without crossing the threshold.
Standing rigid as though the world hinged on his next words, Max inclined his head respectfully. "Diablo," he murmured. My hand gesture granted him permission to speak freely, and he wasted no time. "Vitriol's touched down in Sicily. Ottavio's adamant about keeping a close watch on him."
"Why'd he abandon Bologna?"
"Beyond me, Diablo," Max admitted. "But it seems it's got something to do with your cousin."
Naturally, where there was mischief, there was often the tandem of father and son. The stakes were higher when the duo resembled lovebirds.
"For now, keep tabs on him," I decided, knowing full well that if Santo caught wind of Xenia's secrets, he and Angelo would rally the family to discuss her removal. And since everyone was well aware of her status—a foe and a figure of significance to me—they'd expect me, the future don, to handle it decisively.
That, I conceded, was my Achilles' heel.
So, with a vigilant eye on them, I could preempt their strike against her.
"Anything else?" Max inquired, but his gaze wandered toward Xenia. Even if he suspected the unthinkable between us, Max wouldn't dare utter it aloud.
I made my way to the door, promising, "You'll be informed." Even as he shut the door, I pushed still, propping myself against it. My mind raced, dissecting crucial details.
Once a titan of power, Vitriol now found himself stripped of influence. Deemed too volatile by the family to ascend to any significant position. My sole objective was to ensure Xenia's damning manuscript met a quiet demise. Before it landed in the wrong hands.
Morelli retained his title as Don, his authority unchallenged. Even in retirement, his words would carry more significance than mine. As long as he breathed, his influence was greater.
If Xenia's sole condition for halting the book's release was funding for Joanna's treatment, then the onus fell on me to make her an offer she couldn't refuse.
"Diablo, huh?" Her voice cut through my reverie, laced with a mixture of amusement and pity. I offered no explanation for Max's moniker, instead retrieving my phone from my pocket and dialing Ottavio's number.
In under three minutes, Ottavio confirmed my suspicions. The catalyst for Vitriol's abrupt departure to Sicily? None other than his son, Angelo. Their motives remained murky, likely a cocktail of personal vendettas and ambitions aimed squarely at me.
As I ended the call and turned back to Xenia, room service bustled around us, clearing away the remnants of her meal. Her gaze, fixed on me, betrayed a myriad of thoughts. After a moment's hesitation, she averted her eyes, silently chewing on those thoughts as she saw the hotel attendant to the door.
"Care for a walk?" Her words hung in the air, stunning me.
I had every reason to refuse. I prided myself on being a man of action, not one for leisurely walks. But then again, she was Xenia. It had been almost five months since I last laid eyes on her, and now she was suggesting something we had never done during the passionate intensity of our past.
I had dalliances before her, understanding the complexities of such actions in such affairs. And deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this invitation than just a simple walk.
Perhaps she wanted to discuss her elusive book, perhaps even plotting its destruction, or maybe she simply wanted to reconnect on a deeper level. Whatever her intentions, I found myself nodding in agreement. With each breath, she seemed to be granting unspoken permission. I genuinely wanted to be with her in an open space to overlook her subtle signals.
She glided across the room with a graceful yet hesitant air, a familiar shyness enveloping her movements—a shyness I had always found endearing yet challenging to dispel. Everything felt off-kilter, suddenly weirder, as it had been ages since she last welcomed me into her space.
With her clothes clutched in hand, she hesitated, a crystal confusion in her demeanor as she searched for a way to excuse herself. Sensing her discomfort, I made the decision to leave, but before I could make my exit, she bolted towards the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.
I stood there, hand on the doorknob, ready to depart, when a sound pierced the air—a beeping phone.
Normally, I was not one to snoop, preferring direct confrontation for answers. Yet, in that moment, a dark jealousy I never knew I possessed mingled with a burning curiosity about the last five months of her life, compelling me to follow the phone's insistent beeping.
Earlier that morning, a man had dropped off both Xenia and her friend, indicating they had been out all night. The mere thought made my stomach churn. Any man in her vicinity was a potential threat in my eyes.
The phone lay innocently nestled between the pillows. I hesitated for a moment before picking it up, scrolling through the notifications. Most were innocuous, but it was the latest one that grabbed my attention and confirmed my suspicions.
Angelo.
The name alone was enough to ignite a firestorm within me. And the contents of the message? I could barely stomach reading it once, let alone twice.
"Hey, baby. You've been MIA today, are you regretting something?"
The words went through me like a bullet l, each syllable a telltale of something dark.
And it didn't stop there.
"Ecstasy does that. Whatever you are thinking, I assure you that it's simply the side effects of a first timer."
A sickening realization washed over me as I read the final message.
"If you're down, call me. The second time is always better than the first, love."
Anger, hurt, and betrayal surged through me in equal measure. My suspicions had been justified, but the truth was far more devastating than I could have imagined.
Angelo.
The name echoed in my mind, sending a shiver down my spine. Could it be the same Angelo? Sure, Sicily might have a multitude of men bearing that name, but my thoughts immediately gravitated towards my cousin.
Dread immediately washed over me.
Locked out of the phone by an unknown passcode, I resisted the urge to guess, knowing it would be futile. Yet, I yearned to delve deeper, to uncover the truth behind Xenia's connection to Angelo. Was it mere coincidence or a cruel turn of events orchestrated by the universe to torment me?
Lost in my thoughts, I stared blankly at the messages, the words blurring together as I tried to make sense of it all.
Why was Angelo mentioning ecstasy, and in such a casual manner?
Before I could unravel the tangled web of my thoughts, the bathroom door swung open, snapping me back to reality. Saved by the timely interruption of the phone's ringing, I seized the opportunity to play the dutiful bearer, handing Xenia her buzzing device as she approached.
But as her eyes flickered to the caller ID, a subtle shift in her demeanor betrayed her. I didn't need words to confirm my suspicions. The way her expression changed was louder than any scream, confirming that her relationship with Angelo ran deeper than I had initially feared.
Xenia cleared her throat. Her gaze briefly meet mine before she answered the call. With a turn on her heels, she retreated back into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. From my vantage point, I could observe her every move, from the trembling in her voice to the nervous gestures of hair tugging and nail-biting. It was clear she was wrestling with inner turmoil.
The conversation was brief, filled with stilted greetings and forced pleasantries. She didn't smile or even glance in my direction, knowing my attention was fixed solely on her. Her final words, promising to call later, hinted at a conversation she couldn't have with me present, for reasons understood by both of us.
As she turned her focus back to me, I resisted the urge to confront her, instead diverting my attention to the holstered gun by my side.
"Ready?" she asked, her voice strained.
I forced a chuckle, masking the storm of rage brewing somewhere in my chest. "Yes, Xenia. We have much to discuss, I'm sure."