I thought pushing him away would have been harder. That me telling him it was over between us would somehow slip his mind and he’d just call the next day with some cocky remark. But Kirill hasn’t called me. Hasn’t even sent me a text. Even with me working at the riverboat almost every day, he always manages not to be there, leaving Kostya to deal with me instead. Kostya doesn’t mention him either, not that I ask, but the scathing glares he gives me are enough to make me rush through my tasks, double-checking that no Outfit penny has been touched or stolen, just so I can get my ass out of there.
Then I come home.
I come home to my loving family, whose worried gazes linger on me as if they don’t know what to do with me either. I’ve heard their whispered words when they think I’m out of earshot. How they believe that Kirill must be the culprit to my melancholy. How they quickly came to that conclusion is beyond me, but neither seemed surprised by it either. I try not to show them how damaged I am, how absolutely heartbroken I feel. But when the pretending gets to be too much, I come here to this makeshift gym and stare into oblivion. I stare into nothingness until I feel it envelop me, its coldness almost a welcome relief from the numbness I feel every day.
“Stella? Did you hear me?” Dom asks, placing a tentative hand on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry. Were you talking?”
His brows pinch together in sadness.
“Was it him? Did he do this to you?” When fury flashes in the blue of my dad’s eyes, I know exactly who he means.
The old Stella would refute it. Would spin some lie about not knowing who my father could possibly be referring to.
This Stella… the one standing before him now… has no such energy to deny it.
“No, Dad. Kill didn’t do anything.Idid this. Me. Only me.”
The creases in his forehead only deepen as I turn around and sling my blades into the silhouette, both finding their target at the very center of where a heart should be. How fucking tragic.
“I’m tired. I’m going to bed,” I say, shoulders slumped as I walk past him.
“It’s five in the afternoon, my little firecracker. Just five,” he says, like those words should mean something to me.
They don’t.
Nothing means anything anymore.
“I need a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow is a big day.”
He nods reluctantly and watches me walk away, knowing that his daughter isn’t anywhere in the vicinity. Only the ghost of her remains.
I walk back into the house, grateful that no one is there for me to keep up pretenses. Today, I’m in no mood for them.
Tomorrow, though… I won’t have that luxury. My melancholy has to take a back seat to what’s expected of me. Before the ceremony, my father will introduce me to the bosses of all the families, not as his daughter, but as the nextCaposet to be initiated into thefamiglia.
Tomorrow all my dreams will come true, and yet I can’t enjoy it. Not really. Not when a hole has been carved out ofmy chest. Not when there’s no more color in my world and everything has turned a dull gray.
I miss black.
Black is honest.
Black is warm and inviting.
Black is heat and passion.
Black is love.
I don’t get to have black anymore. Only gray. Dull, unfeeling gray.
When I get into my room, I don’t even bother getting out of my workout clothes. I just slide into bed and pull the covers over my head. And that’s how I stay for hours. I just lie there in silence.
Maybe when I pull the covers down, I’ll look out the window and see a merciful star in the night sky looking down on me, twinkling as a reminder that at least I had one good month with the man I love. One beautiful, incandescent month up at the lake house. Nights filled with passion and long, lingering kisses. Nights when dark eyes shone only for me.
Most people don’t even get one good month with the person they love, so I guess I’m fortunate that I got at least that.
One month of happiness should surely be enough to sustain me for the rest of my life, right?
