“This is one of many,” I said, never breaking eye contact with Vasilas. “This is how your brother showed his love. Now, I’m sorry for your loss because he was your family but I’m not sorry he’s dead Vasilas because it was either him or me. And for the first time in our marriage, I chose me.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Sergio
My pulse thundered in my ears and my heart hammered inside my chest like it was trying to escape as I stood outside her door with a bag of food. Seraphina was the only person who made me feel like I was losing my shit.
It had been a week since we got back from Greece, after settling everything with Vasilas. She made it clear she wanted a clean break from the Drakos family and wanted nothing of Dorian’s. Vasilas agreed and now it was time for us to get back to normal. Or as normal as things could be in the world.
She had been trying to keep her distance from me. And I didn’t blame her, but it drove me fucking insane. The only contact I had with her was her one-word responses to my text.
Not good enough. She moved out of the Puglisi estate when we returned, but instead of flying back to Greece with Phoenix and Gianni, she stayed in the States. In my mind, I believed she wanted things to work out between us. Even if she didn’t realize it right now.
I should’ve been relieved she was only a few miles away from me now, and not an entire ocean away. But the space between us felt just as wide. She kept her distance, like she was afraid of what might happen if she let me in.
But I wasn’t backing down. I wasn’t giving up on us. I couldn’t. I needed her to see that I wasn’t going anywhere. That I was ready to fight for her. For us. I wanted the chance to be in her life, not only as a friend, or a boyfriend, but her husband. We already did that shit and wasted so much time, knowing where we both wanted our lives to go. It was time to move forward. She would be Mrs. Sergio Puglisi. Even if she kept saying no, I’d try again and again until it happened.
Her place was a small one-bedroom apartment on the edge of the city. I stared at the door hanger on her apartment door. I raised my hand and hesitated. Just for a second. Then I knocked. My stomach twisted in knots as I waited for her to answer the door. I shifted on my feet, palms sweating, praying she’d open the door. Praying she wouldn’t slam it shut in my face.
She opened the door, only a crack, peeking out. She looked surprised to see me but wiped the emotion off her face. “What are you doing here?”
“You can’t keep hiding from me.” I held up the bag of food from our favorite restaurant. Well, it used to be our favorite restaurant. I hadn’t been there since we broke up.
“I’m not hiding from you,” she lied. “I just need some time, Sergio. A lot has happened.”
“A lot has happened, and you don’t need to go through it alone. I just want to talk, hang out, and eat some Little Palermo. That’s it.”
She tried to hide the smile on her face, but I saw it. “Just to talk,” she said, opening the door so I could come in.
“Yeah, if you can keep your hands to yourself.”
I chuckled when she pushed me.
She closed the door behind me, and I looked around. The apartment was small and cozy. A soft amber glow spilled from a vintage floor lamp in the corner. The living room bled into the kitchen with no real divide, just a narrow counter with two stools tucked beneath it. One had a cushion with faded sunflowers. The other was bare, the wood smooth from use.
A plush yellow throw blanket was draped over the back of a couch, its fabric frayed at the edges. A stack of books sat on the coffee table one with a cracked spine that looked like it’d been read a dozen times. The gentle blend of vanilla and citrus lingered in the air from the candle flickering near the window. It felt lived in, like a place she made her own.
“Let’s eat in the kitchen,” she said.
She took the bag of food from my hand. As we made our way to the kitchen, I looked down the short hallway. Her bedroom door was open. Pale blue sheets covered her bed, and a nightstand with a lamp and a framed photo sat next to it.
As she pulled our food from the bag and placed it on the counter, I slid onto a stool. “I like your place.”
She looked at me and smiled. “It’s small, but I love it.”
The kitchen was compact, but tidy. A ceramic fruit bowl sat on the counter, filled with lemons and one apple. The fridge was covered in magnets and a to-do list. A calendar hung beside it, marked with neat handwriting and a few scribbled notes I couldn’t read.
Her place wasn’t flashy, but every detail was Seraphina. And I wanted to belong in it. Not just as a visitor. As someone permanent.
Unlike me, I knew her, and Phoenix didn’t come from money. It was one of the reasons when we were together, I tried my best to spoil her. Take her places she’d never been. Buy her food she’d never get the chance to eat, or clothes she loved but couldn’t afford. I tried to explain to her that what was mine was also hers back in those days. Even now, if I died, she’d get everything I owned. She didn’t know it because she’d try to get me to change it, but I wanted her taken care of.
“What would you like to drink?” She pulled open the fridge door. “I have water, beer,” she looked over her shoulder, “the cheap stuff, and lemonade.”
“Yours?”
She made the best damn lemonade I’d ever tasted. I didn’t know what she put in that shit, but it had the most unique taste. It would be the only drink that would get me to pass on a beer.
She smiled and then gave a soft nod.“Lemonade.”
