Guilt and secrets. Remorse and misery. That’s what will forever connect us, welding our souls into an inextricable link—never together but sharing a deep-rooted connection that runs thicker than blood and transcends the perennial.
Profound. Deep. Endless.
Our relationship just scrapes at everything that could be. If only he would listen, but my heart is a mere whisper while his mind rages at him, always silencing my plea for love.
In the absence of his love, my piano, my compositions nurture my starved soul. I prevail through this instrument, and in exchange, he sings to my soul.
From the corner of my eye, I catch his shadow, just as imposing as him, stomping on my airways. No wonder it always feels like I will suffocate in his presence. Letting me asphyxiate would be the generous thing. But Mika is not known for mercy.
The thick burgundy curtain separating the backstage does nothing to shield him from me. I feel his presence as if he’s attached to my heart.
I bow my head to the audience, ready to be done for tonight and crawl back to the safety of privacy where solitude awaits me. Just a few more minutes. I let the knowledge appease my frayed thoughts.
The sound of the spectators chanting my name follows me all the way to my dressing room in the back.Keep that smile up. Don’t show the cracks threatening to split you open.Nothing could happen to me. Physically, I am safe. Emotionally not so.
My personal bodyguard supervises the perimeter as the staff congratulates me. His firm presence alone keeps people at a distance. Letting no one too close, he eyes everyone as if they were a threat and is ready to attack.
Mikail appointed Kiril to watch over me. As he accompanies me down the hall, I smile at him in both gratitude and apology. More guards scatter across the perimeter. My safety is my brother’s and his top priority.
Inside, I close the door and blow out a heavy exhale. A bout of nostalgia crashes into me like a wave, drowning me under its heavy weight.
Today my brother got married, but the intimate celebration lasted only a few hours before Enzo whisked his new bride away for their honeymoon. And I kept to my regular Saturday schedule, giving a piano concert at city hall in downtown Reno. Trapped in the inertia of my life, I don’t know how to break free. I merely exist. My brother escaped the hellish cycle. I wish I could too.
I sink against the door, wishing to return home to seclusion, to quiet. At the compound, my mother and I live our unbothered existence of being alive while long dead. Two ghosts coexisting peacefully.
The dim light casts the small room in a familiar glow. A small velvet sofa spans the left side. In front of me, a vanity table rests against the wall with a round mirror and a plush armchair. An adjoining bathroom completes the room.
My eyes catch the immense bouquet of dahlias next to an elegant orange box on the vanity table. Pushing myself off the door, I don’t have to look to know it’s another purse. Another gift. No note, even though I am aware it’s from him.
Making my way to the vanity table, I pluck one delicate flower and kiss the petals. For a flower with no thorns, it feels like I am the biggest thorn in his life. I upended both our lives with my decision—I wanted one kiss from him, thinking that would make him see me as a woman and not a girl anymore. I got so much more—all desired, but not the way it should have happened.
A soft knock pulls me out of my memory, and I dab quickly at the tears gathering in my eyes, threatening to spill with my longing.
“You were fabulous, my dear,” Ramona says, her eyes sparkling with unmistakable awe as she walks inside. She’s my agent slash manager, who organizes the weekly concerts and makes sure everything is taken care of. I only have to play.
The brighter she smiles, the more I know she’ll try again to convince me to give concerts outside of Reno.
One. Two?—
“Not even if the greatest masters practiced for another decade could they reach your native talent. In all my life, I haven’t seen someone play as you and you…”
I tune her out. Ramona has been with me for the last two years, but still thinks she will persuade me to leave Reno and embark on a new journey. I can’t leave Mika. My sanity is frail. I need the misery to stay alive. That’s what connects me to the love of my life. The man I will never call mine.
I wave her off, my gaze returning to the bouquet. “I’m not interested.”
She sighs. “Just think about it. I believe it would do you good. I have offers from the greatest philharmonics in the world, including New York.”
It’s strange witnessing the hope in others. Mine got snubbed out years ago, crushed under fate’s feet. But hers shines so bright.
I offer a nod of acknowledgement just to be done already.
If my sister-in-law finds out about this opportunity, she will only encourage me. While Calla doesn’t know my story, she senses there is more behind the façade of the broken mafia princess, reinforcing my belief that women are more astute, more connected to their instincts.
Calla Ferrara, formerly known as Luciana Rossi and the most feared assassin in the underworld, is the woman my brother wanted and took for himself, even if it cost him his life, his empire, his legacy. And now they’re on their honeymoon.
Life goes on. It seems to have stopped only for me. If it weren’t for the clock mercilessly ticking, I would have thought I froze in time and can’t escape the grave, keeping me immobile,intact, like some relic—perfectly preserved, but irrelevant to the current timeline.
The last embers of hope flicker to their end. As if God himself flexed his hand and blew it out to make me see there’s no hope but to become a martyr at the altar of an unrequited love.
