She doesn’t look at me when she says it and her voice is quiet, but I hear her loud and clear. I like that she noticed. I like that I can feel the tension draining from the muscles in her shoulders.
I kiss the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair because I can’t resist. “How do you feel now? Do you feel like you’re going to have another attack?”
“I…think I’m okay for now.”
“Good.” I kiss the side of her neck and let my hands continue their work, kneading her shoulders. “Where do you want the other windows?”
“Where am I sleeping?”
“In my bedroom.”
The instant the words are out, I know I can’t hit rewind and recall them. But also, I don’t want to. On the way over, I told myself to do the right thing and put her in a guest room, far out of reach. But Isla belongs to me. Even if I can never truly have her beyond this snippet in time.
“Your room?”
“There’s only one bed you’re sleeping in while you’re here,tesoro, and that’s mine,” I growl into her ear.
I half expect her to protest, but she doesn’t. She just stands there, leaning against me like she needs me to hold her up, letting me ease the strain from her shoulders while I hold her close. And as fucked up as everything has been today, it was worth it just to get to this moment, at the safe house with Isla in my arms.
Chapter 20
ISLA
“Everything you need should be right here,” Alessio tells me as he finishes up the grand tour of the safe house.
Safe house is a misnomer for this place. It’s actually a palace that’s been built deep underground, complete with a swimming pool, state-of-the-art kitchen, and luxurious en suite bathrooms.
To my relief, I’m not having the panic attacks I expected to have. The first one in the kitchen seized me, but I’ve been holding my own since then. Maybe it’s Alessio’s fake windows that are helping. Maybe it’s his reassuring presence. Maybe I’m drunk on all the sexy pheromones he exudes, or maybe it’s just the shock of today finally getting the best of me.
All I know is that I’m surprisingly calm, given that I’m holed up in a mobster safe house built under a casino, hiding from lethal Russian Bratva men who will probably want to either kill me or take me hostage after they find out that Scorpion stole their leader’s sister.
But I don’t want to think about that right now. Scorpion must have taken her out of the safe house and moved on to his next destination during the tour, because by the time we emerged from the pool room, it no longer sounded like an angry feral catwas fighting for her life in one of the locked rooms. Alessio’s brother was nowhere to be found. I decided not to ask. The less I know, the better. Just like he said.
Yup, I’m definitely existing on adon’t ask, don’t tellpolicy for the foreseeable future.
“You’re quiet,” he says, coming alongside me and settling a hand on my lower back. “Is the anxiety coming back?”
“Strangely, no. I think you’ve finally pushed me over the brink, because as much as I would think being trapped down here would make me come unglued, I feel okay.”
“Good.” He wraps an arm around me and tugs me into his side. “How long have you had anxiety and panic attacks? Your whole life?”
I’m staring at one of the fake window decals we put on the wall together, this one a scene of a garden in full bloom beyond the white shutters. It’s the kind of garden my mom used to keep, back when she was alive. The memory of plucking a snapdragon and pinching it between my thumb and forefinger hits me. I used to put on puppet shows for her with them. It’s a memory I had completely forgotten until now. Grief is funny that way. It’s like driving along on a highway in pitch dark when suddenly your headlights and your gauge clusters go out, and there’s no way to see where you’re headed. Everything is just upended.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he adds, and I realize that I’ve been staring at the fake window for way too long.
And that tears are pricking my eyes.
I don’t know why I’m thinking about my mother now. The last thing I want to do is break down or have another panic attack. But I also feel like I want to tell Alessio. At first, when I lost my family, everyone knew. They looked at me with pity. They whispered behind my back.Do you think she blames herself? Do you think she ever feels guilty that she wasn’t on the plane when it crashed?
Then later, I moved away from my small town, to a place where no one knew me or my story. It was a relief but also felt a little bit like a betrayal, like I was simply packing up their memories and locking them in a storage shed, the same way I did with the family antiques and mementos I couldn’t bear to part with but couldn’t take with me.
I take a deep breath, tamping down the old voices, the old pain. “I want to tell you. It’s just…complicated.”
He glides his hand up my spine, finding my nape, his fingers meticulously massaging the new tension there. “I understand complicated,tesoro. I grew up in the fucking Mafia.”
He’s right. And he’s a solid, comforting presence at my side. I don’t know why, but I have this feeling that I can trust Alessio with this part of myself. With the part of my heart that’s still bandaged and broken and bruised.
“It started when I lost my family in a plane crash,” I blurt, still looking at the window so that I don’t have to see the pity on his face. “My dad had a pilot license. I grew up on that plane. He loved it, I loved it. I have so many happy memories of being on board, watching my dad guide the plane. We were supposed to all be together that day, on our way to a beach trip at our family friends’ summer house. Except that I had woken up with a bad cold, and I decided not to go at the last minute. They hit a storm unexpectedly on the way, and visibility was bad. The plane went down with my mother, father, and my younger sister on it.”
