I already know the answer, but I choose to stay silent, so after a few moments he answers for me.
"A group of lowlifes from Bologna caught her, raped her, killed her bodyguards, then sent me footage of them shooting her between the eyes. All over some bags of cocaine we'd confiscated in our territory. You think I didn't want to go get her so many times? SHE HAS HER EYES, DAMIEN! And I would have given anything to see those eyes daily, but after that incident I realized my world is the last place I'd willingly drag her into."
What he doesn't understand is that she was born into this world. With a serial killer on her trail, the safest place was exactly in this world. Surrounded by soldiers, with resources at her disposal to hunt down the bastard who dared to dream of her.
"Are you going to tell her?" he asks.
"No. I don't want to hurt her. Her memories from back then are all fuzzy, and if I push too hard, I could really mess her up."
At least that's what the doctor I spoke with told me. Because from the moment I saw her, I knew she had no idea who I was. Yes, she was a child and there's a chance her mind erased me just because so much time has passed. But I feel like that's not it.
He nods slightly, resigned. And for the first time since I entered this office, I feel a trace of pity for what he's lost, for not knowing her. For not knowing how her eyes light up when she's excited or how her forehead creases when she doesn't understand something. The way her lips push forward when she wants to be spoiled.
Without another word, I close the door behind me. My wife is waiting for me at dinner, and I don't want to disappoint her.
Chapter 38
Roxy
After visiting the office and checking on Yuri, who insists he's ready to return to work despite his hand still being in a cast, I head home.
I had to explain to my team about the two guys in black suits—guns visible—posted outside the elevator on my floor. Everyone got it once I said it was just a security measure.
Then came the full interrogation about the ring on my finger and a whole round of excuses about why I didn't invite them to the wedding.
I don't mention how the whole celebration ended with my dress soaked in my husband's blood. A shiver races down my spine at the memory, cold and unrelenting.
By the time I finally drag myself home, night has fallen, and all I crave is a quick bite before collapsing into bed.
"Mrs. Kaminski, I'll leave your dinner on the table," Tirana tells me, and I give her a shy smile.
I'm still not used to having someone prepare my meals and wash my clothes, but I'm grateful I don't have to worry about it anymore.
"Is Damien home?" I ask though I already know the answer.
"No, they haven't returned since this morning."
The whole house feels empty without him. I've gotten used to his presence during the days he was recovering, and I'm annoyed with myself for feeling disappointment in my chest.
This isn't the first time you've eaten alone, Roxy.
It's not the first time you've gotten your hopes up that someone would remember you. Damien has an entire organization to run after a week in bed. If my father, who didn't have these kinds of responsibilities, couldn't find time for me, why the hell would Damien?
I head to the dining room, in the middle of which is a table that could seat ten people, not just one. Somehow its grandeur makes me swallow hard.
I think I'll eat in the kitchen.
But Tirana arranged the table so beautifully that I don't want to waste all her work.It's fine, Roxy. It's like eating at a restaurant. Alone.
I sit right next to the entrance of the sports complex, the only entrance, and wait for him.
The competition started ten minutes ago. I should be with my team, warming up, but I can't.
He promised. He promised he'd come today. At least today.
He's never been present at any of my dance competitions, and even though I know he thinks my whole fascination with street dancing is stupid, he guaranteed he'd be here.
I clutch the sequined drawstrings of my sweatpants, not taking my eyes off the access road for a single second.
