Pain splits me in two as it all returns to haunt me. If only I hadn’t used Mandy to permanently push Nat away last weekend when Brando texted me to say she was on her way. If only I hadn’t proceeded to get completely trashed because I knew I had hurt mydolcezzaso deeply she would likely never speak to me again. Then I wouldn’t have been so heartsick and hungover on Sunday. I wouldn’t have turned Mateo down when he called and asked me to meet him in Manhattan for lunch. And he wouldn’t have been alone, crossing a busy street, in broad daylight, when someone put a bullet through his skull.
Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I squeeze them shut as my phone continues to vibrate. I’m lost. Wracked with pain and regrets. And the only person who truly understands, the one person who could offer me comfort, hates my guts.
Natalia hasn’t spoken one word to me since Saturday night. At the funeral, she stuck by her father’s side, stoic and so fucking beautiful in the face of so much heartache. How could God be this cruel to snatch her brother from her only six months after she lost her mama?
I know my mom has been at the house this week, helping Natalia and Angelo with the arrangements. Every day, I have wanted to go there so badly. To take Natalia in my arms, beg for forgiveness, and keep her close. I can’t lose her too. But seeing the way she looked at me on Sunday, when I first showed up on their doorstep, devastated at the news Mateo had been gunned down in cold blood, I knew she wanted nothing to do with me.
And I don’t blame her. What I did was reprehensible. It killed me to do it, but she hasn’t let me go, and she needs to. Angelo made himself very clear. If I don’t stay away from her, she will lose the opportunity to attend NYU and I’ll be resting eternally in a shallow grave.
Mateo was furious when she showed up at my birthday. He made it clear I was to handle it once and for all, but he took no pleasure in hurting his sister either.
Fuck this life. I bury my face in the pillow and yell. In the background, my stupid phone keeps going until I snatch it up. “What?” I roar.
Initial silence greets me, and then Brando’s placid tone tickles my eardrums. “You need to calm the fuck down and clean your shit up.”
He has dropped by a couple times to check on me. So what if cleaning my apartment has been the last thing on my mind this week? Who fucking cares? “Did you seriously call me to lecture me?”
“I called because Natalia is on her way to your place right now.”
My heart stutters. “What?”
“She’s currently curled up in the back seat, having cried herself to sleep. But not before she blackmailed me into taking her to you.”
I would love to know what she has on him to force him into doing her wishes, but that’s not important. “She hates me,” I say, leaning down to grab dirty clothes off my bedroom floor with one arm.
“We both know that’s not true,” Brando quietly replies.
“She can’t come here,” I say, even as an inner voice in my head yells at me to shut the fuck up.
“She needs you.” Brando’s words are like a dagger and a comfort blanket. “And I think you need her too.”
“The boss will kill me,” I mutter, stuffing the pile of clothes in the laundry basket, before I walk into the living room, surveying the mess.
“Angelo won’t know. He’s out of town for the weekend.”
“What?” I snap. “How the hell can he leave her at a time like this?”
“Why do you think I’m taking her to you?”
“You won’t tell him?”
I can almost see Brando roll his eyes. “Shut the hell up, Leo, and open your fucking windows. We’ll be there in fifteen.” He hangs up before I can say anything else.
I race around my small two-bedroom apartment, doing my best to tidy it up before they get here. Then I grab the quickest shower ever and change into clean sweats and a white T-shirt.
The door chimes, and I pad toward it in my bare feet, tossing the towel I was using to rub at my damp hair onto the hall table. Pressing my brow to the back of the door, I inhale deeply, knowing this is a really bad idea but powerless to stop it because I will not deny Natalia if she needs me.
And the truth be told: I fucking need her too.
The second I open the door, she throws herself at me, sobbing into my shirt, and my arms go around her without hesitation. Brando’s concerned expression latches on to mine. “It’s okay. I’ve got it from here.”
“I’ll wait outside in the car.”
I shake my head. I know he’s got a girl in the city. “I’ll protect her and take care of her. You take off, and I’ll call you later.”
He nods, and I steer Natalia inside, closing and locking the front door. She is suctioned to my body like a limpet, crying her eyes out, and my heart is breaking all over again. Sliding my hands under her legs, I scoop her up and carry her into my living room. I sit down on the couch, cradling her to my chest, crying silent tears as she falls apart in my lap.
She didn’t cry at the funeral or back at the house. Not once. Not like she did at her mother’s funeral. Mama told me she has been on autopilot all week, so it’s not surprising this has happened. She’s been trying to block out the pain, in the same way I have. But that magnitude of pain always finds a way to break free.
