The wind picks up. Cold.
"You taught me power is everything. That love is weakness. That control is how you survive." I crouch down. Eye level with the stone. "And I believed you. Because you were right. About most of it."
A crow caws. Somewhere distant.
"But you were wrong about Gemma." I stand. "She's not weakness. She's not a liability. She's the strongest thing I have. And I've been treating her like she's the problem when really—" I stop. "—I'm the problem."
I laugh.
"I suppose you did tell me that. You always told me I was not going to be good at love." I remember all the therapist he sent me to. In hindsight, I realize he wanted to learn how to handle me.
After all, what made me great, my numbness, also made me unpredictable.
"I don't know how to be different. How to love without controlling. How to trust her. How not to fucking ruin her." I run my hand over the cold stone. "You didn't teach me that. You taught me to take what I want and hold it tight. To never show weakness. To always be in control."
But Gemma doesn't want to be held tight. She wants to be free.
"I can't do that with her," I say. "I have to give her power. Make her my equal."
The grave doesn't respond. Obviously.
Antonio is probably rolling in it, but I don't give a fuck.
I turn to leave. Stop. Look back.
"Thank you. For everything you taught me. For making me strong. For making me Don." I pause. "The family is in good hands, but it needs more than just mine."
I walk away.
Leave Antonio in the ground where he belongs.
And I go home. To my wife.
To try to be the man she needs.
Even if I have no idea how.
CHAPTER 31
Gemma
Saint gives me more time than I think he would. True, he basically camps out in front of the bathroom door this morning, but I honestly expect him to kick it in, so the fact that he doesn't is appreciated.
He's gone for hours, but then, out of nowhere, I hear his footsteps.
Heavy and booted.
Not his current suit and dress shoe sound.
I steel myself.
I'm in bed. I haven't moved much since this morning. It's not that I'm depressed. Well, maybe a bit, but not like how I was before Alexei's murder.
No, I'm tired.
My body is exhausted from the never-ending whirling in my mind.
No matter what I do, I can't stop thinking, and it is taking a toll.
