Before, there's always been a crisis to snap me out of the spiral. Now, I need to live with the thoughts, work through them, and I'm finding it exhausting.
Especially when I worry that my conclusion will be the wrong one, and that they will destroy the little bit of peace I've managed to eke out.
The door opens, slowly. I look up from my mountain of pillows. Saint stands there, highlighted by the golden hues of the setting sun.
He looks like some sort of avenging angel dressed all in black with bloody knuckles and a bruised face.
"What happened?" I scramble to sit up. "Are you hurt?" My eyes assess the damage.
"I'm fine." He comes in and closes the door. "I went to see Adrian."
My stomach drops. I haven't thought of my brothers in weeks. I push those thoughts deep inside a box, and I'm not sure if I'm ready to open them yet. "Why?" I ask, mouth dry.
"To beat the shit out of him."
I stare, unsure I hear him correctly. "You—huh?" I stand there, in a long silk nightgown, with my mouth open, looking ridiculous. But I'm certain I don't process that correctly. "Can you repeat that?"
Saint rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. "I punched him. Multiple times. Told him he's a piece of shit for what he did to you." He sits on the edge of the bed, but he doesn't look at me. "He fought back, obviously," he chuckles good-naturedly, and I kind of wonder if I'm hallucinating. "Fucker was faster than I expected. Got a few hits in, but I made my point."
"Saint—"
He gets up, pacing slightly.
"He should be telling you this, but he probably won't because he's a fucker, but he can't un-disown you. Politics. The captains would see it as weakness." He finally looks at me. "But he said he's sorry. That he'll reach out. Privately. That Sera and Angelo miss you."
Tears burn my eyes. "He said that?" I almost can't believe it. Not from Adrian. Luc, yes, but not Adrian. He never apologizes. Even when we were children. So, it's a big deal, even if it's not much.
"He's having twins. Girls. It made him think about you. About what he did." Saint's voice is rough. "He said he can't imagine doing to them what we did to you."
I don't know what to say. A weight presses down on my chest, and I try not to cry.
He takes my hand in his own, and I try not to melt into him, but I can't stop myself from needing the feeling of his skin on my own. "I was wrong, Gemma. About everything."
"Saint—" I hold my breath. I don't want to have hope, lest it be squashed.
"No. Let me say this." He squeezes my hand. "You said I can't give you equality. That I'll always choose the family over you. That I love the idea of you but not the actual person." He meets my eyes, and the deep green of his makes my stomach flip. "You were right. About all of it."
"I was angry," I try to explain. "We were both?—"
"You were honest." He pulls me closer. I can feel his hard muscles through the silk of my dress. "And I've been thinking. About what you said. About what you need. And I was full of shit."
"What?" I feel like a fish out of water. It's a cliché, but an apt metaphor. "What are you saying?"
"I can give you power. Real power. I'm Don, which means I can do whatever the fuck I want. I've made in-roads with the Russian, as much as can be expected, and I got us an equal seat at the table with your brother, and the other families." He cups my face. "My cousins are great. Fuck, Marcello is much more than I expected, but they can't do what I've done, and the captains know that. So, tell me. What do you want? Really want.And I'll give it to you." He leans down, taking my lips in his own. I sigh loudly, wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing myself harder against his body.
We part. "I'll give you fucking anything."
I search his face. Looking for the catch. The condition. The control.
There isn't one.
He's serious, completely serious.
And it's overwhelming.
This is power. Maybe not the kind one thinks of traditionally, but it is power.
More than most get.
