This undid the tight lump of anger in my chest. I didn’t have anything against therapy. On the contrary, I agreed we both desperately needed it. I just didn’t want to do all the work while he sat there, making corpse pizzas in his family’s backyard.
And…I had a feeling this time, I could have a breakthrough. In the past, my therapists had tried reaching a place inside me that I’d buried too deep in denial. Now, all the memories had resurfaced, the wounds reopened.
“Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll see this Dr. Andrews person.” I glanced at my phone, heaving out a breath. “I guess I’ll go fill out the paperwork.”
I half expected him to tell me the paperwork had been taken care of—stalker Achilles had the tendency to overstep—but he surprised me by nodding. “Those are a bitch. I sat outside my therapist’s office for goddamn forty minutes filling out that questionnaire. And lying about eighty percent of it.”
I rolled my eyes, stifling a snort.
He munched on his inner cheek. “There’s something you should know.”
“Okay.”
“I’m heading to Naples next week to tie up some loose ends with Coppola. Make sure he doesn’t bother us again.”
I nodded. I liked that he kept me in the loop. It was very rare for men in the Camorra, and I didn’t take it for granted. “Thanks for telling me.”
“You’re welcome.”
He studied me quietly. Expectantly.
He wanted me to show him that it worried me.
That I wanted him safe.
Considering our history, I couldn’t blame him.
I put a hand on the door handle, struggling for words that usually came so easily to me. But they were derisive words, meant to hurt. I had to peel so many layers to show pain, loss, and vulnerability. To show love.
“Achilles?”
“Yes, Piccola Fiamma?”
“Truth?”
He paused. “Truth, baby. I’ll always choose the truth.”
“I spent my entire adult life regretting that fire. I couldn’t bear how it hurt you, how it ruinedus. Some days, the only reason I didn’t finish myself was because I knew you wouldn’t let me, and I would never put your life at risk again. With time, I got better. Better but never whole. I’m only whole when I’m with you. And if that’s toxic, or unhealthy, then so be it. Because the truth is, there isn’t me if there isn’t you.”
Chapter Fifty
Tierney
I spentthe first three days in Achilles’s Manhattan apartment moving in my stuff, decorating it in the most feminine fashion, and trying to get rid of the suspicious stench coming from his otherwise impeccably clean and neat office.
I did find a secret passage from a cupboard in the office where Achilles stashed a profane amount of weapons, but no human remains. The placecouldtechnically house a body, though, so I was sure one had been stored there at some point.
On the fourth day, Tom Rothwell arrived at Achilles’s doorstep.
He’d been trying to schedule a meeting with me since I was discharged from the hospital, but with no warrant or a reason to issue one, all he could do was hope for the charity and goodwill of my brother. As it happened, Tiernan had none.
Now all bets were off. While I was sure Camorra soldiers patrolled the building, Achilles had issued strict instructions to let my visitors come and go as they pleased. No one knew Tom was not, in fact, a welcomed guest.
He stood at the threshold, a god among mortals, every inch and fiber of him demanding your attention and appreciation.
Elusive. Elegant. Malicious.
Too bad my heart belonged to a man whose face scared small children and was still the most gorgeous creature in the world to me.
