It was Sofia.
I’d panicked that we would be over if I didn’t make it home to her. And that harrowing thought cemented how much she had come to matter.
How much I was on the path to believing we couldn’t lose each other because one half of a soul remaining of a pair was an injustice I couldn’t allow.
Facing forward, I bore through the pain of my fresh wounds and counted down the seconds until I could hold her in my arms again.
Until I could breathe her in and feel complete once more after such an unexpected near-death incident.
18
SOFIA
It didn’t seem right to go to Andre’s room and get in his bed without him there. He hadn’t come home yet from some meeting at Giardino’s, an upscale restaurant downtown.
The awful side effects that accompanied the experience of talking to my uncle clung to me. Anxiety ate away at me. I was irritated and dismayed about being controlled and trapped. Frustrated and sad about how he wouldn’t let me help my cousin.
I was hopeless.
Helpless.
Heartbroken.
Because he could always distract me and improve my mood, I wanted to be available to Andre as soon as he returned. Staying in my old maid’s room didn’t make sense anymore. Instead, I went to numb my mind with TV. In the big lounge, I turned on some weird reality show competition thing with bakers and cake challenges. It was Esmeralda’s favorite.
Was.
It used to be her favorite.
Since her asshole of an uncle had moved her to the basement, she didn’t have her usual entertainment setup that I’d made for her. She had no TV at all down there from what I saw in the few video calls we risked.
I hate you.
Grinding my teeth together, I was too mad to invest in the show I had on mute. This fury for my uncle was a palpable force that would consume me completely if I couldn’t figure out how to fight him. How to get Esmeralda out of his grip, wipe out any leverage he had over me, and livemylife as I saw fit. To the fullest for once, not being used as a pawn or sheltered in his shitty house. I wanted to make it so my cousin could live the remainder of her life to the fullest too, however many days she had left.
God. Why does this have to be so hard?
Life was too cruel. Loss was inevitable, but this much was hard to bear. First my parents were gone—the same day as Esmeralda’s. I still wasn’t convinced Uncle Roberto hadn’t had them conveniently killed so he could rule the family as he saw fit.
Then that terrible news that Esmeralda was sick, doomed to suffer and die too soon.
Andre was the only good I’d managed to hold on to in my life, but even he wasn’t a guarantee.
He wouldn’t want anything to do with me if he were to find out I was a Giovanni. Because of that fear, I knew this affair we were sharing together—in his bed, in his home—couldn’t last.I couldn’t hide who I was forever. That was nonsense. Sooner or later, my uncle would force me back home to use me for something else. Probably to clean and cook for him, like an indentured servant again.
The door to the elevator whooshed open. If I’d had the volume up on the TV, I would’ve missed it. I’d been sitting here impatient for Andre to come home, though. Perking up and getting off the couch, I turned toward the foyer where the elevator led to.
“Andre—” A gasp replaced whatever other part of a greeting I might have wanted to tell him.
The sight of him limping inside stunned me. Blood dripped on his cheek. His suit was cut up, disheveled, dirtied, and worn. As he strode toward me, a sober anger burning in his flinty glare, the scents of gunpowder and smoke wafted from him.
“My God.” I swallowed down the bitterness of shock.
This was far from the first time I’d seen a man wounded and injured. It wasn’t the initial time I’d seenhimworse for wear. It hardly mattered because I hated the idea of Andre Orlov ever in pain.
“Come to the clinic with me,” Oleg said, exiting the elevator after him. His face was stern with a rigid and gruff expression as well. As he reached out for his boss’s arm, Andre gave him his back. As if he were locked into tunnel vision, Andre stared at me and continued to approach. He held his hand up, dismissively, at his right-hand man. “Sofia can help me.”
“Of course. Yes, I will help you. Andre, what happened?” I hurried toward him, my heart aching at the mere concept of his being wounded.
