He finally meets my eye, and what I see in his dark gaze makes my stomach twist. It isn’t relief. It’s guilt.
“I should’ve been with Raf,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “Not hiding in the damn shadows.”
“You weren’t hiding,” I whisper. “You were with me.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
My breath catches. “What do you mean?”
He steps inside finally, closing the door behind him, and the soft click sounds final. He turns away, running both hands over his face. “It means you’re a distraction, Evi. And I can’t afford distractions right now.”
The words slice clean through me. I blink at him, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “A distraction?”
He exhales, harsh and broken. “You know what I mean. I should’ve been focused—tonight of all nights. I should’ve been on Raf, not—” He stops himself, shaking his head. “Not with you.”
It’s like the air has been sucked out of the room. My eyes burn as a knot forms in my throat.
He looks at me then—eyes dark, conflicted, but still hard. “If anything had happened to him—” His voice cracks, and he cuts himself off again, anger rushing in to fill the space. “I could never forgive myself.”
I fold my arms across my chest, suddenly cold. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, feeling the sting of rejection even as I shoulder the burden of his remorse.
He looks away, muttering a curse under his breath, and before the tears fall, I spin quickly, retreating to the bathroom so I can pull myself together. Because even if I’m still trembling with lingering adrenaline from the gunshots, even if the broken pieces of my heart feel like they’re crumbling apart, I can’t imagine what Sandro must be going through right now. And I don’t want him to see me cry.
He almost lost his brother tonight. Histwin.
And it’s because he came after me, left the party to comfort me over a lie that’s slowly eating me alive.
“I’m sorry,” Sandro says from the archway, and even though his voice is low, softer, I startle.
My nerves are too frayed, my emotions on a roller coaster, and I gasp, spinning to face him as my heart races—for no apparent reason other than I didn’t see him coming.
Emotion flits across Sandro’s face—so quickly that I can’t identify it before it’s gone. Then he sighs, leaning one shoulder against the doorway and crossing his arms over his muscular chest as he drops his troubled eyes. “I didn’t mean to take my frustration out on you.”
But the words hang between us, already carved deep enough that sorry can’t erase them.
I nod slowly, swallowing the ache in my chest. “It’s fine,” I manage. “You’re tired. We both are.”
Eyes lifting with a glimmer of relief, Sandro steps closer, reaching for me, but I take a tiny step back. His hand hesitates in midair, then falls to his side. He gives a single nod. “Maybe we should just get some rest.”
“Yeah. Rest,” I agree, the world surging around me unsteadily. And I turn to start my nightly bedtime ritual, my movements numb.
It’s the first time since our wedding night that we climb into bed without touching. The first time there’s no teasing, no slow drift of his fingers against my skin, no whispered promise of what’s to come.
Sandro lies beside me, still and silent, his arm tucked behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling. I turn to lie on my side, facing away, my eyes burning. I can still feel the heat of his body beside mine, but it’s like a wall has gone up between us.
I tell myself not to cry. That this is just exhaustion, stress, the fallout of everything that happened tonight. But the tears come anyway, silent and hot against my pillow.
I hate that I can’t stop thinking about what he said. That I’m a distraction.
And maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s all I am.
I toss and turn long after his breathing evens out. I can’t seem to find a position that doesn’t make the ache in my chest worse.Every time I close my eyes, I see the flash of gunfire, hear the screams, see Raf go down.
That was the most terrifying part of tonight, in all honesty. Because, while the rest of the room was watching their new Don be gunned down, it felt like I was watching Sandro himself taking that bullet.
It felt like I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. I never have a hard time differentiating between my husband and his twin. But tonight, in that moment, it was like I watched the agonizing moment of Sandro’s death—then I had to witness him throw himself into the fray like his life was worth nothing.
When I’m finally done reliving that agonizing fear and pain, then my mind pulls forth the memory of Sandro turning on me in our bedroom, his face twisted with guilt and something darker… resentment.
