I’m filled with a pleasant post-orgasmic haze, unable to stop thinking about her nails scratching my back in the shower, criss-crossing the scars I already have with the scars she gave me. I want those scars of hers. I want the pain of her nails on my skin, cancelling out the pain of my father’s belt. And I want the child we hopefully created between us, new life after all these years of death.
But what if she’s not pregnant? Will you keep her here like your father kept your mother?
The pleasant haze fragments as a cold thread of unease winds through me.
I wouldn’t do that, of course I wouldn’t. If she’s not pregnant then it’s fine, we can try again and I’m all for trying as many times as it will take since isn’t that the best part?
I throw back the sheet and get out of bed, stalking into the bathroom. I splash some water on my face to get rid of the lingering effects of sleep, but I can’t stop thinking about her, standing on the beach, looking out to sea. Her telling me that a facsimile of freedom isn’t what she truly wants, no matter what I can promise her.
You know what she truly needs. That’s to be free ofyou.
I brace my hands on the black marble vanity and look down unseeing into the basin. What she wants is impossible. She’s forever tied to me as my wife now, and if she’s pregnant—
You forced her into marriage, screwed her without a condom, told her that freedom for her is impossible, and that she’ll never be loved. All of this is about whatyouwant. None of this is about her.
I’m cold inside and getting colder, and I could lie to myself, deny that I feel anything at all for her and that there’s no escaping the situation, no escape for her, but…
I’m not sure I can lie anymore or pretend she’s not important to me. Act as if her feelings mean nothing, when they in fact mean everything.
She means everything.
I slowly lift my head and stare in the mirror at the man looking back. The face of the monster I’ve become. The Wolf of Sicily.
I have my father’s eyes, his colouring and his height. I have nothing at all of my mother, except perhaps my heart, which was once as fierce and tender as hers. But it’s not anymore. There’s only a stone where my heart should be, hard and cold and impervious. Like my father’s heart.
You know what you have to do.
Everything inside me goes tight, my chest aching as if a bullet has torn a hole right through it, but there’s no escaping the truth and I know it.
I want to keep her here. I want to keep here with me forever, but if I do that, I’ll be my father through and through. She won’t ever taste that freedom she so badly wants. She won’t ever have that little flat or a career, or a life outside thecosa nostra.All she’ll ever have is a husband who keeps her at his side and gives her nothing in return.
I know what she needs, even though she might not know it herself. The thing that’s been missing in her life since my family destroyed hers. She needs love, and that’s the one thing I can’t give her. Because slowly but surely the Argentis kill love. They strangle it, starve it and beat it to death. Then, once it’s dead, we fill the space it left with violence and murder, with sorrow and pain.
That’s the true Argenti legacy.Mylegacy.
And I can’t involve Caterina or any children we may have in that legacy. I can’t pass that on to the next generation. I promised myself the violence would end with me, but I know that if I keep her, it won’t. It will go on and on, down through our children and there will never be an end to it. The shadow Stefano Argenti casts is too long and I can’t escape it.
It has to stop. Now. Here. With her.
Ice fills my veins, my cold stone of a heart pumping it around the rest of my body, and I let it. I’m not the wolf now, I’m the man, and the man has a purpose to fulfil. He cannot let himself be distracted from it and he cannot let anyone get in his way.
I push myself away from the vanity and go back into the bedroom. Caterina is stirring, giving a sensual little stretch as she does so. Then she sees me standing next to the bed and smiles, reaching out for me. ‘Come back to bed,’ she says. ‘I need my husband.’
But her husband is gone. I can’t be him any longer, no matter how badly she wants him.
She must see something in my expression, because her black brows draw together in a frown, her green eyes full of concern. She sits up, drawing the sheet about her. ‘Vincenzo? What’s wrong? Has something happened?’
Hearing her say my name makes my resolve falter, but only for a second. There can be no second-guessing and no regrets, not now. This is the right thing to do, theonlything to do.
‘Sadly, I’ve had a small change of heart,’ I drawl. ‘You wanted your freedom, so I’ve decided you shall have it. I’ll organise a new identity for you, a new passport and a new life. You can have the normality you wanted.’
She blinks, shock slowly filling her gaze. ‘What?’ The word sounds blank, as if she doesn’t understand what I’ve said.
‘A new identity,’ I explain patiently, my voice cold. ‘That’s what I gave your father and that’s what I’ll give you. You’re right. You should have the normal life you wanted and I’m going to give it to you.’
She blinks again, understanding dawning across her face. ‘But…you said that was impossible. You said that if I was pregnant—’
‘I know what I said.’ My voice sharpens, a hot flare of temper penetrating the ice I’ve surrounded myself with. ‘But I was wrong. I don’t want to do to you what my father did to my mother. I don’t want to imprison you here.’
