“I want to go back to the way things were before I knew.”
“You wish you didn’t know?”
“Sort of. That’s stupid though, isn’t it?”
“It’s not stupid to not want to face bad and distressing news.”
“I feel like in saying that, I’m proving Master right, that he shouldn’t have told me. Because he knew I couldn’t handle it.”
“Lying to you was wrong,” Rebekah repeats. “Regardless of his reasons, he should have been honest. He cannot know how you might have reacted to the news and he should have given you the opportunity to digest it in your own way. Do you think it would help you to know his reasons?”
“Probably.”
“Are you ready to ask him?”
“Yes, I think I am. I want to forgive him, but I don’t know how.”
“Talk to your Master about it. Maybe he has some ideas.”
Master isin his study later that day when I tap lightly on the open door.
“Come in, Giovanni,” he says, setting aside some paperwork and removing his reading glasses. He motions to one of the armchairs by the window and I select my favorite one bathed in sunlight. He moves to sit in the one across from me.
“I spoke to Rebekah today,” I begin, and he nods for me to continue. “She suggested that you might have some reasons for why you didn’t tell me.”
Master clears his throat and sits up straighter. “I want you to know that no one in New York knows, no one in the family or outside of it. You and Silvio are the only ones.”
“And Anthony,” I correct.
Master nods. “And Anthony. When I got the news, I knew that I needed to settle things with the business, either begin to hand it over to you or figure out a way to retire with as little bloodshed as possible.”
A weak don is a dead don. This doesn’t surprise me.
“I wouldn’t have told anyone,” I say.
“I know you wouldn’t have, but once that business with Salvatore Tagliarini happened, I needed to get you out of New York, to somewhere secure. I asked Silvio to provide you with a safe place. I knew you wouldn’t do well without structure, so I tried to convey to him what you needed, but I did a poor job of it.”
Master shakes his head and I want to offer him some reassurance, but I hold my tongue. “You’ve been back for almost six months,” I remind him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was selfish. I wanted to keep things as they were for as long as possible. I didn’t want you to lose your faith in me, or your respect.”
“Master…” I don’t know whether to be offended or sympathetic.
“There will come a time when I am no longer able to provide for you in the way that you need. It is inevitable at this point. And I was afraid that if I told you, you might leave me.”
Master was suffering from the same fear as me, which seems so absurd because if he only knew the depth of my devotion… “Why do you continue to doubt me?” I ask him with a different kind of hurt.
“Because you are young and beautiful and intelligent and so very thoughtful. Because you could have any man you wanted, if you cared to try. And I wonder sometimes if it is our history that binds you to me.”
None of it is complimentary when framed in this way. “What does any of that matter? You’ve said yourself that what we have is special. Our souls see each other exactly as we are and accept it. You saved my life and I’ve saved yours and Ineedyou. I fucking love you for Christ’s sake.”
“I love you too, but I don’t ever want you to feel trapped or obligated to me.”
“Why the hell not? Iwantto be obligated to you. I want to be tethered and bound to you forever. You are denying my agency to choose,” I tell him so that he might understand it in a different way. “I have chosen you as I continue to choose you.” I go down to my knees in front of him and grab his hand. “I willneverleave you.”
Master is quiet, electing not to argue. He strokes my head as we slip into a weighty silence. “I was also afraid that you might be distraught and go back to using,” he says without any judgment or condescension.
“I tried,” I admit. “That first night. Sir found me and brought me back here. Anthony snitched.”
