“I was born into it.” He replies, leaning his elbows on his knees.
“The only difference is that I will never fucking hurt you.” He adds, his eyebrows knitting together as his eyes pleaded for me to understand.
Then he takes a deep breath before saying, “I am Damiano Cotrini, son of Don Cotrini of the Sicilian Mafia calledLa Famiglia.” He adds.
Cotrini? I always knew him as Damiano Collarini. The realization that he lied about his true identity is a jab straight to my gut. His words send a paralyzing cold through my veins. A feeling that is more painful than my broken shoulder. I blink a few times, tasting the lingering fear on my tongue.
“Cotrini,” I whisper. I look away, and the room suddenly feels suffocating.
Memories of the first time I met him and how he told me he’s in Argentina to live apeaceful liferewind in my mind. Was he running from his old life? I never saw him be rude, violent, or an asshole to anybody, except when he once hit a guy who was harassing me.
How could it be? How could he be who he says he is?
When I look back at him, his expression is different. His eyes, always so sharp and alive, are now weighed down and clouded. I feel tears rising. I look at the window instead and press my thumbnail into my palm until it hurts.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“My home… inSicily,” he says.
I close my eyes. So not only was my brother killed, but the Mafia is after me, and the man I love is a criminal. He took me to Sicily without my consent, too.
“I want to sleep.” That’s all I could come up with. I turn my back on him, lying on the bed.
He doesn’t say another word, but I feel him leave after a minute. When I hear the door click behind him, I cry.
For Mateo.
For all the innocence in me that's been lost.
For Damiano, and everything that just changed between us.
∞∞∞
The next day, all I could do was sleep. It rained a couple of times since last night, and the room feels perpetually cold despite the heat coming from the fireplace. A maid comes in and out of the room bringing food, but I don’t touch it. She never speaks to me, even when I thank her. She’s probably tired of bringing me trays of food that I don’t touch.
A doctor also checks up on me multiple times a day, but he refuses to give me stronger medicines for the pain, saying I have had enough. It’s so strange being taken care of by so many strangers in a stranger’s home. In acriminal’shome.
All I want to do is sleep and make everything disappear. But every time I do, a horrible nightmare terrorizes me. I dream of Mateo dying again and again, and the pain becomes stronger and stronger.
I dream of Damiano too. I dream of the times we shared when he was pretending to be a boyfriend for the media. Then the night would end, and then he would break up with me againand again. Just like he did when he told me it was all pretend to him. That I shouldn’t love him because I don’t know who he really is.
I’m mourning the death of Mateo, but at the same time, I feel as if I’ve lost Damiano too. That somehow the Damiano I fell in love with was also taken away from me.
How could he even be who he says he is? He’s just the playboy at Lux that women fall in line for. He’s the man who tried to save me from so many bad things. He was my brother’s friend. How is he the criminal he says he is, and are also all those things to me?
I clutch the duvet to my chest as fresh tears come out. I can’t even feel my swollen eyes anymore, and I’m surprised there are still tears coming out. I had hoped that after a few cries, the pain would be less excruciating. But it stays the same. There’s not a single thought that makes it go away, even when I think about Mateo’s laugh or puppies.
Puppy, shit.
I wonder what happened to Pedro. I sit up and consider calling someone to ask. But the thought of talking to Damiano after I pushed him away seems contradictory.
Besides, why would he even care about a puppy? He probably has people to kill or things to steal. Isn’t that what the Mafia does? It makes me wonder whether he's done any of those since I’ve met him. The thought sends fear down my spine.
Will he kill me, too? No, he said he won’t hurt me.
But why would I be an exception?
If all the things I’ve heard about the mafia are true, men like him do not care about others, except maybe their families or lovers. I’m neither of those to him.
