The gun cocks.
Seven, six, five.
The sound of boots on gravel.
Four.
The air is still. Quiet. I’m on high alert as my whole body strains with tension and rushing adrenaline, as I wait for the impact of a bullet to the back of my head.
Three…
The space behind me feels empty. The oppressiveness of men there is gone.
Two…
The click of a door against a metal frame.
One.
My shoulders tense even tighter as I brace myself. Heart pounding, lungs aching, I hunch into myself for protection, but the blast doesn’t come.
There’s nothing.
I wait another few seconds. Take a deep, shuddering breath. Slowly get to my feet.
And then I shakily walk to my car, still waiting for the shot to ring out.
It doesn’t.
Not when I open the driver side door or when I slip inside. Not when I look back at the building, then start to think the SUV’s going to blow up the second I turn the ignition. But that doesn’t happen either.
I shift the car into drive and gently tap the gas pedal. Nothing. I’m…free to go.
I don’t stop to second-guess why Maxim Orloff is letting me drive away.
I just get the hell out of there.
30
ARMANI
As I drivethrough the ornate iron gates of Bellanti Vineyards and head toward the house, resplendent in all its stately, century-old glory, I realize I’ve never been happier to be home.
It’s easy to take a place for granted when you see it day in and day out, but after my meeting with Orloff, it’s impossible not to appreciate the beauty of the rolling green acres of grapevines, the sprawling California live oaks, the stone outbuildings, our fine ancestral manse. Even the air smells sweeter, the birdsong sounds more musical.
The house is quiet when I enter, and I’m about to call Candi’s name until I remember that she won’t be here. Because I sent her away, hours ago. My steps falter.
She’s probably long gone by now, and I don’t have the first idea where she’d run to. Under normal circumstances, she’d probably go to Juliana’s, but Juliana is at Frankie and Dante’s place. Unless…maybe Candi is there, too.
But even if she is, it’s highly unlikely she’ll talk to me if I show up. After every shitty thing I’ve put her through over the last few months, every mood swing, every rejection, I wouldn’t blame her for slamming the door in my face. I threw her out, told her I didn’t want her, that I was divorcing her, and now I expect her to take me back? I’m delusional.
It’s almost funny. For the first time since I’ve known Candi, I don’t have a game to play. No ulterior motive. I’m finally free to let my guard down and be with her in a genuine way.
But it’s too late.
And it’s all my fault.
I suppose it’s exactly what I deserve.
