I sink into the armchair in front of him, raking a hand through my hair. I fucking hate being helpless.
He pushes himself forward and looks me dead in the eye. “You’re the head of the family. While everyone else gets to make mistakes and take time to grieve, you can’t. So, whatever happens, fucking promise me you’ll get your shit together.”
He stretches out his hand for me to shake on it.
“You’re an old bastard.” I take his hand and shake it, aware that I will lead a miserable life. Nothing fucking new.
I accompany him to the elevator and bend slightly forward so he can press his forehead to mine.
He pats my back. “I love you as if you were my own.”
“I love you too,” I say, choking on the potent emotion.
I can’t disappoint him. It’s his legacy as well.
Locking myself in my office, I go through the reports my team sent me. Even if I have people for this, it’s my company, and I request daily updates on every new acquisition and merger.
A control freak? Possible, but I prefer to call myself a professional.
Thinking about her, I stare at the therapist’s contact Conrad gave me. Subconsciously, she knows something—or someone—is keeping her from finding out the truth.
I’ve threatened every doctor. Finding out what her father did would destroy her.
What happened in that warehouse was a betrayal of the worst kind. My refusal to die stemmed from sheer will not to sentence her to a life that would have snubbed her essence. Bleeding and beaten, I crawled my way through hell, just to make sure nothingbad could happen to her. Yet it was I who pushed her into sorrow’s abyss—a cruel, twisted irony that made me lose her.
I stood there, watching the compound burn to ashes, just like her memories of me.
It’s better like this, I tell myself. Without a second thought, I press call, not caring that it’s ten p.m.
A nasal voice grates on my ears. “Who is this? And do you know what time it is?”
“Vian Giancana. If my name doesn’t ring a bell, I suggest we keep it that way.”
“Are you threatening me?” she asks haughtily, not even slightly afraid.
This woman, a renowned psychiatrist, might break my record of intimidating people by just opening my mouth.
“My wife, Zara, made an appointment. I demand you say the hypnosis isn’t working.”
She lets out a mortified gasp. “Mister Giancana, you might love to keep your wife in the dark to control her, but?—”
I cut her off, gnashing my teeth. “I’m not doing such a thing.”
“This discussion is over,” she says and hangs up, leaving me staring at the phone for long minutes.
Fuck. Fucking hell. I guess the fine doctor will leave this world prematurely.
I lift my gaze and spot my cousin in the doorway. “What if she’s ready, Vian? You should trust her…”
I drag a hand down my face, leaning back in the chair. Nothing will hurt her again. Zara suffered too much. Is it so fucking bad that I want her to be happy? It’s enough that I live with the guilt, plagued by nightmares day in and day out. I would gladly carry the weight for the rest of my life so she doesn’t have to.
“It will happen, and not even you can stop it.”
I refuse to believe that. I can’t risk it when I’ve just gotten her back.
“Can’t sleep?” I jerk my chin toward her.
When my cousin Noemi starts a new piece, she doesn’t eat, barely sleeps. She functions on a muse that talks solely to her.
