But I couldn’t tell Mina about that. I don’t remember what I said to her, or even if I said anything. She just understood that I was in pain. She stroked her fingers through my curls as I gazed up at her, my head in her lap. The ribbon caught the light, and I thought,Oh, this is what it feels like.
Love.
I lift the ribbon to my face and close my eyes as I breathe in.
It doesn’t smell like her anymore. It smells like dust, old paper, forgotten things. But when I press the silk against my lips, I can almost feel the ghost of her hair slipping through my fingers.
I pocket the ribbon.
The bed is neatly made. I shouldn’t, but I sit on the edge of it anyway. Then I lie down.
The mattress creaks under my weight. I’m too big for this short, narrow bed, but I curl onto my side, facing the wall, and let myself imagine she’s here. She’s right here beside me. Her warmth against my chest, her hair tickling my face, her breathing slow and steady in sleep. I could reach out and pull her close. I could bury my face in her neck and breathe her in. I could hold her and never let go.
Mina.
Five years of sunny skies that were never blue because I didn’t have her. Five years of going through the motions of living while frozen on the inside. I did well in Italy. I earned my uncle’s respect. Ruthless, controlled, untouchable.
I stare at the wall, at the faded marks where more posters used to hang, and I wonder what happened to the snow globe. Puck with his mischievous smile.Give me your hands, if we be friends.Did she keep it? Did she throw it away? Did she break it?
Does she ever think about that afternoon, the way I think about it every single day?
How quickly she ran into another man’s arms and forgot me. A man she had a little boy with. The thought feels like shards of glass in my chest.
I never wanted her to move on. I wanted her to be unable to love anyone else. I wanted to come back and find her exactly as I left her.
Still mine, always mine.
As I’m hers.
I close my eyes and press my face into her pillow, searching for any lingering trace of her, finding nothing but dust and memory.
Mina.
Tomorrow I’ll be Don Cristiano again. A cold-blooded killer, controlled and untouchable. I’ll make deals and crush enemies and build up my empire brick by brick. But tonight, in this narrow bed in this empty room, I let myself be the man who loved her.
The man who lost her.
The man who will never, ever stop wanting her back.
11
Mina
Istand in front of Leon, contact lens case in one hand while he’s sitting on the bathroom vanity, his small face tilted up toward mine.
“Eyes wide, baby. Don’t blink.”
He tries. He really does. But he’s four, and the contacts makes him flinch every time, tears leaking down his cheeks even though he’s being so brave.
“I don’t like them,” he whimpers.
Guilt slices through my heart. It gets harder and harder to do this every day, but what choice do I have? I have to put them in his eyes every time we leave the apartment now. I know what Cristiano is like. I can’t risk “accidentally” bumping into him somewhere when I’m with my son.
“I know, sweetheart. I know. I’m nearly done. There.” I force a smile as the brown lens settles over that telltale amber.
Leon blinks rapidly, adjusting to the contacts, and looks up at me with eyes that are finally, safely brown.
“Mama?”
