Mafia Casanova

by Robinson, M.

  I put my car into park, cut the engine, and then got out, shoving my hands in the pockets of my slacks to keep from strangling whoever waved at me first. I kept my head down as I jerked the door open and made my way to the last empty barstool at the back of the bar.

  Fuming from the inside out.

  “A bottle,” I snapped at the bartender before he even had time to ask what my order was.

  Thank fuck, he knew what I drank.

  A bottle of Jack and a shot glass appeared in my line of sight.

  I said nothing.

  Shoving the shot glass away from my hand, I simply grabbed the liquor and chugged until my lungs ached, and I needed to breathe.

  Damn, she was going to look beautiful in a wedding dress.

  Another long swig.

  Would she wear white? Had she been a virgin before Tristian? Or did I let him claim that too?

  Chug.

  Chug.

  Chug.

  He loved her.

  I’d protect them from afar.

  Watch as their love continued to grow for one another.

  A son.

  A daughter.

  One big happy family.

  Did I drink half the bottle?

  I used to own her soul. It wasn’t enough since my brother always owned her heart.

  The room blurred around me, the same way my focus had blurred in the car.

  I began to feel numb.

  Withdrawn.

  Alone.

  Lonely.

  Until I heard the sweetest voice I’d ever known. “Thought I might find you here.” Eden’s soft tone was so quiet, and yet it felt as though a clash of thunder or a streak of lightning bolted across my body.

  I didn’t have to meet her eyes to know she was judging me. Her narrowed stare pointed directly at me and then the bottle as I brought the glass up to my mouth.

  She sat down next to me, murmuring, “You heard.”

  “I heard.”

  She grabbed the Jack out of my hand. The only woman brave enough to do so.

  “What are you doing?” she questioned.

  “What does it look like?” I answered.

  She didn’t hesitate in replying, “Feeling sorry for yourself.”

  We locked eyes.

  “You don’t have a right to be pissed, Romeo. I hope you realize that.”

  I jerked back. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

  She bit her bottom lip and looked around. “You’re drunk, okay? Let’s just get you—”

  “—Home.” I barked out a laugh, “Funny, since home has only ever been wherever you are.” I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but there we were.

  At a standoff.

  A battle.

  A war I had started and couldn’t end. If I did, I’d lose, and I wasn’t ready to give up the fight inside of me yet. Instead, I had done what came naturally. I’d pushed her away, into my brother’s arms; that was where she belonged.

  “Go home, Red. Go home to your fiancé.”

  Panic seized my chest as the thought continued to bulldoze through my brain—through my body.

  She was engaged.

  Getting married.

  Becoming Mrs. Sinacore.

  It was my worst nightmare come to life. I’d singlehandedly just lost both my brother and the love of my life in one hard blow.

  More pain.

  More heartbreak.

  It was unfair.

  Wrong.

  So fucking wrong.

  “That’s not fair,” she challenged, strong and determined. “What did you want me to do? Huh? Say no?”

  I looked her up and down. “I think the better question is, did you want to say yes?”

  “Romeo…”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “Please don’t make me answer that.”

  “If you don’t, then I’ll never know.”

  In one breath, she confirmed, “You know.”

  I scoffed out a snide chuckle, standing up. “I need to go.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “No shit. That’s why I need to go before I do something I’ll regret.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Kiss you. Fuck you. Claim you.”

  She gasped, obviously not expecting me to say that.

  “See, I need to fucking go before I hurt my brother.”

  “And what about me? What about hurting me?” She reached for my arm, her fingertips pressing into my wrist. “Do my feelings not matter?”

  I jerked away from her touch. “Says the women who said yes to my brother.”

  She winced, not trying to hide it. Though it was useless if she tried to hide anything from me.

  “You’re being unfair. You’re the one who’s always treated me like nothing but a friend.”

  “Tristian loves you.”

  “And you, Romeo?”

  She spoke with conviction, almost knocking me on my ass…

  “Do you love me?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Maybe I’m the villain in your story, but I am the hero in mine.” —The Timingila

  Romeo

  Fuck.

  “We’re not doing this here,” I demanded in a harsh tone.

  “If not here, then where?”

  “I’m not doing this with you anywhere.”

  “So then that’s it? We’re done because you say so?”

  I stepped close to her face, wiping away the solitary tear that slid down her cheek. I reached for her then, cupping her face between the palms of my hands. She was crying silently, and my fingertips were keeping up with each tear, trying to erase the damage that was already done.

  She was right.

  This was my fault.

  And I’d hate myself for an eternity.

  I would hate myself for killing what could have been without even trying.

  “We were over before we began.” Eden sniffled. “Weren’t we?”

  I squeezed my eyes closed, inhaled, exhaled, existed in her presence, greedy for it, sick with it. “Yes.”

  “Wh-why?”

  I opened my eyes, my hands dropping to my sides, angry that they weren’t touching her soft skin anymore but dangling like useless weapons that had lost their drive, their purpose, their pursuit.

  “Because our love wouldn’t survive it—and I refuse to do that to you, Eden. I refuse to make you marry the monster when all you’ve ever wanted was the man. You deserve that. You deserve someone good. You deserve someone that won’t come home with lipstick on his collar and another woman’s perfume on his neck.”

  Eden’s eyes flickered with anger as she shoved me. I didn’t waver.

  Good, let her be angry.

  Let her be jealous.

  I welcomed her hate more than anything; it drowned out the love that demanded to be noticed between us.

  Yes, let her despise me.

  Because I already did.

  We were at an impasse.

  A standstill.

  “Keys.” She held out her hand, breaking our stolen moment.

  I grabbed the bottle, taking it with me, then reached into my suit jacket for what she wanted. Handing it over to her, I was careful not to touch her fingertips, knowing if I did, I was too drunk to stop myself from asking if I could kiss each one.

  Following her outside, I openly stared at the sway of her hips in her tight black jeans and soft cream sweater. My hands itched to grab those hips, turn her around, and slam my mouth against hers until she begged me for more. Instead, I wordlessly followed her to my car and opened the driver’s side for her to get in.

  An awkward silence fell between us.

  I nodded toward the seat. She understood my silent command, and I shut her door behind her before I walked over to the passenger side, praying to whatever God that existed to help me pass the fuck out, so I didn’t have to smell her lingering perfume the entire drive back to my house.

  I buckled up, leaning my head against the headrest, waiting for the
torture to begin. We drove in deafening silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

  Mistakes.

  Demons.

  When she turned a sharp left into my building, I knew our time together was coming to an end. The valet stumbled all over himself as he rushed to the driver’s side and opened the door.

  “Come on.” Eden was closing my door, wrapping an arm around my waist, leading us into the elevator of my penthouse. She hit the button, and I couldn’t resist sniffing her hair like a lunatic, clinging to her more than I needed to.

  This would be our last moment.

  And I was desperate to slow down time.

  Just like I was desperate to fix what I’d broken.

  All too soon, the elevator doors opened to my penthouse floor, revealing the living room with skylight windows illuminating the room in front of us in my open floorplan suite.

  “Thanks,” I acknowledged, letting her go.

  The front door shut quietly behind us as I walked toward the balcony, needing to open the doors. The air between us hung heavy and thick, making it almost hard to breathe. I needed to get away from her; she wasn’t mine. The longer I was around her, the harder it was to believe that lie.

  Not yours.

  Not yours.

  Not yours.

  His.

  “I love you,” she choked out.

  Three words.

  Three little words.

  Triggered a domino effect.

  Waves of anxiety, of anger, washed over me as I repeated those fucking words in my head while they greedily tried to imprint onto my heart.

  With my back now to her, I ordered, “You need to go, Red.”

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes. That’s why you need to go.”

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “Then I’ll be forced to kick you out.”

  “Just like that? It’s so easy for you to just kick me out of your life, isn’t it?”

  “What do you want from me, Eden? You’re marrying my brother. Why are you here?”

  “I was worried about you.”

  “I’m not a child, Red. I don’t need you to babysit me.”

  “I know that.”

  “What are you really doing here?” I rasped in a daunting tone.

  “I just told you. I’m worried about you and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  I blew out a puff of air. My composure should have told her she knew what was coming, what I was about to say, but she didn’t. I never thought it would come to this, or maybe I did, and I just chose to ignore it. Swept it under the rug that now held all of our truths.

  All our lies.

  All our bullshit tied together, where none of us had a chance of making it out alive.

  Was it so wrong to want to go down in flames with her? Just once?

  What are you doing here, Eden?” I repeated, needing to hear her say it again.

  Thirsting for it.

  Dying for it.

  “Romeo, I love you.”

  I grimaced, covering it quickly as my hands shook at my sides. “Go home. You need to go home.”

  “Why are you trying to hurt me?”

  “For the first time, I’m trying to do the opposite. All I’ve ever done is hurt you. With my words, with my actions. I can’t do this to you anymore. I need to let you go.”

  “Romeo,” she coaxed, obviously wanting me to stop what I was about to say but knowing I wouldn’t.

  “Go home, Eden. Go home to your fiancé. Go home to my brother. That’s your home now. He’s your priority now. Stop worrying about me. I’m not your concern anymore. I never was. He’s going to be your husband. It’s time you put him first.”

  “Fine. I’ll do all that when you turn around and look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t love me. I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me to fucking leave! To go home to my fiancé, your brother! Tell me, Romeo! Look at me and tell me to go home!”

  I tensed, my hands fisting in the pockets of my slacks.

  If I told her the truth of how I felt, then we’d be back to square one, and she’d wake up in my arms. Both of us betraying a man who’d die for her.

  I sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady my mind.

  My heart.

  I spun and faced her, staring deep into her glossy eyes. Tears streamed down her gorgeous face. In five confident strides, I was standing in front of her.

  She sucked in a breath when I leaned over, pausing inches from her lips. Pecking the corner of her mouth, I kissed away the tear that fell because of me.

  She wanted me to fight with her.

  She wanted me to tell her that it wasn’t true.

  My words devastated her, but not because they weren’t true. They gutted her because they were true, every last one of them.

  Hurt.

  Pain.

  Sorrow.

  Of love and hate.

  I loved Eden, but there were also times I hated her.

  This was just one example of why.

  “I do,” meant “goodbye.”

  To the memories.

  To the love.

  To the woman I’d spend the rest of my life trying to forget.

  “I do” was simply the end.

  Tristian had asked me for this one thing.

  One thing to be his.

  Eden.

  The woman we both loved more than anything.

  So I fucking said it.

  “You’re his.” I looked straight into her tear-stained face and cupped her chin. “You’ve always been his.”

  I slammed the final nail in my coffin, spewing, “Go home, Red. I don’t fucking love you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “People change, it’s just a matter of if they die before it happens.” —Orochimaru

  Eden

  Now

  I don’t know how long I stood there, water pelting my shivering body until my teeth started to chatter until my body went numb like my heart. Until it felt like nothing was left of me.

  I loved him.

  I swear, I did.

  Liar. My dark heart whispered.

  For years he was my everything… until he started to change. Until we morphed into something unrecognizable. We shared a life, a home, a son. We had a future filled with happiness. I deserved that. He’d owed me that.

  We both did.

  Naz needed him.

  His hero.

  Now he was gone.

  I watched with devastation as the shiny black casket was lowered into the hard, cold dirt. The heavens were raining upon me, weeping right along with me, raindrops seeping into my black dress.

  Burning my core.

  My heart.

  My soul.

  Little by little.

  Deeper and deeper.

  It became much more difficult to stand on my own.

  But still, I stood there…

  Not listening to the eulogies.

  Not paying attention to the well wishes, and I’m so sorry.

  Not caring for the prayers.

  Not even reacting when people whispered under their breath that he deserved this.

  Nothing would bring him back to me. Not even God.

  There was nothing I could do, nothing I could say, no amount of hail Mary plays would make it okay. I could spend the rest of eternity on my knees, beating my chest, shouting toward Heaven.

  And Heaven? Would punish me with its silence.

  I lost myself until darkness surrounded me until all eyes were only staring at me until I wanted to die too.

  With him.

  Beside him.

  One with my husband.

  The only tether I had to this world was my son now, and even then, he was a constant reminder of what pieces of my heart would be forever missing.

  I could feel the eeriness of the guests like a noose around my neck, just waiting to take my next breath. Waiting for me to react, waiting for me to breakdown, just waiting for me to do something.<
br />
  Anything.

  It could have been one minute, four days, or two months that had passed in front of my swollen eyes at the speed of a lightning strike. There was no saying how long I stood there staring at Tristian’s casket. If my puffy eyes and shivering body were any indications, I would have guessed a few hours. Time just seemed to stand still while my whole world shattered all around me.

  Piece by piece.

  One by one.

  Now there would be nothing left of me.

  Not the woman Tristian loved, married, had a son with. All they saw was a hollow shell of a person they used to know, holding onto the hope that I’d be that woman again. She was somewhere deep inside of me.

  Hiding.

  Scared.

  Ceasing to exist.

  Except I tried to pretend I wasn’t there. I tried to imagine that my life hadn’t been changed in a matter of seconds. That my whole world hadn’t been turned upside down and inside out in the span of a few hours. That everything I wanted to believe in wasn’t truly…

  Another lie that would bring Tristian back.

  It wouldn’t.

  He was dead.

  And nobody knew why.

  His choices.

  Mine.

  Ours.

  Good ones.

  Bad ones.

  It all spun together, forming a catalyst of chaos and questions with no answers.

  There were no do-overs, no matter how much I tried to reach those invisible lines and put them back in order, fixing what was broken.

  I couldn’t.

  We were happy.

  Weren’t we?

  I didn’t choose this. I didn’t want this. I’d never prayed for this. My husband had been buried today, six feet under, where I would never see him again.

  Not one smile.

  Not one laugh.

  Not one, “I love you.”

  I tightly shut my eyes, listening to the rain beat down on me.

  And then, I suddenly felt him behind me.

  Everything about him hurt.

  His composure, his scent, especially his love for me.

  For us.

  “I’m sorry, Red. I’m so fucking sorry,” he stressed in a tone that was filled with nothing but pain and remorse.

  Guilt rolled off him; he radiated it. Consuming and bleeding into me. Holding me hostage, captive in the arms of a man who threw me into his brother’s bed.

  I could feel it engulfing me, making it hard to breathe.