by Soraya Naomi
While a headache pounds in my ears, an array of emotions fill me. My already deep-seated guilt grows, but I’m not sure if it’s my guilt toward Rachel or Brielle.
In my chaotic state, I don’t know how to proceed, which is a predicament that’s unfamiliar to me as a mafia member. Ordinarily, I’d never do anything as reckless as having a one-night stand with a regular civilian who works at Palermo, so my interest in Brielle isn’t something I’m proud of.
Fortunately, a knock on the door pulls me out of my musings, but when I stride forward and tug it open, it’s not who I was expecting. Instead of Brielle, I find Fallon and Luca in the doorway.
I turn back inside, and they follow me to the kitchen where I pick up my phone and keys from the floor.
Fallon starts without preamble, “What happened with you and Brielle?”
“You told Luca?” I toss my phone and keys onto the counter behind me before facing them as they stop opposite me.
“I tell Luca everything,” she retorts.
Luca merely observes me. “Are you okay?”
Raking a hand through my hair, I admit aloud, at last, “No.”
Fallon’s lips turn down in empathy. “What happened? Brielle said she spent the night and found Rachel’s bracelet. Now I understand why you had to investigate her at first, but she really doesn’t know anything about the Syndicate or Rachel.”
“I realize that now – this is apparently just a sick twist of fate, but I had to make sure she didn’t come here to seek revenge for Rachel. Things got out of hand and didn’t play out as I anticipated.”
“What did you tell her about Rachel? Did you discuss her?” Luca inquires, unbuttoning his charcoal suit jacket.
“Yes, we did.” I rub my temples, attempting to calm down. “Well, it was more an argument where we each spoke our mind, but I told Brielle what we tell all civilians: Rachel died during a robbery where she was shot. And I revealed that Rachel died in my arms. Brielle didn’t question my story, so we’re safe.”
“Why didn’t you just leave Brielle alone after you learned that she’s unaware of any Syndicate business or link between you two?” Luca asks.
Not having an answer, I shake my head, informing them honestly that I don’t know.
“She’s developed feelings for you, Michael,” Fallon points out, setting me off.
“I didn’t know she had feelings for me, and I told her to leave!” I retort in a low tone, making Luca’s eyes narrow.
“Why are you so mad?” he says.
“She’s the first woman I’ve been with since Rachel, and it’s left me...confused. I can’t do what you two do and worry so much about a significant other.”
“Yes, you can,” Luca counters evenly.
And Fallon adds, “You did it with Rachel. You’re afraid to open up again, to let someone in because you keep blaming yourself for her death and you have to stop it. If I were to die, would you blame Luca?”
“Depends on the circumstances.”
“If I were to die the same way Rachel did, you wouldn’t blame Luca,” Fallon clarifies, and I start to actually listen to her words. “Just like I did with Luca, Rachel chose you willingly. She chose to give up her civilian life. You have to work through your guilt or you’ll never be able to move on.”
“I can’t let it go...It’s not just my guilt about her death.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I finally disclose, “I didn’t protect her the way I should have. We had a fight the night before she died, and it got ugly.”
“Oh, Michael, is that what this is about? What happened?” Fallon probes, smiling sadly and urging me to continue.
I nod. “Rachel told me she needed me, but I had a drug empire to oversee.” I recall the moment I began doubting my relationship.
“I need you to give me more attention, Michael,” Rachel objects as I walk out of our palatial mansion to my BMW that’s parked by the fountain in the circular driveway. “I also need you here to protect me.”
After rounding the car, I look at her. “My men protect you, Rachel. I can’t give up every second of my time. You knew what you were getting yourself into.”
“But maybe I didn’t expect this!” she yells, baiting me.
I’m so exhausted from having taken care of a large drug shipment myself last night that I lash out, “Then there’s always an option to leave. I can’t keep having the same discussion while I try to juggle work and us. You need to realize that you’re engaged to the boss of the New York Syndicate. All this wealth comes with a price; you know that. You wear the clothes and the jewelry. You eat at the fanciest restaurants because I pay for all of this. Do you want to give that up too? Because that’s the consequence if you leave. Although I’m not sure you’re strong enough to live in my world, Rachel. I need to get to work, but I suggest you give it some serious thought,” I say, making her face fall before I open the car door and get in, driving away.
As boss, I’ve never felt remorse, yet the job changes your psyche, so one thing you need to hold on to in order to make it as a high ranking mafia member is some sense of humanity, which I’ve lost.
I come back to the present. “We never resolved our argument; she played her part the next night at our engagement party and then the raid happened where she was shot.”
Fallon’s eyes water. “Michael, that’s so sad. But you still can’t change the past. Also, every mafia wife needs to hear those words you said to her. If you’d never had that discussion with her, then you’d need to feel guilty.”
Luca jumps in and speaks, “You’re stuck in your head, amico mio.” My friend. “You need to wind down, and obviously, we’re not helping you. At this point, we can still manage the situation. But you know that if Brielle and you become more entangled and she finds out about our organization, then Adriano will get involved because she’s not only a regular civilian but Palermo’s pastry chef. We need to tread carefully with her.”
As this registers with me, I remember that I even slipped up to Brielle and said our predicament is too dangerous, though she didn’t find it suspicious. I finally conclude that I need assistance to get over this grief. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I think you need a break.” Fallon glances between us. “You came from New York and immediately started with a high ranking position, but working here hasn’t taken your mind off things. Besides, Brielle’s clever and she’s onto you. She said to me, and I quote, there’s something dangerous about him – I’ve seen it. You need to take a few days off or go on a vacation. I know of a retreat where a therapist could help you.” I open my mouth to object, yet she holds up her palm and quickly adds, “It’s not a hippy retreat, but a good facility that also helped me through my mourning period. More importantly, it’ll prevent you from being an asshole to people who don’t deserve it.”
I send her a mock scowl as she smirks, but I accept that she and Luca are correct – I need to stay away from Brielle.
“Stop living in the past or you might miss out on something special. And we all need something special in this world to keep us going,” Fallon remarks.
“Also, you can go now while business is quiet. We’re getting the drug shipment in May from Reymario, and at that time, all the high ranking men will have to be available twenty-four seven. So work through this now.”
“Then we need to do damage control,” I put in. “Well, I need you two to do something for me.”
“What’s your plan?” Luca asks as I take back the reins and form a strategy to avoid any further ramifications.
CHAPTER 22
Brielle
I ENTER MY APARTMENT and skulk to my bedroom, Michael’s callous, heart-wounding words a dark cloud that’s followed me all the way home.
After tossing my coat and purse on my duvet, I move to the bathroom and catch my pale face in the mirror above the sink.
While I believed we were falling for each other, he basically wanted to find out if our working at the same place was indeed a coincidence. And what a wei
rd coincidence it was that we would cross paths here in Chicago. In my daze, I haven’t even processed everything Michael said, but his agonizing rejection plays on repeat in my brain, the reality of the situation setting in.
I told you I don’t date.
You’re twenty-one and I’m thirty-three.
His explanations just made me feel foolish and naïve and didn’t soften the blow because they came much too late. I’ve never felt an explosive attraction to another man, so this turn of events hurts ten times worse than anything I’ve experienced. Even though I’ve only known him for a couple of weeks, despondency courses through my veins. I broke up with my first boyfriend after three months and didn’t feel an ounce of the sadness I’m feeling now.
Wrapped up in melancholy, I look down and touch my silver bracelet, rotating it around my wrist. These are the moments I miss my parents the most. When I need to talk to my mom about men. But without them here, I have no one.
Ready for this day to be over, I trudge to my bed and lie down, and as I gaze at the cracked, yellowed ceiling, a tear streams out of the corner of my eye toward my temple.
THE NEXT MORNING, WHEN my alarm clock goes off, I’ve already been wide-awake for hours. After I drag myself out of bed to shower before heading to Palermo, a sense of dreadful anticipation fills me as I wonder how Michael will act toward me. I also can’t help but wonder if he’s thought about me as often as I have about him since last night.
Unfortunately, when I arrive at work, the kitchen is bustling with servers and as soon as I put on my black chef’s jacket, Gianni approaches me and stops at my dessert counter. “Brielle, can you make bite-size coffee cakes to go with the hot beverages today?”
“Sure,” I reply before he swivels around and starts barking orders to the sous-chef.
I dip down to grab a bowl and spoon, placing them on the counter as I inhale deeply, still valiantly struggling against the gloominess that cloaks me. The colors of the kitchen seem bleak and drab today, and I’m not sure why until the carton that exposes six rum cakes on the side of my station leads my thoughts straight to a certain unattainable man.
After shaking my head to try to clear my brain, I reach up to the shelf hanging on the wall and grab the jars of flour and sugar. I measure out my ingredients in the bowl and get to mixing, yet every time the kitchen door swings open, I crane my neck to see who’s come through it. But the man in black doesn’t appear, and at the end of the day, I’m no better off than I was this morning.
When I’m on my way home, I get the sense that I’m being followed, but as I survey the area after I exit the train station, there’s no one behind me.
Once I’m inside my apartment, I lie on my bed, rotating my phone in my hand and contemplating whether or not to send Michael a text, but I can’t muster up the courage. Clearly, he doesn’t want any contact or else he would’ve messaged me.
“Oh, Michael...” I whisper out loud to no one. “Why do I have to like you so much?”
Tossing my phone aside, I curl into myself, hoping that this feeling will fade soon.
However, once I’m asleep, he invades my dreams.
“Take all of me, Brielle,” Michael commands in a rough tone as he lies on top of me and pushes his arousal in, stretching me.
He grabs a fistful of my hair in a tense grip, the way I adore, and takes a deep breath as he begins to move in and out of me. Hard. I wind my arms and legs around him to meet his thrusts, wanting more while my limbs sizzle. Michael kisses me with sinful skill as he possesses me, and I fall hard as I watch him planted deep inside me.
Then he pulls back and rolls me to my belly before guiding me up on my hands and knees and plunging into me from behind. I pant, loving how there’s no finesse in his touch, just pure need, and I feel secure to be wanton with him.
“Oh, shit, Michael!” I whimper, which seems to spur him on because he picks up his pace, his groin slapping into me.
“Fuck me back,” he orders in a low voice, and I succumb to him willingly.
My eyes fly open, my breathing clipped. Swiping off the covers, I cool off from a dream I didn’t want, yet I remain awake and count down the hours until I have to go to work. Of course, I’m secretly hoping to run into a certain male.
But my hope is in vain, once again, and I bake all day with the same sorrow. While I was so happy when I first started working here, I’m completely down now. Apparently, I was getting accustomed to Michael’s presence.
BY FRIDAY NIGHT WHEN I’m drizzling syrup over a square French vanilla cake, the week has crawled by, and I even miss Michael’s blunt comments every now and then. Still, I expect the feeling has to disappear soon because it’s not like I was married to the guy. I remind myself that I only knew him for a few weeks. Or, in reality, I never knew him at all.
At that moment, I realize I haven’t thought about Rachel while I’ve being going through these emotions. I’ve been too preoccupied with myself. But even after she enters my mind, it abhors me that my obsession with Michael doesn’t lessen. I feel sadness for my old friend, yet my own misery overshadows it. Deep down, I wonder what would’ve happened if Rachel had never met Michael, or if I had met Michael first? But then I remind myself that he lied, which I seem to be forgetting constantly.
As I set down the bottle of syrup, the waitress hasn’t come, so I spin around and I swear I see a shadow standing by the doorway when someone goes through it to the dining room, but when it opens again and Marliya comes into the kitchen, the shadow is gone.
When she takes the plate from me, I ask, “Is Michael in the restaurant?”
“No,” she answers, rushing out again as my shoulders sag, and for another night, there’s no sign of him and I’m forced to speculate about how he’s doing.
LATE SATURDAY EVENING as I’m grabbing my jacket once the kitchen has closed, Fallon barges through the door.
“Hey, come upstairs. We’re eating desserts.”
“Who’s we?” I ask, taking the clip from my hair to let it spill down.
“All of us,” she says, turning back, and as my heart gives a traitorous leap, I follow eagerly because all of us means management, which means that Michael’s probably having dinner with Adriano and Luca.
I straighten the hem of my maroon blouse as we make our way through the half-empty restaurant and climb the staircase to the balconied second floor’s VIP area. Fidgeting with my fingers, I walk behind Fallon toward the main table at the far end of the room where the group of men in expensive suits are gathered.
Every part of me ignites with an uncontrollable anticipation of seeing Michael.
CHAPTER 23
Brielle
WHEN FALLON AND I REACH the long mahogany table, I see that the padded chairs are occupied by Luca, Adriano, and Henry, a handsome guy with trendy black-rimmed glasses who’s Palermo’s IT manager. But there’s no man in black in sight.
Luca and Adriano are sitting opposite each other and nod at me just as Henry asks, “So when’s Michael coming back?”
I freeze and then glance at Fallon as a stone drops in my stomach.
She sends me a sympathetic look, edging closer. “Sorry, I wanted to tell you myself.”
“Did Michael leave?” I mutter, the echoes of the sounds around me dying away.
“Yes.”
“Where did he go?” The void I’ve been feeling for days expands.
“He took a leave of absence,” she informs me.
“Since when? Was he here today?”
“No, I think he left this morning, and I don’t know for how long.”
He ran from me? “Will he come back?”
Her face falls. “Honestly, I’m not sure.”
Blindsided by this discovery, I don’t dare to ask if he went back to New York. Evidently, he doesn’t want anything to do with me or to be near me. Maybe I was just a huge mistake to him?
While I stand there, Fallon watches me as I struggle bravely to keep my tears from falling, and I begin to resent my obse
ssion with Michael.
“Are you okay?” Fallon probes cautiously, yet I take in a calming breath and nod slowly.
Since I mean nothing to Michael, I have to put a stop to this unrequited attraction to him. That was easier said than done when I had no closure; however, now that he’s taken off, he’s forced the closure upon me. His leaving without so much as a goodbye makes me feel even more used, and I suspect that if I had never worn the bracelet, Michael probably would’ve shown me no interest whatsoever.
I keep standing there in the most posh restaurant of the Loop with my first broken heart, and when Fallon recognizes it, she motions for me to sit down before claiming the seat next to me as the men continue their conversation.
I zone out, absentmindedly staring ahead as Luca bends forward to pick up a napkin he dropped on the floor, but when his jacket pulls up, I catch sight of a gun tucked in the back of his waistband. Then I remember that I also saw a gun in Fallon’s purse last Sunday, so as she speaks to Adriano, I inconspicuously reach for her purse hanging on the side of the chair and lift it slightly, feeling that it’s quite heavy.
How come all these people have guns? And why did Michael lie and tell me that only he carries a weapon?
All of a sudden, it hits me that there are weird things happening at Palermo. Things I didn’t notice before because I was too preoccupied with Michael, but I clearly recall that Michael beat up a guy in the back alley, and he follows people, which isn’t normal. On top of that, I had the distinct feeling I, myself, was being followed last night. Then I note the same commanding presence in Adriano, Luca, and Henry as Michael has, yet while I’m still trying to assemble my thoughts, Fallon turns to me and disrupts my inner ramblings.
“By the way, I have to discuss something with you,” she mentions.
“What?”
“Remember how you told me that you wanted to move as soon as you could after you got your paycheck?”