I pull my new phone out, unlocking the screen and pulling up the draft email I have, waiting for me to press send. After spending the entire first few days after the recital writing down my feelings, I began writing down other things, too.
Everything I knew about Ricci Inc.
“I used to want that from you, too.” I adjust a couple of the finer points, adding in more incriminating evidence, and push send. “But then I realized, monsters aren’t capable of returning love. And the longer you spend chasing it from someone who cannot ever give it back, the more of a monster you become in turn.”
Spinning on my heel, I pass through the door, content in my soul with the way I leave her there, knowing the sun is about to set on the entire Ricci empire.
Chapter 37
The day I return to Aplana, Jonas is waiting on the Asphodel’s porch, drinking something dark from a mason jar. He holds it up in greeting as I approach, nodding his chin.
“The king of our little underworld returns,” he says, leaning back in the white rocking chair. “How was Boston?”
“If I never go back, it’ll be too fucking soon.”
Marcelline opens the door for me, having returned to the island not long after we touched down on the mainland, noting that she didn’t feel comfortable being an accomplice to any more of my crimes. I walk past her, trying not to linger in one spot too long, unwilling to let the emptiness of the house get to me.
Moving into the kitchen, I pause in the doorway, spotting Elena’s hairbrush on the island. Her pink nail polish on the sink. The copy of Shakespeare’s Macbeth that I had her read aloud to me one afternoon while I shoved my head between her legs.
Her giggles, her attitude, the way she could easily match my intellect, holding conversations with me without me needing to slow down or catch her up.
Her love.
“Jesus,” I mutter, taking a sharp turn and stalking down the hall to my office, pushing the door open with so much force the doorknob knocks into the drywall.
“I couldn’t help noticing the lack of a certain lass,” Jonas says, looking over his shoulder as if expecting Elena to materialize from thin air. “Am I correct in thinking you’ve come to your senses about this marriage?”
Pouring two tumblers of scotch, I bring them to my desk and settle in behind it, sliding the opposite one across to him. He sits in the leather armchair in front of me, accepting the glass, his mason jar abandoned.
“You’d be... correct-adjacent,” I say, taking a drink, allowing the burn of the liquid sliding down my throat to momentarily dull the ache in my chest. Scrubbing my hand down my face, I exhale slowly, circling one finger around the rim of my glass. “I dissolved the trust.”
Jonas blinks once. Twice. Three times. He swallows his drink audibly, leaning forward, his leather jacket creaking with the motion. “You what?”
“Violet’s not taking my calls, and she’s been extremely adamant about not wanting my money, or my presence in her life at all, really. What’s the point of me letting the trust sit unused, if the one person I want to have it won’t take it?”
“It’s accumulating interest—”
I nod, already aware of any angle he might go over. On the plane ride home, my grandfather’s estate attorney explored every potential avenue of funneling the money out, and while I could’ve donated it to charity, or kept it for a rainy day, ultimately I decided to buy myself out of Ricci Inc.
“Wait,” Jonas says, holding a finger up. “You bought your way out of your wife’s family’s company?”
“I wanted to retire, anyway. I’m getting too old for this lifestyle.”
Jonas rolls his eyes. “Bloody hell, mate, you’re thirty-two. Are you sure this isn’t one of those crazy, impulsive moves you make when you feel backed into a corner?”
He doesn’t have to come outright and say it, but the implication is there: like my marriage.
At least, how he saw it.
To him, it was something that appeared out of nowhere, sprung suddenly because I was being blackmailed, and needed an out.
It was reckless, and dangerous, and resulted in far more than I ever could’ve imagined.
But it, just like my decision now, had nothing to do with impulse.
‘Every single decision I’ve made in my adult life has been carefully coordinated after exhaustive consideration. I don’t take risks unless I’m sure of the outcome.’ My words to Elena all those weeks ago pop up fresh in my mind, proof that even back then, I was trying my best to be honest with her.
I couldn’t give her all the details, but I tried.
“Nothing impulsive about it,” I say, gulping down another mouthful of scotch. “I wanted out of the mafia world, and I’m taking the steps to ensure that happens.”
“You’ve said yourself you don’t ever actually leave that world.” Setting his drink down, Jonas folds his hands together, raising an eyebrow. “What makes you so special?”
“On paper, I won’t exist to these guys. When the feds come for Ricci Inc., at least I’ll be left out of it as they expunge my name from their records.” Pausing, I shrug. “My reputation, the power my name holds, though, that doesn’t go away. Notoriety is forever, my friend. I’m just stepping back from the more public aspect of things.”
Blowing out a long breath, he shakes his head. “Boston must’ve done a number on you, eh? Never thought I’d see the day.”
I don’t reply, leaning back in my chair with a shrug; something shiny catches in the light beneath my desk, and I bend down, picking a diamond stud earring up from the floor where it must’ve fallen during one of our many office trysts.
Its presence causes a lump to form in my throat, burning up the length of my esophagus, and I grit my teeth against the sensation, flicking the jewelry into a trash can nearby. Jonas presses his lips together, shifting as if uncomfortable in his seat.
“Right, so where is the little wife again?”
Reaching out to the computer, I shake my head, pulling up the Massachusetts government site and double-checking that I have all my forms together before sending them to the attorney to look over. “Seeing as she won’t likely be my wife much longer, I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
Over the next couple of weeks, I steer clear of town and most every room in my house, taking to sleeping in my office in an attempt to avoid anything that might remind me of Elena.
It’s like trying to live without the fucking sun.
The one time I do go to the Flaming Chariot, Blue approaches me at the bar and practically kicks me out, citing that I’m harshing the vibe, and since he’s tending for the summer tourist crowd, he’s more reliant on tips and can’t afford me chasing away customers.
Normally, I’d probably fire him and tell him to get off the island, but instead, I just leave, heading back to the Asphodel to drink my evening away.
When I arrive, I walk around back, not in the mood to see Marcelline just yet, or to feel the weight of her judgment over the fact that I haven’t shaved in days.
“You’re starting to look too much like your jungle rat friend,” she says, referencing Jonas in disdain every chance she gets. “Lord, I hope that girl comes back to you.”
Me too, Marcelline, but two weeks and no phone call? My odds aren’t looking great.
I must’ve stood outside her grandmother’s penthouse for hours after the recital that night, fist raised and poised to strike, ready to drag her back to Aplana with me.
To Hell, where I wanted to keep her.
Still do, if I’m completely honest.
But every time I tried to knock, I remembered how little of her life has been left up to choice. Since she was born, everything’s been decided for her, and I played right into that same notion when I forced her to marry me.
Regardless of the feelings that developed after, I would never be able to exist, in semi-decent conscience, thinking hers were born out of necessity. A way for her to cope with the life thrust upon her, rather than the culminatio
n of fate.
So, I’m giving her time.
Space—to grow, forgive, reflect.
The beauty of opportunity.
After spending so much of my time obsessing over her, determined to ruin her for any other man, and reveling in the warmth her existence inherently gives, the distance is torture.
If she doesn’t show before our days are up, then I’ll go after her. Track her to the ends of the fucking earth and beg for her to return, if that’s what it takes.
Until then, I wait.
Rounding the corner of my house, I immediately tense up, the hairs on the back of my neck rising at the feeling of not being alone; there’s a certain thickness in the air, a blockage in the wind that wouldn’t exist without another warm body to absorb the weather.
A flash of dark hair first grabs my attention, then, as my eyes sweep the yard, I notice the black clothes draped over the slender body.
Disappointment flushes my chest, and I sag forward, trying not to buckle beneath the weight of hope.
I approach her quietly, like a predator sneaking up on its prey, although she’s hardly even that to me, at this point.
“Violet.” I stop several feet away, getting a whiff of lavender and vanilla as the wind kicks up, rustling her braided hair. “What... how did you find me here?”
My sister turns in a circle, sizing me up fully before responding. “I know people.”
I frown. “Sounds shady.”
“Maybe we’re a lot more alike than I care to admit.” She lifts one shoulder in a half shrug, her big brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “I got a call from the bank the other day, saying they were putting a freeze on my account while they tried to figure out who kept attempting to make deposits on my behalf. Did you know that’s a pretty popular phishing scam?”
“I did.”
She blinks, almost as if she wasn’t expecting that answer. “Okay. Well... are you aware that they now want to close my account due to suspicious activity because of how many times you tried to deposit money?”
“You could’ve just accepted the deposits, and not only would you have money, but you’d have free rein over your bank account.” I cock my head to the side. “Not that it matters either way now. There won’t be any more deposits.”
Turning away, I walk over to the patio, taking a seat in one of the metal chairs. Violet stands in place for several beats, seeming to have some sort of internal battle, then finally gives up and joins me, sitting across the table, crossing one leg over the other.
“Bankruptcy?” she asks in a flat voice, as if already convinced of the answer.
My eyebrows furrow. “What? No, I’m not bankrupt. I have enough money in my personal savings to not ever have to work again.”
“Brag,” she says, laughing softly to herself. “So, what happened to the cash you were so desperate to give me? Tired of me not letting you solve all my problems?”
I shrug, picking at a piece of chipped clear coat on the glass table. “Maybe I realized you were right about my control issues, and decided to work on them.”
She laughs again, this time louder. “Kal, no offense, but you were practically stalking me for the last six years. I don’t feel like you’re the kind of guy who just... turns over a new leaf when someone points out a flaw.”
Her words dig at the empty valley in my chest, razed after a tornado, waiting for something to grow in the place of my love for Elena. I tap my fingers on my knee, humming as the familiar itch to go and bring her home renews itself inside me.
“Some people are worth trying for.”
Violet’s lips twist, and she slides her gaze away, observing the pile of soil that was supposed to be Elena’s garden. “What’s with the dirt?”
“My wife—Elena—tried planting a garden, but clearly her greenhouse abilities are sorely lacking.”
“Hm. Yeah, I don’t think they’re supposed to be so... brown in the summer.”
I grunt noncommittally, staring out at the sun setting over the beach.
“I met her, you know.” She glances back at me, brushing some hair from her eyes. “Your wife. She seemed... interesting. Beautiful, but a strange match for you, I feel. Based on pretty much nothing but your appearance and rumors, of course.”
Smirking, I nod once. “You’re not wrong about that.”
We sit in companionable silence for a few beats, before finally, it gets to be too much, even for me. “What are you still doing on the island, Violet?”
Her fingers curl around the sunflower pendant hanging from her neck, and she sighs. “To be honest, I have no clue. I think that’s why I came to find you today, because every time I leave, I find myself coming back and standing in front of your stupid bar, wanting to go in and talk to you.”
“You fly to Aplana often?”
She blushes. “My best friend’s parents have a lot of frequent flier miles, so I’ve been using them. The kind of people who don’t even notice, you know?”
I just look at her, and she nods.
“Right, you know.” Clearing her throat, she scoots to the end of her seat. “In any case, I wanted to come find you, because I felt bad about how I acted earlier in the spring. You were only trying to help, and I shouldn’t have been such a bitch. It’s just... money is kind of a touchy subject.”
“It usually is.”
“And I’m... sorry I’m not in a place right now where we can... get to know each other. Family is just—”
“A touchy subject.” I hold my hand up, stopping her before the knife drives right through my chest. “I get it, Violet.”
Neither of us says anything else for several beats, and then she’s pushing to her feet, tucking her braids behind her ears. “Well. In any case, that’s all I wanted to say. I’m a firm believer in apologies, even if they do damage your pride.”
She starts to step off the patio, goodbye on her tongue, when another, completely different voice cuts through the air, making her freeze in place.
“What the fuck is this?”
Chapter 38
Kal’s sister looks like a deer caught in headlights when my voice cuts across the back yard, and I take momentary satisfaction in the fact that it seems I have the advantage of surprise on my side.
Then I glance at Kal, who sits casually in his chair, not even sparing me a look, as if he’s neither impressed nor shocked by my return.
The satisfaction deflates, and anger takes its place, propelling me over the grass until I’m standing just in front of him. Shoving the manila envelope in his face, I put a hand on my hip and ask my question again.
“Kallum. What the fuck is this?”
He looks at the folder, then up at me, those dark eyes strategically devoid of any emotion. “It looks like an envelope, Elena. How the hell should I know what’s in it?”
Scoffing, I unlatch the top and reach inside, shoving the papers in his direction. “Are you trying to say you didn’t have your lawyer serve me annulment papers? Because I’m pretty sure I recognize your signature, given that I saw it the day I signed our marriage license.”
Shifting awkwardly, Kal’s sister widens her eyes, inching away from the concrete. “I think I’d better go...”
Kal nods, waving her off. And when she disappears, leaving us alone, my body buzzes with unending electric energy, zinging through my veins like a hot current. I brighten under his perusal for the first time in weeks.
Like a fucking flower deprived of the sun overnight, my heart opens up for him, seeking nutrients where maybe there are none.
Maybe it was premature of me to fly back here.
No response is still a response, right? Two weeks without hearing from him, and maybe that was his way of ending things.
Annulment papers are definitely a response, but still.
If he wants to end this marriage, the least he can do is tell me to my face.
“You look good,” he says after a couple beats, casually roving his gaze over my form—I feel his appreciation in the t
ips of my fingers, little sparks of pleasure scattering to the surface.
“Don’t give me that. I don’t want your compliments. Tell me why you’re trying to get rid of me.”
When the papers showed up at Nonna’s apartment, it was a two-for-one sucker punch; proof that Kal did, in fact, know where I was hiding and hadn’t bothered to come see me, but also the added insult of him giving me an out of our marriage.
One that, months ago, I probably would’ve jumped at the chance for.
But a lot can change in a few months.
I sat with it for a while, staring at his signature and the final submission date for filing. The documents cited fraud as the reason, stating that Kal had manipulated me into the union, and that he took full responsibility for the devious nature of how the marriage came to be.
And while all of that’s true, it no longer negates what happened after we married.
The comfort, solace, and acceptance I found in the arms of this killer.
My obsession. My ruin.
My husband.
Steepling his fingers together, he leans back in his chair, blowing out a breath. “I thought it would be what you wanted, little one. Freedom. You’re young, you deserve the chance to experience what life has to offer.”
Slamming the papers down on the glass table, I take a step toward him, jabbing his broad chest with my index finger. “How dare you try to decide that for me. You only present me with one option, after ghosting me completely after the recital, and that’s supposed to be my choice?”
Heat flares to life in his eyes, the brown depths darkening with rage. Pushing to his feet, he grabs my finger, holding it to him. “You ditched me at the fucking ballet, Elena. Nice touch, by the way, leaving that poem. I got your message loud and clear.”
“Oh, the poem where I said I’m in love with you?” I snap, the volume of my voice spiking with my frustration. “If that somehow translated to ‘please file for an annulment,’ then I think you need to go back to studying poetry again.”
Promises and Pomegranates: A Dark Contemporary Romance (Monsters & Muses Book 1) Page 27