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“I killed him. The day your father put a gun in my hand was the day I put a bullet in his head.”
It wasn’t that simple or straightforward, though. Valerio helped. I told him about the circumstances surrounding my parents’ death. And then, one day when I was sixteen, he informed me that the man who killed them was being released on parole. Seven years after the death of my parents. It wasn’t fucking fair. He was meant to serve fifteen years in prison, and even that short time wasn’t enough for me.
I remember being so angry. And then Valerio asked what I planned to do about it. He had some men bring in the man and he asked me if I wanted to kill him or if I’d rather he do it instead. I’d never killed anyone before until that day.
But it seemed fitting that the first person whose life I took was the one who took my parents from me.
Aurora reaches for my arm, her touch tentative and comforting.
“Hey, listen to me,” she says softly, placing a hand on my jaw and drawing my eyes to hers. “You did the right thing. And I am so proud of how far you’ve come. I need you to understand that it wasn’t your fault. You were a child, Nicolas. The only person responsible was the driver. And he got what was coming to him.”
Her voice is resolute, an unwavering assurance within the words she’s saying. She looks at me like she understands me, and I’ve never loved her more than in this moment. Now I just need her to let me look at her the same way.
“I know, mi vida. I know it wasn’t my fault,” I tell her softly.
“Good,” she nods, before her expression clears, growing serious. “But I’m still not visiting Valerio’s grave.”
I’ve tried so hard to be patient in the past couple of months. I thought eventually she’d want to open up, but I think I’ve just been enabling her in her quest to forget all her pain. But pain doesn’t just go away. Grief doesn’t either, especially when you haven’t worked through it. There’s no on and off button for these things.
“Would you please just try to see things from my perspective?”
She glares at me before crossing her arms over her chest and getting to her feet.
“Who named you Valerio’s advocate in death? Newsflash, Nicolas, he’s already dead. He doesn’t care anymore. He can’t because he isn’t here.”
“But you’re still here,” I say softly.
She lets out a disbelieving laugh before running a hand through her hair. I watch as she begins to pace in front of me.
“You know sometimes you’re just like him,” she says in a low, cold voice. “My father, I mean. Relentless. Unwilling to bend and unwilling to understand that not everything has to be the way you want it!”
My eyes narrow. “I don’t think that.”
“Nico, wake up! Valerio raised you in his own image. He cared about one thing and one thing only. Everything else was secondary to him apart from the outfit and his position as Don.”
My chest tightens at that because I refuse to believe she just fucking said that to me.
“Be very careful what you say next, Aurora,” I state.
She doesn’t even look at me as she continues her pacing.
“I mean, you’re already showing the signs. Case in point, our trip to New York. You’re choosing not to go in favor of doing something related to the outfit. That’s how it starts.”
“That’s not fair,” I grit out.
“I get it,” she says her feet coming to a stop as she finally looks at me. “You wanted me. I’m guessing I was the one that got away, the woman you couldn’t stop thinking about. You had to get me back, and you did. It’s just like I said. Everything always has to be the way you want it. This entire fake relationship was just a means to demonstrate your control.”
Aurora and I, as much as she likes to deny it, are cut from the same cloth. When we’re cornered, we bite back, and we make sure to inflict pain when we do so.
“You’re so quick to judge and hate Valerio, princess, but that man loved you and your sister until the day he died.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t know that. He never showed it. He became a ghost to us after our mother died. I know grief changes people, but I don’t think he really changed. I think he just stopped trying. He stopped loving us. You have no idea how it was, Nico. You didn’t see it. Lucia doesn’t remember, but I do. I would have preferred it if that version of Valerio was the only one I knew. But it wasn’t, and instead, I had to deal with the loss of my mother and father overnight. I don’t know what you think you know, but he didn’t love us!”
“He did,” I say insistently.
“How the hell would you know that?” she exclaims, her eyes glassy with tears.
“Because his last words were that he wanted me to take care of the both of you. He said your name, Aurora. He was trying to say your name when he died.”
