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“And marrying her will solve that?”
“It will help.” I run a hand through my hair, tiredness washing over me.
“Thought you’d never get married again after Delilah,” Aldo muses. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t,” he adds quickly. “A young man like yourself, there’s no reason you should be lonely forever. And those kids could use a good woman mothering them. But I just didn’t think I’d see the day.”
“It’s a necessity. Not?—”
“Hm.” Aldo grunts. “Like I said, I didn’t notice what I probably should’ve. Not until Agnes said something. She was always more perceptive than me. But now that I’m thinking back—I think there’s probably more to this than necessity.”
“It’s—”
Aldo holds up a hand, and his tone is fatherly when he speaks again, blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he looks at me. “I remember how you were when Delilah died,” he says quietly. “Made me hold Agnes a lot tighter for a while after that, thinking of what it’d feel like to lose her. It’s a hard thing, to think about finding someone else, when you’ve had a loss like that. But you have, and you shouldn’t feel guilty about it. I don’t think Delilah would want that for you, and I think you know that.”
“It’s more than that.” I take a long drink of my wine.
“You’re afraid of losing someone again.” Aldo looks out over the estate; the only sound for a long moment is the chirping of the night insects and the sound of the breeze rustling through the trees. “But you should be careful that fear isn’t what makes you actually lose her.” He looks back at me. “I told you I see it now, looking back. Not just from you. I see the way she’s looked at you, too. The way she is around you. Whatever you feel for her, Gabriel, it’s not one-sided. But if you keep putting her at arm’s length, especially if you’re marrying her—” He clears his throat, taking another drink of his beer as he shakes his head. “You’ll lose her anyway.”
He stands up then, ambling past me as he claps a hand on my shoulder. “Think about it.”
I can’t do anything but think about it as I hear the back door close again, Aldo heading back inside. He’s right. I know he’s right—but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t know how to let go. To allow myself to feel what I do for Bella when it’s so fraught with so many potential consequences—including the possibility of losing her.
He said he thinks she feels the same. But the way my last conversation with her ended makes me think how she feels is anything but that. Desire, certainly. Affection, probably. But not love.
Not the kind of love that makes a marriage work.
Are you sure? The question lingers with me as I sit there, long past when the rest of the house has likely gone to bed, looking out over the estate. I think about Delilah, and what we shared, and I think about Bella, and what we could still have. I think about what I might want for my future, and how all of it, right now, is tied up with the whims and threats of a man who has far more sway over Bella’s and my life than he should.
I intend to change that. But if I do, if I succeed in ending the threat and put Igor down for good—what then?
I wonder, as I sit there, if I should take Aldo’s advice to heart. If I should let myself go all in on this, let myself feel everything that I’m on the verge of welcoming, and take the chance.
Even if I still lose her in the end.
15
BELLA
“He what?”
Clara’s exclamation is so loud that I turn the volume down on my phone in a hurry, looking nervously toward my bedroom door. It’s after midnight, and I’m not sure if anyone is still up. After the day we’ve had, I wouldn’t be surprised if Gabriel is still prowling the house. I haven’t left my room since I left him outside on the deck, afraid I’ll run into him again. Even if he said he plans to wait until our wedding night to touch me again—the two of us alone in a dark and quiet house is a recipe for disaster. One that I know all too well how it will end.
“He asked me to marry him. Well—asked is a strong word.” I explain all of it to Clara as quickly and clearly as I can—the burned house, the letter, the continued threats. Igor’s confident declaration that I’m his fiancee, even though I was forced into agreeing to that, and I certainly don’t consider myself his. “He thinks it’s the best way to protect me.”
Clara frowns. “Is it?”
“I—” I hesitate. “I don’t know. I don’t think Igor gives a shit about whether or not Gabriel and I are married. He’ll just cut through Gabriel to get to me, and make sure we’re not married by the time he gets his hands on me again. He already knew I wasn’t…innocent.”
“Ew.” Clara wrinkles her nose. “So what’s the point of this, then?”
“Things with mafia are—old-fashioned.” I sigh, leaning back against the stack of pillows on my bed. “Any allies Gabriel has, they’ll be more likely to help him if we’re married. If I’m not his wife, they’ll question why it’s so important for him to protect me. They’ll suggest he just hand me over and save everyone the trouble and bloodshed.”
Clara’s eyes nearly bug out of her face at that. “Wow,” she says derisively. “That’s a real bunch of winners. They think it’s fine to just hand you over to some guy so he can force you to have his kid, because someone else hasn’t managed to corner you into marriage first? What happened to chivalry?”
“I don’t think that’s a part of this. At least not when it comes to most men in my world.”
“But not Gabriel.” Clara flops back onto her sofa, a contemplative look on her face. “Let me see the ring.”
I hold up my hand so that she can see the emerald on my hand, and she whistles. “Holy shit, Bella, that’s gorgeous.”
