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“I know,” I say with a sigh, feeling the weight of my exhaustion settle into my bones. “I just wish they would talk to me like I’m still the same person.”
“You are still the same person. You’re just carrying a burden that no one else can understand.”
I press my lips together, hating the heaviness settling in my stomach. “I need my husband to touch me and make love to me the way he used to. Like I’m the only woman in the world who makes him lose control.”
“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but expecting everything to go back to how it was before…” Her voice trails off, and she closes her eyes for a moment. “It’s going to take time, Mira.”
I take a deep breath, feeling the tears form at the corners of my eyes. “How much time?”
“I don’t have the answer to that.”
“How is that for irony? I’m the one who went through hell, yet it’s everyone around me who seems to struggle with PTSD.”
“Everyone handles trauma differently. Right now, Maximo is throwing himself at his work so he doesn’t have to sit around and think too much. Nicoli is driven by his need for revenge and is out there turning the world around in search of Nunzio. And you…” She sends me a half-smile. “You want to go on with your life by picking up where it left off before the worst possible thing that could happen to a woman happened to you. You want everything to be exactly the same as it was because you’re desperate to pretend like nothing happened.”
I shift from one leg to the other as the truth in her words resonates with me in a way that almost knocks me on my ass. “Is it so wrong to want to pretend like it never happened?”
She shakes her head lightly, her eyes sheer pools of empathy. “No. It’s not. But you can’t expect everyone else to do the same.”
I glance down as I nervously weave my fingers together. Leandra steps closer and puts a hand on my shoulder, offering me silent comfort.
“I’m not trying to pretend like it never happened because he raped and hurt me,” I say, looking at her. “I’m trying to pretend because I wasn’t a monster before it happened. I wasn’t a murderer.” I shrug. “At least, I didn’t know I was.”
“You’re not a monster, Mira.” She cups my cheek briefly before sliding her palm down my arm. “You’re a survivor.”
“I don’t want to be a victim or a survivor. I want to be Mirabella Del Rossa, whole and unscarred. I want my husband to be proud of the woman walking next to him. Not try to hide her from the world because he’s afraid she’ll break even further.”
Leandra’s gaze flickers with sympathy, and I can tell she’s struggling to find the right words.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“For what?”
“For putting you in this position where you feel like you have to be my friend, my shrink, my mother, my cheerleader, and everything else in between.”
She lets out a soft laugh. “I don’t feel like I have to be anything I don’t want to be. You’re my best friend, Mira. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I just wish I could snap my fingers and make all this pain disappear.”
“Yeah. You and me both.” I drag a palm down my face in an attempt to pull myself together. “I guess I have to tell my husband that I remember killing my own brother…don’t I?”
She presses her pink lips in a thin line. “I think that would be wise.”
“Thank you,” I murmur. “For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Her warm smile reaches her eyes. “Luckily, you’ll never have to find out.” She leans in and gives me a peck on the cheek. “I have to put the twins down for their nap. How about some cocktails on the porch later?”
“God, now you’re talking my language.”
She snickers, squeezes my arm, then strolls out of the dining room. I watch her go, feeling the knot in my chest slowly unraveling with each step she takes away from me. Leandra has always known how to soothe me and make me feel like everything will be okay, even when it feels like my world is crumbling around me.
Alone in the room, I take a deep breath and sit at the large oak dining table. The weight of everything that’s happened over the past few months hits me like a ton of bricks. It tends to do that occasionally, pushing back the memories of my brother, my parents, and the men I’ve killed, all churning together in my mind like a tornado.
I close my eyes and see Marco’s face, twisted in anger as he admits to killing our parents. I can feel the anger boiling inside me right before I killed him. But with the rage and the sight of his blood comes a different feeling altogether.
Power.
ChapterThree
NICOLI
