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“It’s because you don’t fear death. Because you know there are far worse things in life than an eternal slumber,” Roman told her. “You’ve seen them.” He waited for her to nod before continuing. “You’ve felt them.”
Angela swallowed with difficulty, telling herself not to admit anything. Not to show any weakness. But she was being lulled by his soft voice, somehow holding a sweet, new Italian accent, and his usually honey-brown eyes had darkened. “I have.” It felt like a confession.
“Tell me who harmed you, mio angelo,” he bade her. He cupped her chin in his hand, meeting her eyes. “Tell me, and I will see to it that they discover the true meaning of the word pain.”
She sighed, leaning into his palm where it now cupped her uninjured cheek. “That is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me,” she admitted honestly. “What does that say about me?”
“It says you are a queen,” Roman said softly. He inched forward, his breath fanning across her lips. “I could seduce you so easily.”
Angela felt the truth of that statement in every pore of her being. “I know,” she acknowledged. She didn’t move, yet managed to whisper, “But please don’t.”
He remained where he was for another heartbeat, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip before he finally sat back. Angela didn’t know whether to be relieved or devastated.
Roman shifted in his seat for a moment before he spoke. “To answer your earlier question—no. That wasn’t why I killed my father. But it was a part of it.”
The abrupt shift caused Angela to sit up straighter. This was usually the part where she would curse herself for falling for Roman’s charms and making herself vulnerable. But she just didn’t have it in her at that moment. So, for once, she let herself go. She allowed herself the freedom to be something other than the careful doctor she had molded herself into.
She allowed herself to be Angel—a name, and perhaps a person, she now loved.
“Do you want to know the whole reason?” Roman inquired, a solo eyebrow arched high.
She considered saying no. It would have been the smart thing to say. Just say no and walk away. But she had never been one for taking the easy road. So, instead, she said, “Yes. I want to know.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“My parents were part of a business transaction,” Roman began.
“They were promised to each other to bring two rival mafioso families closer together. It worked for a time. But discord between my two sets of grandparents was inevitable. The Romano family and the Lombardo family have been at war for generations. Nothing so simple as joining the bloodline was going to work. My parents both tried—I do believe that. Mother was very beautiful and father was quite handsome. He could be charming when he wanted to be. But then, so can a snake.”
Angela was listening avidly, and there was a part of him that was pleased she wanted to know more about him. But he was also scared it would change how she saw him. He had respected her boundaries over the past three months, since the night she puked all over him. But it wasn’t easy. His affection and his need for her had only grown with time. Not diminished. Seeing her lovely face mottled in red and blue made him want to kill something. He wondered idly if he should pay the junkie a visit, but quickly dismissed the idea because he knew Angel would not approve. So, he forged ahead with his tale.
“I was the only child for a long time. My mother doted on me. I was her whole world. And she was mine. I’m not ashamed to admit I was a momma’s boy. I even planted a flower garden in her memory.” He tugged his shirt down to reveal his colorful tattoo.
Angel briefly hesitated, then reached out, running her finger along a bright-purple petal. “Your mother liked gardening?” Roman nodded. “It’s beautiful artwork. I’ve been meaning to ask you about it since that time...” Angela cleared her throat, dropping her hand and leaning back in her seat.
Roman knew the time she was referring to. The only time she had seen him without a shirt on. Because thinking about that day gave him a hard-on, and now really wasn’t the best time for that, he allowed Angel to get away with the reference without him trying to seduce her again. “I used her favorite flowers and colors. She loved color. She often had colors on her skin. I didn’t know what it meant at first. Seeing her bruises became the norm, and I’m ashamed to admit it took a long time for me to question them. She always had an excuse—she was clumsy, she fell... But she wasn’t clumsy. She was a graceful woman.”
“She was protecting your father?” Angela guessed, her expression compassionate.
“She was protecting me,” Roman corrected her. “By that stage, she held no love for the man. But for me?” He smiled, remembering his mother’s face and the way her eyes seemed to sparkle whenever she looked at him. “I was her whole world. She didn’t want me to question my father. Which is exactly what I did when I learned the truth at eight years old. My father didn’t even deny it. Just told me that some women needed a firm hand and there were consequences for the wrong behavior. The latter I already knew, of course. My mother did her best to protect me from the famiglia when I was young, but being the only son made it impossible. I had already been exposed to the shadier side of the business, and violence was as common to me as eating breakfast.”
“I’m sorry,” Angela murmured.
He shrugged. The violent side of the business had never bothered him, even as a boy. But what had, was realizing his father treated his mother like shit. “My relationship with my father changed after that—as my mother knew it would. It was why she kept the truth from me as long as she did. She got pregnant again when I was eleven. I was ecstatic. And for a while, everything changed. My parents were happy, and there were no more bruises, no more yelling. But then, when my mother was six months pregnant, she became ill and bedbound. Or so I thought.”
“So you thought?” Angela repeated. She shook her head, her brow creasing. “She wasn’t sick?”
“No,” Roman said harshly. “She was being kept prisoner by my father. He used the baby and me to ensure her compliance. She stayed in her room for the next three months, withering before my eyes.”
“I don’t understand,” Angela admitted. “Why? What happened?”
“I didn’t understand either. Not for a long time,” Roman added. “My father had discovered mother was having an affair.” When Angela swore, he knew she grasped the implications. “The baby wasn’t his. He wanted to kill my mother immediately but devised a better plan. One that would satisfy his thirst for revenge and inflict the most damage as possible.”
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I didn’t know any of this at the time, of course. I was blind and stupid,” he confessed bitterly.
“You were eleven years old. You were a child!” Angela pointed out passionately.
Roman couldn’t help but smile. She looked so fierce—and in her defense of him, no less. “I was not an ordinary child, Angel. I had been groomed from the cradle to take the reins of the two biggest organized crime families in America, Italy, and Sicily. I should have known. My naïvety and ignorance cost my mother her life.”
