Page 44

Aria makes me have weird cravings. I find myself suddenly not so petrified of the picture of a family −maybe of my own− with a kid or two running around in a large house with a nice backyard and a pool.
I realize that, unbeknownst to either of us, she makes me want to do better. But at the same time, the thought of being a husband or father just freaks me out. What if I hurt her the way my father hurt my mother? All my life, the only thing I’ve known how to do is kill. I neither know how to nurse nor nurture life.
My father had always spat the fact that I am nothing good.
“Non vali niente(You’re worthless)!” he would yell every time he was intoxicated and reeking of booze. On days I wasn’t too lucky, he would grab the object closest to him and smack me on the head with it until my temples began to bleed.
There were days when he would storm in angrily and unbuckle his belt, swinging it across the tiny one-bedroom we lived in, exerting his unjustified anger on my tiny frame.
And then my mom would step in.
Sometimes, he would yank her hair and bash her head against whatever surface was closest to him. Other times, he would grab her by the neckline of her dress and send his palm across her face until she would bleed from her nose.
Once, one of her teeth even fell out, and another time, she couldn’t hear for a week in her left ear.
Whenever I recall his actions towards her, I grind my teeth in rage. If only I’d had my current strength, I would have choked him until his eyes bulged from their sockets, stripping him of the ability to hunt his victims.
That ruthless environment I grew up in facilitated the man I have become, and I cannot help it. I cannot afford to be that kind of man to Aria.
Despite having spent my whole life trying to be a different man from who he was, in moments like this, I cannot help but wonder if it is true that the apple does not fall far from the tree.
The anger, the possessiveness, the need for control… I feel it lurking in the farthest corners of my heart, waiting for the right time to pounce on my perfect life and ruin it.
The rim of the glass is cool as I lift it to my lips, letting its content burn my throat through to my chest. My past seems like a weight, dragging me down to hell, no matter how much I try to avoid it.
The glass clinks on the table as I set it down and lean forward on my desk. Aria has pierced a mark into me, and I don’t know how to undo it.
The truth is, I don’t even want to.
I run my palms over my face again. The girl needs someone who can give her stability, and by God, I am not that man. I’m a manwho is haunted and weighed down by sins and ghosts. I can’t be a good husband to her, no matter how hard I try.
To make things worse, she’s from the opposite side of the law. Never in a million years did I think I would be falling for a woman like that.
I wonder what she thinks every time she remembers that I have taken her virginity. I have not set my eyes on her once since that night. The last four days, to be precise. She heads for work very early in the morning and returns late in the evening as if she’s intentionally avoiding me.
As if I’m a deadly, contagious plague that she has to quarantine from.
I wonder if she hates me now. If she regrets coming up to me that day and letting me fuck the hell out of her. Although, admittedly, she didn’t even see a glimpse of all the things I wanted to do to her… to that pure, untouched body of hers.
I don’t deserve her, but God, do I want her. And that makes me hate her…hate this whole thing, whatever it is.
I press a hand against the mahogany table before my eye darts towards the desk again as a silent reminder of the line I’ve already crossed. I trace its edge with my fingers, replaying in my mind the way she arched her back for me, her large eyes looking into mine like I was her only hope, her cheeks flushed, lips swollen.
She had trusted me in that moment when she prompted me to take her precious virtue, and now, I honestly have no idea what to do with that trust. The monster in me is already possessive of her and knows what to do to her body, but the human part still left in me −as small as it is− admonishes me for that.
I sink back into the leather chair and pick the glass up again, staring at the whiskey like a genie could appear from it and give me a magical answer.
I’ve spent years living and dealing with the silence that comes with loneliness, but tonight, it just seems to weigh down heavier than I can remember.
For the first time, I’ve made a mistake I wish I could undo.
The door to my office creaks open, and the sound of boots crunching on the floor causes me to snap my head up.
Cortez lowers his head in a small bow before marching up to me, “Capo, I’ve just returned from Mendez’s apartment.”
One of my brows lifts, prompting him to speak.
“He’s missing. His house was thrown apart, cupboards yanked open, and stuff strewn everywhere. My best guess was that he’d run away, but there were signs of a struggle. When I looked closely, there were scuff marks by the door. Looks like he was dragged out.”