Page 33 of The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

My lungs tightened, constricting.

Her wrist slipped from my grasp and disappeared into the darkness.

You’re dead to me.

“No,” I cried, as I dropped to my knees and fought to breathe.

Sydney got her wish.

She didn’t have to live without him.

On my twenty-third birthday, I became a widow of one.

24 years old

August 2015

“CAN YOU FEEL IT? THE beat in your chest?”

I gave my head a shake, long curls sticking to my tear-streaked cheeks.

“Here.” Mamma grabbed my hand and pressed it to my chest, over my light pink church dress. “What about now?”

Something pulsed beneath my palm, small but fast, like the flutter of a frightened bird’s wings. I nodded.

“It’s music,” she whispered, like she was telling a big secret.

My eyes filled with awe, but soon, fear crept into the corners of my mind. “But Papà hates music.”

“Some men, Gianna . . . can’t feel their own music, let alone other’s.”

Sadness pulled on my chest.

Mamma’s gaze grew wet, like mine. “Dance to this”—she pressed her hand to my heart—“whenever and however you want.”

“Whenever I want?”

“Yes, stellina.” She pressed a kiss to my forehead and my five-year-old heart warmed. “Whenever you want.”

“I’m scared of the dark.” The whisper invaded the memory, my low, toneless voice sweeping in.

You’re dead to me.

You’re dead to me.

You’re dead to me.

The words came out with the blackness to swallow me whole.

I woke with a start, the sheets stuck to my sweaty skin. Catching my breath, I stared at the ceiling of my apartment. The dream swept me back to the night of my twenty-third birthday.

I sat at the back of an ambulance, the doors open on either side of me. It was hot and humid, though my blood ran cold.

A sheet covered the body, but it couldn’t conceal the long blond hair hanging off the stretcher as they loaded Sydney into the back of an ambulance.

Someone stood in front of me, and I brought a blank stare to his. I’d been sitting on Antonio’s cold office floor in the dark when he’d found me. Allister hadn’t said a word as he picked me up, letting me cry silently on his shoulder while he carried me outside. Before he disappeared back inside, he’d taken off his suit jacket and rested it on my shoulders. It smelled like a man’s. Deep, and rough, and masculine. I tried to drown myself in the scent instead of the numbness.

“Do you want to go home?” he asked.