Page 25 of Bittersweet Endings (Agostino Crime Family #6)

OCTAVIA AGOSTINO

T he book had me hooked, its words pulling me deeper into a world far from my own. The TV murmured in the background, some late-night talk show filling the silence, but I barely heard it.

Curled up on the sofa, I turned the page, my fingers gripping the edges just a little tighter. The new author I was reading had a way of making the world disappear—until the sound of footsteps pulled me back to reality.

Rocco.

I didn’t look up right away, expecting some offhanded comment about me losing sleep over another novel. But instead of his usual teasing, his voice was clipped. Urgent.

I finally glanced his way.

“You need to see this,” he said, making me frown. He had the remote in his hand, his expression grim as he switched the channel. The light from the TV shifted, the casual chatter of late-night entertainment replaced by a news anchor .

“…fires raging across multiple locations, emergency responders working through the night to contain the damage.”

The screen flashed with images—buildings engulfed in flames, plumes of smoke rising against the Los Angeles skyline. A burned-out car, bullet holes riddling its frame. A body covered with a sheet, blood pooling underneath it.

I sat up, my heart tightening in my chest.

“The recent surge in gang violence has left residents shaken,” the reporter continued. “Several sources claim these coordinated attacks can be traced back to one of the city’s most notorious crime families, though authorities have yet to confirm any direct involvement.”

I didn’t need them to confirm a damn thing.

My stomach twisted as more footage played—street corners stained red, bodies being loaded into ambulances, the kind of carnage that only happened when someone wanted to send a message.

I swallowed hard, my mind racing ahead of me. I already knew. Because the city wasn’t just burning. It was being purged. There was only one family ruthless enough to make a statement like this. And Carmine was at the center of it. He was taking down his father. I just knew it.

In my head, Carmine’s face lingered on the screen, the flickering flames of Los Angeles reflecting in his cold, dark eyes. I couldn’t look away, even as the news anchor droned on about escalating violence, turf wars, and bodies piling up in the streets.

Beside me, Rocco exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. “Shit’s getting real.”

I finally tore my gaze from the screen and turned to him. “Does this mean… If he kills JP, do we have a new west coast Capo?”

Rocco met my eyes, his jaw tight. He already knew the answer, and so did I. He said it anyway. “Yeah. If JP dies, Carmine takes the throne.” He studied me for a moment before shaking his head. “Do you think there’ll ever be peace?”

I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Peace?” The word tasted foreign, meaningless. “There’s no peace in this life. Only controlling the chaos.”

Rocco sighed, shifting his stance. “You need to think about something, Tave.” His voice dropped, more serious than usual. “If Carmine becomes Capo, he might come for you.”

I stiffened, but he wasn’t finished.

“You willing to leave everything behind for that? To walk away from your family, your blood, and be a Capo’s wife? The wife of the man who kidnapped you?”

Silence stretched between us. The air in the room felt heavier, pressing down on my chest. I inhaled slowly, steadying my voice. “That man also killed my demons.” My fingers curled into my lap, my nails digging into my palm. “He set me free.”

Rocco didn’t answer right away. Maybe because he saw it. The shift, the part of Octavia Agostino that had been buried in blood and fire. Maybe because he knew there was no coming back from this.

I forced out a yawn, stretching my arms over my head. “I’m exhausted,” I murmured, stepping away from the living room. “I’m gonna call it a night.”

Rocco didn’t argue, but I felt his eyes on me as I walked away. He knew me too well. Knew I wasn’t really tired, just running.

The moment I shut my bedroom door, I leaned against it, exhaling slowly. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t fucking care!

Carmine Ragetti was a storm, a hurricane that tore through everything in his path. And yet, my heart still beat for him like an idiot who’d gotten caught in the eye of it, waiting to be swallowed whole. Wanting to be swallowed whole.

He was out there, drenched in blood and vengeance, setting the city on fire. And here I was, suddenly worried for him.

Maybe Apollo’s diagnosis was right.

No. It was because my body still remembered him. No man had ever touched me the way Carmine had. No man had ever ruined me the way he had. And no man had protected me the way he still was.

I clenched my jaw, pushing off the door and pacing the room. My mind spun, flashing back to the nights we’d lost ourselves in each other. The way he’d looked at me. Like I was his, like he was never going to let me go.

I shouldn’t call him. I should not call him. Don’t you dare call him.

But my hand was already reaching for my phone, my fingers betraying me as I pressed his name. The line barely rang twice before he answered, his voice edged with amusement.

“Little doll?”

I could practically feel his breath on my ear. “I saw the news, Carmine. Are you…” I paused.

“Are you worried about me, little doll?”

His words sent a shiver down my spine, settling deep in my bones. I closed my eyes, gripping the phone tighter.

No. Yes. No. Always.

But I couldn’t say that. So instead, I whispered, “Where are you?”

“Why? Will you come to me, little doll? Will you wipe the blood from my body, stitch me back up just to cut me deeper?”

I scoffed, the familiar ache rising in my chest. But I wasn’t about to let him see how much his words stirred inside me. “No,” I snapped, my voice tight with frustration. “I’m not your fucking nurse, Carmine.”

I could hear the smug smile, that infuriating self-assurance. “You sound pissed. What’s the matter, little doll? You don’t like me talking about us?”

“There is no us ,” I bit out while continuing to pace the room. I wasn’t sure if I was pissed at him or at myself for keeping this call going. But I couldn’t stop it either. I was still tangled in him. Still goddamn consumed by him.

“You want me, Octavia,” he pressed. He knew exactly how to rile me up. “Don’t lie to me. We both know that if I asked you to come to me right now, you would.”

I gritted my teeth. “I’m not your fucking toy anymore, Carmine. You don’t get to say shit like that and expect me to just…”

“Expect you to what?” His arrogance faded slightly, replaced with a challenge. “Tell me, little doll, what would you do if I were standing in front of you right now?”

My stomach twisted, the thoughts of him flooding my mind. “I’d tell you to fuck off,” I said, though the words felt hollow.

Carmine chuckled, that dangerous sound that always made my heart race. “But you won’t. You never do.”

I slammed the phone down on the bedside table, frustration overwhelming me.

Why did I even bother? Why did I keep letting him drag me back into his web? I was so fucking weak when it came to him, and I hated it.

I stared at the phone, my chest tight, the weight of his words pressing on me. The silence in the room felt suffocating. I could still sense the warmth of his voice lingering in my ear, even though I’d hung up.

For a moment, I told myself it was over. That I was done with this, with him. But the longer I stood there, the more that familiar pull gnawed at me, a need I couldn’t explain.

The phone rang again, cutting through the tension. I picked it up with a trembling hand.

“Do you miss me, little doll?” Carmine’s voice slithered down the line, smooth and certain.

I fought the urge to throw the phone against the wall. “No.”

“You’re really gonna play it like that?” he asked, his tone almost teasing. “You don’t miss me?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I closed my eyes, digging the heel of my palm into my forehead. “I don’t know what you want from me,” I muttered.

“You.” His laugh was soft, almost seductive. “I want all of you, little doll.”

“Fuck you, Carmine,” I hissed. “I’m not some pawn… Some chest piece you can...”

“You’re not a game,” he said, the softness slipping into something more dangerous. “You’re my weakness, Octavia. No matter how much I hate it, it’s the truth.”

“Then let me go.”

“No.” His voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but it cut through the air like a blade. “Because no matter how far you run, no matter how hard you try to resist, you will come back to me. And no one will keep you from me.”

I felt the pulse of his words in my chest, and for a second, I hated myself for it. But I couldn’t stop it. “What’s changed? What happened to wanting my family’s secrets? Why, all of a sudden, do you want to declare that I’m yours?”

“I’ve always had that claim, baby. Now I’m just speaking it out loud.”

Men argued in the background. Shouting erupted, followed by gunfire as a door clicked closed .

“Carmine, where are you? What is happening?”

“You’re right. You’re not a game. You’re the whole damn battlefield.” He paused. “And if you hadn’t noticed, I’m in the middle of my own battle, babe.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the phone so hard my fingers ached. “I can’t keep doing this,” I whispered, almost to myself. “I can’t push you away, then pull you back. I shouldn’t be worried about you.”

“I know, Octavia. But you’re gonna do it anyway. Because you’re mine. I’ll see you soon, little doll. Once I end all this shit over here, I’m coming for you.”

And then, he hung up on me. I was met by silence as my heart pounded in my ears. My chest tight with irritation, longing, and anger. None of it should be there.

I hated him. But more than that, I hated myself for still needing him. For believing everything he just said. And for my heart swelling with desire at his promise of coming back for me.

There was something inside me—something darker and far too familiar—that pulled me towards this man. I didn’t want to be weak. I didn’t want to let him control me. But every minute, every second without him…

It felt like I was drowning in a past I could never escape.

Because he set me free.

At the same time, he was never going to let go of me, and I knew— I knew —I couldn’t stop this. But what was even odder was the rapid turn of events. The resolution in his tone told me he was adamant about his decision.

Carmine was handling the west, and when he came to the east, no one would be able to protect me from him . I wouldn’t fight him either. I wouldn’t allow anyone to get hurt trying to protect me.

I was already too far gone.