Page 93 of Cara

With that incessant ringing, pushing off the thoughts any longer is impossible.

Being with Xavier Marcello means confronting everything I once tried to escape. Years ago, the worst fate I could imagine was marrying a crime lord, having his children, and attending functions by his side like my mother did for my thankless father. I couldn’t envision anything worse—and then Arturo Marcello happened.

Suddenly, existing in Xavier’s world isn’t so terrifying as long as I never have to be apart from him again. To run again… to be alone again…thatwould destroy me.

As soon as I'm sure my mind is made up, gazing upon a sleeping predator of the underground, fragments of the past remind me of my mother’s boredom, her sense of uselessness.

The galas she was expected to organize, the jewelry trunk shows, and estate sales that consumed her time, ensuring she and the house were presentable for the constant influx of strangers filling our halls. The revolving martinis she always made sure were available to her, perhaps to ease the sting of pointless days and unpredictable nights with Vito Marin.

My thoughts race to those I haven’t seen. Bo, Dante, Zeke, Mimi, Delli…Courtney. I could cry just thinking of her name—any of their names.

In New York, I'm not invisible, blending into crowds, forced to watch others receive love. Here, I don’t need to numb myself with training because nothing else gives me purpose.

In New York, I'm a wife. A friend. I'msomeone.

My gaze shifts to the Phantom who has more than earned his underground alias, the radical head of the Marcello Family. His tattoos and scars would instill fear in anyone—justifiably so—because no one could possibly envision the life he’s lived to bear such a body.

For my own sanity, I do my best to lock away Thomas Ritchey in the recesses of my mind, yet he remains with me now, a ghost I’ll always regret.

I spent my youth consumed by him, by the idea of an everyday life, free from private dealings, stubbed cigars, and men stationed with guns. That dream bled into my womanhood, into my marriage to a man I spent so much of my life hating.

You can’t escape the Mafia, Sophie.

As I gaze at the man I love, pondering a return to the place of my nightmares, Xavier’s words have never rung truer.

“How thehellcould you miss this?”

My eyes wince against the glare of light that streaks across my pillow, awakened by a hoarse rasp.

Xavier’s voice has dropped octaves straight out of sleep.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, still mouthwateringly nude, he holds his phone to his ear as he rubs his face drowsily.

The alarm clock on the shelf displays the time in red digits. I feel like cursing whoever disturbed him before dawn until a name slips from Xavier’s lips that sends chills down my spine. “Strata is a means to an end. It’s Vito I want.”

The muffled voice on the other end doesn’t belong to Bo, nor is this Xavier talking. It’s the Don, the magnate behind numerous successful enterprises. It’s the elusive overlordshepherding a legion of merciless men riding a power trip of influence, drugs, and women.

“There’s not going to be a meeting. He misspent the little time I was willing to give him.”

None of the caller’s ramblings are coherent from where I'm sitting. Xavier stands silently, his feet rooted to the carpet, his staggering frame suddenly blocking the ray of sunlight streaming onto the bed.

“William.”

The line falls silent instantly—when Xavier’s indifference becomes absolute. The reproach intertwines with the unnatural huskiness of Xavier’s baritone until there is no air left in the room. I’m not surprised the man drops any confidence he had, clamming up.

“You think I give a shit about excuses? You were assigned to him. What I want to understand, Willie,” he says, enunciating every word, “is how the fuck you could take your eyes off of him for a second? What was it that took precedence over my veryclearinstructions?”

Oh, he’slivid. He’s livid enough to stalk from the room without a glance back to see if I was listening.

Behind the door he closes, I half expect an uproar, but he never raises his voice past a shrill threat, and that’s worse than shouting.

This is the side of him I’ve rarely seen… and clearly need to get used to.

My father never let my mother anywhere near his affairs.

I'm not sure if Xavier intends to follow his predecessor’s lead on that ridiculous custom. While I’d hate knowing the dark deals he forges in the shadows, it would bother me more if he shut me out, leaving me to become merely a decoration like Camilla Marin.

He would never do that.