Page 47 of Die for You

I peer at myself in the bathroom mirror, gripping the edge of the marble basin, knowing this is so fucking wrong.

I don’t know why I give a damn. But I do.

However, if I don’t do this, then I will never be free.

As I am soon to be a mother, I can understand why my mother did what she did, to some extent. She thought she was protecting me against Aldo. However, it was a cowardly, selfish act. I suppose my mother and I are not made of the same girth.

I will do anything to protect Lettie, but I would never abandon her as my mother did to me. Regardless of this, I wonder if her coming to Sicily is merely a fantasy that will never come to fruition.

I wrestle with these endless thoughts because I’m trying to justify what Gianna wants me to do.

The bathroom door opens, reminding me that this isn’t the time or place to suddenly have a guilty conscience.

If I do this, I am free.

But deep down, will I ever really be free?

My hands tremble as I open my gold clutch to retrieve my red lipstick. I apply it to my lips not to rouse suspicion. The woman who entered does the same two basins over. Our lipsticks don’t need touching up, but it appears we both need a breather from the vile men and women who fill this spectacular venue.

Once a castle, it has been transformed into a hideaway for the rich to be themselves as they check their coats and morals at the door. I have no idea what the occasion is, but it seems anyone with wealth and power is here.

I have yet to see Enzo, though.

Vince sent me a photo of him, and the resemblance between him and Aldo is apparent.

Thoughts of Aldo have me getting back in the game.

Enough of this pity party for one.

I gently wipe any excess lipstick from the corners of my mouth and exhale slowly.

I look how I should, and that is bait.

I disassociate from what I am about to do and think of the bigger picture. To achieve this, I must detach myself from emotion, something I was once very good at doing. But I now realize that isn’t entirely true. If it were, I would have no qualms about killing Enzo and making it home in time to bingeBaywatchreruns.

The woman I pass on the way out appears to be wrestling with her own personal demons. It seems that even in the most beautiful of settings, we’re still prisoners to our pasts.

A string quartet plays classical music, and servers in tuxedos serve drinks and canapés from silver trays. People mingle, chatting animatedly as most Italians do.

I snag a glass of orange juice from a server who, no doubt, has been instructed to blend in. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t make eye contact because he knows what happens if he sees or hears too much.

I try my best to fit in as I don’t want to draw any attention to myself. Vince is adamant that no one knows who I am. But once tonight is over, that will soon change.

A loving couple to my right has a pang hit me low.

I haven’t seen Lenny since the night we said goodbye. I woke the following morning, and he was gone.

No note.

No nothing.

No sign that I hadn’t dreamed the entire thing.

I knew I hadn’t because I was enveloped in his scent, and my body ached for days.

It still does.

But it aches for a different reason this time.