Page 16 of Dirty Hearts

Feeling my presence, he turned and saw me. In the smooth amber lights surrounding us, I looked at his face, at the sharp angles and sculpted planes that always made my heart melt. And even in this light I could still see his eyes. One eye blue, azure blue like the sky, and the other brown.

Claudius.

Against the night he looked like a vengeful god, exuding the power he held, and the authority.

All the emotions I’d ever felt for this man came rushing back into my soul. They flooded my soul and made my head spin.

As he stepped closer to me, eyes holding me in place, I saw the inky black tattoo of the cross on his cheek.

The cross he wore for my sister,his wife. His late wife.

My twin sister.

He must have loved her so much.

And me?

I was nothing. I had to remind myself that I was nothing to him. I was nothing and meant nothing. I was the nothing he’d slept with four years ago and left me, so I’d get the message that I was nothing.

Why was he here?

Why now?

“Hello, Angel Doll,” he spoke, taking a few more steps.

Angel Doll… that was what he used to call me. Way back when I’d thought he was mine. Our story was such a twisted mess.

Was it foolish of me to start explaining it with ‘I saw him first…’?

God, I was so stupid.

Yes,was…

The naïve, innocent person he used to know was long dead. She didn’t live here anymore.

My blood now simmered and heated, making me feel like I’d combust.

“Ava, I—”

I didn’t give him the chance to finish. Fueled by the fire that heated me up all over, my hand took on a life of its own. Taking advantage of my six-inch heels, it rose up and landed a slap right across his cheek.

In that moment, I didn’t care who he was or what he was. Don of the Chicago Mafia or not.

Maybe he would kill me. I didn’t care. He could fuck off.

I cursed the day I met him. I wished like hell it had never happened. Because that was the day when I lost control of my heart.

Ten years. How could one person feel like this after ten years?

I was twenty-one when I first met him. At thirty-one I wished I could forget him.

Maybe that slap was the first step.

Turning on my heels, I left.

Chapter 4

Ava