Page 27

Penelope

I trudge home from Caruso’s, my legs heavy and aching. My keys jingle in my hand as I climb the steps to my apartment, the weight of the day clinging to me as I shove the door open, kick it shut, and toss my bag on the couch. Something feels off, though.

I step toward the kitchen, rubbing my neck, and freeze.

The window’s cracked open with the curtains fluttering softly.

I know I locked it this morning, I know my scatterbrain’s bad, but not that bad.

My pulse kicks up and I grab the knife from the counter, my fingers tightening around the handle.

I edge back into the living room, eyes darting, when a shadow shifts near the couch.

“Who’s there?” I snap, voice calm despite the tremor in my hands.

The shadow steps forward, and blonde hair catches the light, all wild, tangled, framing a face I don’t really know but feel like I should.

Then I remember. She was the lady I saw in his apartment the other day.

Charlotte Holden. Henry’s daughter. Adriano’s ex-fiancée.

Her eyes are wide, glassy, and she’s holding a gun, the barrel shaking as she points it at me.

“You bitch,” she hisses, stepping closer, her voice splintering. “You ruined my fucking life.”

I stumble back, my hip smacking the coffee table, pain spiking hot. “Charlotte, what the fuck? Put that down!”

She laughs, a high, shattered sound, tears streaming fast down her face.

“No! You don’t get it! Nobody wants me. Nobody!

First Ethan, that bastard. I loved him, gave him everything.

My dad warned me, said he was a gold-digging piece of shit, but I didn’t listen.

Ran off with him anyway. Then he robbed me blind one night, took my money, my dad’s too, and vanished. Left me with nothing!”

“Charlotte, I—” I start, knife still up, but she cuts me off, sobbing harder, the gun shaking wild.

“Shut up! I thought Adriano would fix it. Marrying him was my way out, my chance to take something back. He was fine with it, you know? Ready to put a ring on me, build a life. Then you came back, you little teenaged whore, and he wouldn’t even look at me!

I’ve been throwing myself at him, begging, crying, fucking seducing him and he’s too busy screwing you to care! ”

“Charlotte, wait...”

“Don’t act stupid. You took him. Adriano was mine—mine—until you came along and fucked it all!”

I see her unraveling, mascara streaking black rivers down her cheeks. “He didn’t want you,” I say, slow and firm, my nails digging into the knife handle. “That’s not on me. You’re losing it. Back off!”

She swings the gun wide, tears choking her voice. “Losing it? I’m lost! My dad hates me now, he says I’m a disgrace, a failure. Nobody wants me! Why? What’s wrong with me? Adriano but I know what can fix it. Maybe if I kill you, he’ll see me again, want me again!”

I duck as she lunges, tackling her low, my shoulder jamming into her gut. We crash to the floor, the impact rattling my teeth, and the gun skids across the tiles, clattering loud. I scramble for it, fingers brushing the weapon, but she grabs my hair, pulling hard enough to burn my scalp.

“He’s mine!” she screams, scratching my arm, her nails drawing blood. I swing back, my fist smacking her jaw, and she reels, gasping.

“You don’t get it. I loved him. I was going to marry him, be everything he needed. Then he humiliated me and called it off because of you!”

“He didn’t want you, Charlotte. That’s not my fault. You’re not well. Stay down!” I shout, lunging for the gun and snagging it.

I lurch to my feet, panting, pointing it at her, my hands shaky. Blood trickles warm from my shin, staining the floor red. She scrambles up, sobbing, her face a mess of tears and rage, but headlights flare outside, tires screeching sharp.

The door bursts open, and Adriano storms in, his face twisted with fury, gray eyes blazing. Tommy’s right behind, gun drawn, moving quick.

“Grab her!” Adriano snaps, and Tommy hauls Charlotte back by the arms, her screams echoing as she thrashes.

“Let me go! She stole him! She—” Her voice cuts off as Tommy drags her out, the sound fading into the night.

Adriano turns to me, his eyes locking on the blood, the gun trembling in my hand. He steps close, snatching it from my hands and tossing it aside.

“You hurt?” he says, voice rough, hands hovering like he’s afraid I’ll break.

I shove him hard, stumbling back, my shin screaming, head throbbing. “Yeah, I’m hurt! Your psycho ex broke in, waved a gun at me, and I’m bleeding because your fucking life keeps spilling into mine!”

His jaw tightens, guilt flashing raw, but he reaches for me. “I didn’t know she’d—”

“Bullshit!” I yell, slapping his hands away, my voice cracking loud.

“You didn’t know? This is exactly why I didn't want us together before. She’s your mess, Adriano, your ex, your enemies, all of it!

I told you we’re cursed from the jump and now look!

She wants me dead because you picked me over her!

We’ll never be happy, can’t you see that? ”

He grabs my wrists, holding tight, his eyes boring into mine. “I see it, Penelope. I see the fucking wreckage. But I’m not letting you bleed for my shit. I’ll handle her, I swear.”

“Handle her?” I laugh, sharp and bitter, pulling free. “You can’t handle crazy! You can’t stop your life from swallowing me! Every time I think we’ve got a chance, something—someone—tries to kill me! We’re doomed, and you’re too stubborn to admit it!”

His face twists, pain slicing deep, and he steps back, hands falling limp. “You think I don’t know how fucked this is? I hate myself every day for pulling you in. But I can’t let you go. I won’t.”

“Then you’re a selfish asshole,” I spit, tears burning hot down my face. “I need space, Adriano. Real space this time. I can’t think with you hovering, with this shit crashing down. I don’t know if I can keep living in your hell.”

He stares for a while, then nods slowly, reluctant. “Alright. I’ll give you that. But I’m watching. Keeping you safe. That’s not negotiable.”

“Fine,” I mutter, turning away, swiping my cheeks hard. “Just get out.”

He grabs his jacket, hesitates, then walks out, the door clicking behind him.

I sink to the floor, blood smearing the tiles, my body shaking.

Charlotte’s gone, hauled off by Tommy, but her face sticks in my head.

She’s Henry Holden’s daughter, Adriano’s ex, dumped hard before their wedding.

Publicly shamed, she ran to her dad, who’s been scheming ever since, pairing her off with some rich widower now, a consolation prize.

But she’s here, feral, blaming me for losing him.

I get it—love twists you up, leaves you desperate and dumb.

I’d be a wreck too if he’d tossed me like trash.

Days slog by, heavy and gray. I bandage my shin, the cut raw and angry, and limp to Caruso’s every morning.

The store’s all shine with black marble, gold veins, diamonds glinting cold, but it feels like a lie now, a glossy cover on a rotting core.

I punch numbers into the computer, file papers, my hands moving automatic while my mind spins.

Outside, I feel them. Today it’s Tommy’s SUV, tomorrow it’s Frankie, another it’s Sal.

All lurking a block away when I leave work, cigarette smoke drifting from the cracked window.

I know it’s Adriano’s doing, his way of keeping me “safe” without crowding me.

I shove my hands in my pockets, pretending I don’t notice, and start walking home.

Sometimes it’s Ralph, his scarred face peering from a shadowed car.

Adriano hasn’t been coming to the store, I know first-hand that he doesn’t absolutely need to except for emergencies, which rarely happen, and I am grateful he is giving me the time off that I need.

I keep my head down, pretend I don’t see, my steps quick on the pavement.

I’m not ready to face him, to untangle the mess of want and fear knotted in my gut.

“Subtle as a brick, huh?” I mumble under my breath, kicking a pebble down the sidewalk. It skitters into the gutter, and I imagine Tommy’s dumb grin if I flipped him off. But I don’t.

Back at my apartment, I unlock the door, step inside, and freeze.

Something’s off. It smells different and my heart kicks up, fast and hard, and I scan the room.

Nothing moves. The TV’s still off, the couch sagging where I left it.

But that feeling, it’s like a hand on my spine, pressing slow.

I grab a knife from the kitchen block, and creep toward the bedroom.

“Anyone here?” I call, voice steady even though my pulse hammers. No answer. I nudge the door open with my foot, blade ready, and peek inside. Empty. Just my unmade bed, sheets twisted from last night’s tossing. I exhale, lowering the knife, but the unease sticks, slimy and cold.

I lock the door tight, double-check every window, my hands shaky.

I flop onto the couch, tossing the knife on the coffee table, and stare at the ceiling.

He’s out there, watching, waiting. I know it’s him or his guys, at least. Part of me wants to storm that SUV, drag Tommy out, and scream at him to tell Adriano to fuck off.

But I don’t. I sit here, stewing, because facing him means facing me and my want, my fear, the way I’m tangled up in him so deep I can’t tell where I end anymore.