Page 132 of Handsome Devil

“Gonna need more than that.”

“Leon Gorga killed my father and brother. He was the other driver. Gorga was on holiday in London and pissed out of his arse. But he got away with two vehicular manslaughter charges because he was powerful and wealthy, the son of a senator. His solicitors managed to exclude incriminating evidence and argued rubbish premedical conditions. I’m sure the fact that my father was driving a Vauxhall, not a Ferrari, played into the trial. Point is Gorga didn’t spend a day in prison for what he’d done. And…and…”

“You couldn’t bear it,” Tate finished for me. “The injustice.”

I had obsessively searched every detail about Gorga after the accident.

Where he lived: Westchester, New York. Where he worked: Wall Street. Who he was: a twice-divorced wealth management playboy with a pink cocaine habit.

“You’re not the only one with fixations,” I croaked out. “I was obsessed with Gorga for a very long time. When I finished my A-levels, I chose to go to college in New York so I could follow him, even at the price of moving away from Mum. In hindsight, it was probably what finished her.”

Mum was young—still in her late forties—suddenly widowed and without the prized teenage son and husband she adored so much. Her daughter, me, moved across the pond, leaving her to lick her wounds alone. It was, in her doctors’ opinion, thecatalyst of her early-onset dementia. So in a way, Gorga didn’t only take Elliott and Dad—he also took Mum.

“It helped that I got a full ride through my tennis. I stalked him every waking moment I wasn’t studying or playing. I knew where he took his lunch. Where he dined. The clubs he frequented. Which hotels in the city he took his hookups to.”

Enzo stood far enough from us that he couldn’t hear, but I knew I was being foolish, admitting this to another living soul.

“I never meant to kill him,” I whispered.

Tate’s hands circled my upper arms, steadying me. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

I hiccupped. “I was always so careful about putting enough space between us when I followed him, but this time, I got too close.” I dropped my gaze to my feet. “Every Friday, when he got off work, he went to the Forbidden Fruit Club. I’d follow him and wait outside. He’d sit on the balcony with his mates, chain-smoking and drinking champagne. I didn’t know why I did it to myself, but I got addicted to watching him live his life so carelessly after killing half my family. I was punishing myself. That night was different because he drove to the club in his Ferrari.”

My lower lip trembled.

“I watched from across the street as he polished off bottle after bottle of champagne and snorted cocaine. I knew he’d get behind the wheel and kill someone else, and it made me furious. So I confronted him.”

I was shaking so badly, Tate had to physically keep me upright. I’d never uttered this out loud to anyone, and speaking the truth, relaying it, made me face what happened for the first time. Tate motioned for Thierry to get out of the driver’s seat and tucked me into the back seat of the car, closing the door so it was just the two of us.

“Continue,” he instructed.

“You’re going to hate me.”

But wasn’t that what I wanted? A way out of this marriage before my mother’s death?

“I could never hate you,” he muttered grimly.

Worrying my lip, I soldiered through. “I followed him to his car. I just wanted to stop him from driving. It was dark and isolated in the parking lot. He confronted me and said he knew I’d been following him. I told him who I was—that it was my family he struck and killed.”

Tate’s hands were pressed firmly on my shoulders, anchoring me to the leather seat.

“He laughed in my face, Tate. Helaughed.” I gulped. “He told me I needed to move on. Thatshit happens. He said he’d been cleared, I wasn’t supposed to be harassing him, and that he could call the police and get me deported.”

“Fuck.” Tate’s lips barely moved.

“He had no remorse and laughed in my face, so I picked up a loose brick from the ground and hurled it his way. I honestly underestimated my swing.” I sighed. “The brick smashed his head in. I remember seeing part of his skull caving in. He collapsed, and I knew immediately he didn’t survive that injury. I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. When I turned around, Daniel was there.”

“He used to frequent the Forbidden Fruit’s gambling tables,” Tate grumbled.

“Daniel gathered me in his arms and put me back together.” My voice cracked. “He helped me calm down. I told him what happened, why I did it. Told him I didn’t mean to. Then we got into an argument.”

“He wanted to take the fall for you,” Tate guessed, his voice dull.

“Yeah, because I had a motive to kill, not injure. And I wanted to call the cops, to turn myself in.” I licked my lips. “Danielwanted me to run and pretend it never happened. Sirens blared in the distance. The cops were getting closer. He told me to admit nothing. Said it would jeopardize my visa and my school. That Gorga wasn’t worth my future. He wouldn’t have to serve time, and if he did, it would be minimal.”

I fell silent, staring at my fingers.

“Your father didn’t kill Gorga, Tate. I did.”