Page 27 of Plus-Size Bratva Possession (Vadim Bratva #12)

I thought I could distract myself from the constant ache by taking up painting again. But all I had was an empty canvas to show for it. Since Gastone called, I’d been lost.

Hearing his voice, kinder in that call, apologetic, gave me hope again. I woke up in the mornings, truly believing I could go back and start over.

God, how I wanted to.

And then the pain came crashing back, reminding me of why I was here in the lakehouse, and I found myself remembering every little insult he threw my way.

I was sitting in front of the canvas, willing myself to just pick a paint, any color, when I heard a car on the gravel outside.

I put down the brush, thinking it was Larissa, and rushed to open the door without checking.

My heart lurched in my chest, for standing there, right in front of me, was none other than Gastone.

Despite the hurt clutching at my soul, I found my traitor of a heart speeding up at the sight of him.

Gastone said nothing. He just stood there, his brows furrowed in pain, his anguished eyes roving over me as though to check if I was okay.

The pain I felt was etched in my heart, not my skin. But I didn’t tell him that.

Moments passed, and I felt like I wanted to hide. But I couldn’t. He was here, and this was happening.

It took a few more seconds before I found my voice. But then, I said, rather hoarsely. “Come in.”

I saw the relief on his face with just those two words alone.

He walked past me, toward the couch, and I closed my eyes, trying to steady myself. When I opened them again, I saw he had turned to face me.

I could do this, I told myself. I could face him without falling apart.

He looked terrible in the light. Those dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises, and his hair was a complete mess.

“Elena,” he took my name in greeting, finally breaking the silence.

“What do you want?” I asked, proud of how steady my voice sounded despite the earthquake happening inside me.

“I needed to see you,” he said. “I…if there was a better way to say I’m sorry, I would have found it. And I know a word means nothing, but I’m so so so very sorry, Elena.”

I leaned against the doorframe, not moving any closer. “You had your chance to listen and you chose not to.”

“I know.” His voice cracked slightly. “I was so very wrong. I found Ricardo, Elena. I talked to him.”

My eyes widened. “You what?”

“I found Adriana's lover. He admitted to it all, and your suspicion was right. His revenge was on me. He was jealous, and everything you tried to tell me was true.”

A small, petty part of me wanted to say I told you so. The rest of me just felt tired.

“Good for you,” I said flatly. “Is that all?”

His face fell. “No. It's not all. I came to tell you how sorry I am for accusing you of lying to protect your brothers. For everything.”

I wanted so very much to tell him it was alright. That I forgave him. Seeing him standing there in front of me weakened every argument I had built up against him. But the hurt he caused; I was afraid he was capable of causing more.

And I knew I couldn’t take any more of my heart shattering.

“I’m glad you found out for yourself,” I said at last.

A look of hope crossed his face. He walked over to me and turned to my side, creating distance.

“Can we… can you…consider coming back?” he asked. “We can talk. Figure it out.”

I wrapped my arms around myself and shook my head. “You know what's hard? Believing that you trusted me and learning that you didn’t. I understand you know what you do now, and I appreciate you coming over here. But…I think it’s time you go now.” I reached over to open the door.

“Elena, please…” he stepped toward me, but I stepped back and shook my head.

“I don’t know what to do with myself without you,” he said, a pain in his voice. “I…”

“You decide I was lying or scheming or whatever; you broke my trust,” I said, my own voice cracking.

“It will never happen again,” he promised, stepping closer. I took one back.

“How can I believe that?” I asked. “You were so quick to think the worst of me. What happens when something else comes up that tests your trust?”

“I'll listen,” he said. “I'll trust you. I'll—”

“Stop,” I cut him off. “Just stop. I can't do this right now. I need more time.”

His face fell, but he nodded. “I understand. But Elena, I'm not giving up on us. I...” he trailed off, swallowing hard. “I want to make this right.”

“I don't know if you can,” I admitted.

He stepped back, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I'll come back tomorrow.”

“Gastone—”

“Just to talk,” he added quickly. “If you want me to leave, I'll leave. But I'm going to keep trying, Elena. Every day, until you believe me.”

I should have told him not to bother. Should have said there was no point. Instead, I found myself standing there frozen, too afraid to hope.

“Bye, Elena,” he said softly and walked out of the house.

I closed the door before I could do something stupid like call him back.

True to his word, Gastone returned the next day. And the next. And the next.

In the first few days, I barely spoke to him. He would arrive around noon, sometimes with lunch or a small gift—a book he thought I'd like or a set of watercolors.

The whole time, he never pushed me into speaking. That was, perhaps, the only reason I allowed him back. At first, I answered as little as I could and pretended to be engrossed in chores. But he still stayed back, even helped me wash the dishes.

But as the days passed, I found myself warming, despite my best efforts to remain aloof. The thing was, having him around was the only time I felt like myself. More…normal.

I hated that the man who broke my heart seemed to be the only person with the power to heal me. It terrified me, and sometimes I found myself wanting to bring up that day again, to truly talk through it and put it behind us. But every time, I bit down on my tongue.

Because I knew if I went back to him, he could ruin me. That’s how much he meant to me.

On the fifth day, he brought a picnic basket and suggested we eat by the lake. I surprised myself by agreeing.

“Caspian used to bring me here when I was a kid,” I said, watching the water lap at the shore as we sat on a blanket he'd spread over the grass.

Gastone looked surprised. “I didn't know that.”

“There's a lot you don't know about me,” I said, then immediately regretted how harsh it sounded. “Sorry. That came out wrong.”

“No,” he shook his head. “You're right. There's a lot I don't know. But I want to learn, if you'll let me.”

The sincerity in his voice made my throat tight. “We'll see.”

By the next day, I started waiting for him to come. By the tenth, we were making dinner together, moving around the small kitchen like any domesticated couple. He chopped vegetables while I sautéed chicken, and for a moment, it was easy to forget how we'd started, how badly we'd ended.

But the day after that, he arrived with a serious expression, and I knew I couldn’t live in this fairy tale forever and pretend nothing happened.

“Elena,” he said, when we sat around the kitchen table with some tea. “How long will you…” He motioned around the house.

“What? Live like this?” I finished his thought.

He leaned over and stared at me with such intensity that I forgot where we were. “Come home. Please.”

I studied his face, trying to remember the contempt I had seen on it that day. But all I saw was hope. Such terrible, precious hope that I knew I didn’t want to break it for him.

“I won’t say I’ll come home,” I said finally. “But I think it’s time we talked.”

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

“I met Ricardo,” Gastone began, his voice low. “Face to face.”

“You said that the day you came,” I nodded.

“I know, but there’s so much more I didn’t say.

Elena, Adriana was, once upon a time, my everything.

I would have died for her, you know? I don’t expect you to understand, but there are very few moments in life when the earth shatters beneath your feet and you don’t know what to do with it.

When you told me about her, that the child I’d mourned for three years wasn’t even mine, I couldn’t believe it. ”

There was such sorrow in his eyes, and he shook his head, averted his gaze. “Why am I telling you this?” he muttered under his breath. “It’s not your responsibility to understand.”

I felt a tug in my heart. He was beating himself up for simply speaking from his heart, and if we were talking, I needed him to be completely honest. Both with him and me.

“Something like when someone shows you who they are, and you don’t see it until they do something really, truly terrible. Right?” I gave him a little nudge. He looked up at me in shock, as though surprised I had heard him.

“Go on,” I said softly, sitting straighter now.

“I think I didn’t want to believe it so bad that it was easier to assume those horrible things about you. I heard you, you know? I heard you tell me to just look at that photograph of…” his voice cut off with a choke and took a moment to collect himself.

“I saw that photo of them kissing, and I realized you told me to look at it. But I was so shocked by what I’d heard that I never listened. I was a fool. A complete fool, and when Ricardo told me everything, I hated myself.”

My hand reached across the table of its own accord, settling over his. “I'm so sorry, Gastone.”

He turned his hand over to grip mine, like it was a lifeline.

“All these years, I thought I knew what happened. I was so certain. To hear him confirm what you said meant I didn’t trust you.

The one person I should have trusted most. Can you believe how pathetic I am, Elena?

I needed Adriana’s murderer to tell me what you were saying all along! ”

“You were grieving,” I said softly. “People believe what they need to in grief.”

“But I hurt you,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. “I drove you away when all you were trying to do was help me see the truth.”

I swallowed hard. “Yes, you did.”