Page 94 of Ruin

“Not here, bro,” says Vin.

Matti picks up my glass and hands it to me. I take a swallowand turn away from the bar, one eye on Giovanna—and realize that Antonio is standing on the other side of her.

Vin is saying something to Matti and I slip past them, listening to Gi and Antonio’s conversation.

“—sure you’re okay?” Antonio acting like he’s so fucking concerned.

“Yes, and I don’t want to talk about it,” she says, sipping a glass of wine.

“I got you.” He puts his big hand on her bare arm, touching my girl’s skin, and rubs softly up and down. “I’m here whenever you want.”

I don’t think. I don’t speak. I can barely see. I hurl my whiskey glass into the wall of bottles behind the bar, push Gi out of the way, and punch Antonio square in the face. I get in one more good shot while he’s off balance before Vin and Matti grab me amidst a collective gasp rising up from the crowd around us.

Giovanna is in my face, shoving my chest. Angry. But she’s looking at me. I don’t say anything, I don’t fight my brothers as they hold me back, I just watch her mouth as she screams at me. Her beautiful mouth.

“—not fucking acceptable! Get out of here, Tommy! We’re done!”

Matti pulls me away from the bar while Vin grabs the bottle and the glasses with a grin. He says to Antonio, “Might wanna put some ice on that, fucker,” and laughs.

I can’t tear my eyes off Giovanna as Matti leads me toward the elevator at the back of the lobby. She turns Antonio’s face so she can see where I hit him and takes the ice offered by the bartender, then holds it to his cheek. He’s glaring at me as he puts his hand over hers to hold the ice in place.

I watch her, waiting for her to look back at me.

To choose me.

But she doesn’t.

She keeps looking at him.

38

Giovanna

Ishut the bedroom door harder than I mean to, the sound ricocheting through the apartment like a gunshot. I expect to find Tommy there waiting for me, but the apartment is empty, and I immediately berate myself for my stupidity. He’s almost never home when I come home. Why would tonight be any different?

My dress clings to me, my heels dig into my feet. I peel them off, and get in the shower, trying to not only wash off the evening but the anger and heartbreak I’m wrapped in.

It doesn’t work. I put on pajama shorts and a top, clean my face, and stand in the empty apartment. The silence presses in.

Where is he? Is he okay?

I hate myself for caring. I hate the way I drift to the window, half expecting to see his shape on the sidewalk below.

My chest tightens when I remember the sickening crunch of his fist connecting with Antonio’s jaw. If I hadn’t already broken up with him, I would have ended it right then. Antonio has been nothing but kind to me, patient. A friend.

But the look on Tommy’s face when he hit him: that was my old Tommy. The one I fell in love with. Dark, authentic, intense. My man is still in there; he’s just buried under the polite politician he has become.

Fuck. This is my fault. I created this whole situation.

My throat burns when I think about how easily the words fell out of my mouth—we’re done—like it was pre-determined, natural. Fated.

Leaving him wasn’t on my agenda for tonight. I’m not sure it was really on my agenda at all, but it happened so organically, the words were out of my mouth before I could stop and think.

But things haven’t been good between us for a long time. At least not for me. I’ve tried every way I know how to get him to hear me. I tried just waiting, being patient, living my life on my own until he figured it out and came back around. But how long am I supposed to wait to be happy?

It should be over.

It is over.