Page 14 of Unworthy Ties

Gabriella

I had been restless all day. When I lived at home, I always had Fiorella to keep me company. We constantly got into squabbles, but that was just how sisters were. I never realized how much I relied on her presence until I started living with Rocco in this big, empty penthouse.

I sighed and walked to the window, pressing my palm against the cool glass as the city lights twinkled below. Thirty floors up, and I’d never felt so grounded by loneliness.

I walked from the study back into the bedroom, where a book had materialized on the bed. Strange. I didn’t remember placing one there. I picked it up, running my fingers along the worn leather cover.

I froze as I looked at the title. This was a first edition copy of The Moon Forgets Sometimes by Margot Ellis, the book my mother used to read my siblings and me before bed. The copy we owned was lost to time—my father threw it away because he thought it was childish.

Rocco and I had discussed it on our date on the yacht. That was weeks ago, and I had only brought it up in passing—how had he remembered?

I picked it up and turned through the pages, feeling the familiar weight of the book in my hands. A small note slipped out from between the pages, landing softly on the plush carpet. I bent down to retrieve it, recognizing Rocco’s elegant handwriting immediately.

On it was a hand-drawn moon with a quote from the book copied in his perfect handwriting: “Some nights, the Moon forgets to shine. But she never stops waiting for him.”

Below it, he had written: “You reminded me of this. You wait even though I don’t deserve it.”

My heart fluttered in my chest as I clutched the note to my chest. Rocco wasn’t good with words in person—always stoic, always measured. But here, in ink on paper, he had shown me a part of himself.

I heard soft footsteps approaching from behind me and turned to see Rocco standing in the doorway, his silhouette dark against the hallway light. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, watching me with those intense eyes that always seemed to see right through me.

We stood in silence for a few moments. I didn’t know what to say, but I knew I needed to break the silence.

“I thought you weren’t home,” I said lamely.

“Just got back,” he responded, his deep voice filling the room. He remained at the threshold, as if waiting for permission to enter his own bedroom.

I held up the book. “How did you...? This must have been impossible to find. It’s a first edition.”

He shrugged, but I could tell by the slight tug at the corner of his mouth that my reaction pleased him. “I have connections.”

I clutched the book tighter to my chest, feeling the weight of those words. Connections. For a man like Rocco Marchioni, that could mean anything from rare book dealers to underground networks I’d never understand.

“Why that quote?” I asked, stepping closer to him.

“You always wait for me. When I slide into bed at three in the morning because of this damn job. Even when my shirts are covered in blood stains that I can’t explain… you’re still here.”

He took a step into the room; the floorboard creaking under his weight. His shoulders seemed to carry an invisible burden, the kind of weight that came from secrets and shadows.

“I don’t deserve it,” he continued. “I’ve never given you a good reason to put up with my shit.”

The words hung between us like a confession, and I felt my chest tighten with a mixture of longing and fear.

Part of me wanted to rush to him, to tell him he was wrong, that he deserved everything good in this world.

But another part of me knew he might be right.

The bloodstains weren’t from cooking accidents or shaving cuts.

The three AM arrivals weren’t from late business meetings.

And those “connections” that could procure impossible-to-find books were the same ones that made people disappear.

As the weight of his words settled in the air between us, a heavy silence enveloped the room, thick with unspoken truths and untold stories. I could see the turmoil in his eyes, the storm raging within his soul as he stood there, a solitary figure cloaked in shadows.

“You’re wrong, Rocco,” I finally spoke, my voice barely above a whisper. “You may be surrounded by darkness, but there’s a light within you that shines brighter than you realize. I see it, even when you can’t.”

His gaze softened, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features before he masked it with his usual stoicism. “You don’t know the things I’ve done, the lives I’ve destroyed,” he murmured, his voice tinged with sorrow.

“I’ll always be here, Rocco,” I whispered, reaching out to touch his hand, a silent promise passing between us. “No matter the shadows that haunt you, you’ll never have to face them alone.”

And as he finally crossed the room to stand beside me, I felt a sense of peace settle within my soul, a gentle reassurance that no matter what darkness the future held, we could face it together.

Rocco had left for work before I woke up.

I stared at the empty space beside me, the sheets still holding the faint impression of his body.

My fingers traced the indentation, seeking warmth that had long since faded.

This was becoming our routine—ships passing in the night, leaving only ripples as evidence we’d ever crossed paths.

I needed to talk to my therapist.

I ran to the closet and unzipped the piece of luggage I kept Giuseppe in.

My stuffed animal was still a secret from Rocco—how could I explain that a grown woman still needed the comfort of a childhood cat?

I pressed him against my chest, inhaling the faded scent of home that still clung to his worn fur.

His button eyes seemed to glare at me now, trying to tell me that he was upset at being kept in a suitcase.

“Well what am I supposed to do?” I told him. “What would my husband think if his grown wife had a stuffed animal she talked to?”

Giuseppe’s silence felt accusatory, as if even my childhood companion was judging the woman I’d become.

“Sorry,” I said, sitting him on the bed. “But I have so much to tell you.”

I launched into a speech so long the Senate could have used it for filibustering.

“And then,” I said, finishing my lengthy explanation to Giuseppe, “Rocco got me this book—the one Mom used to read to us. The one Dad threw away.” I picked up the leather-bound volume from my nightstand, showing it to the stuffed cat as if he could appreciate its significance.

“A first edition, Giuseppe.” I ran my fingers over the embossed cover again, marveling at how something so simple could feel so profound.

“Do you know what that means? It means he listened. Really listened.”

Giuseppe stared back with his unchanging button eyes, but I could swear there was a hint of understanding in those worn stitches. Maybe even a little forgiveness for keeping him hidden away.

“How did it go from being a business arrangement… to this?”

The ringing of my phone cut through my monologue. I grabbed it from the nightstand, half-expecting Rocco’s name to flash across the screen. Instead, Fiorella’s face lit up my display.

“Hello?” I answered, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder as I righted Giuseppe.

“Gabriella,” Fiorella’s voice complained through the other side of the phone. “I never thought I would say this, but it sucks even more with you not here.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, settling back against the pillows with Giuseppe in my lap. The familiar sound of my sister’s voice instantly lifted my spirits.

“It’s just Dad and our two idiot brothers; mom is gone most of the time with her friends. And by “friends” I mean her personal trainer she’s probably having an affair with.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, though the mention of my mother’s potential affair sent an uncomfortable pang through my chest. “Fi, you can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not? It’s probably true. Anyway, that’s not why I called.”

“Well, what is it?” I asked.

“Let’s go out and do something. You’re probably just sitting around talking to that stupid cat again.”

My cheeks burned with embarrassment even though she couldn’t see me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, quickly shoving Giuseppe behind a pillow.

“Right,” Fiorella laughed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And I’m not calling you from the bathroom to avoid Dad’s lecture about proper lady behavior. Anyway, I’m serious. Let’s go do something.”

Fiorella and I made tentative plans before I hung up, my heart feeling lighter than it had in days. The prospect of spending time with Fiorella brought a smile to my face. I glanced at Giuseppe, peeking out from behind the pillow.

“I’ll let you out... next time,” I promised, quickly putting him back into the suitcase where he now lived. I was still too embarrassed for Rocco to see him.

Maybe I was too embarrassed to show other parts of myself to Rocco, too.