Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(162)

I turned away, hiding the pain that must have flashed across my face. There was truth in what he was saying. I knew it.

“Listen, come back downstairs,” he said, his voice softening. “I know you’re mad, but you still have business to work through, downstairs. We can sort the rest of this tomorrow.”

I squinted and hesitated, then nodded.

“Yes?” he said, his voice brightening with relief. “That’s my girl. I knew you could take it.”

I heard him standing tall, straightening his beautiful suit.

“So I’ll see you down there?”

“OK, Dec. Just give me a minute,” I said softly.

“See?” he said sweetly, walking over to me and embracing me from behind. “I knew you would do it my way. We’re going to have a blast, kiddo.”

Slapping me lightly on the shoulder like I was a teammate in a locker room, he left the studio. As soon as he closed the door, I pulled the beaded belt from my waist and threw it on the bed, then the dress after it.

I could only get my clothes and makeup in my bag, but that was fine. I couldn’t even care anymore. Let it all sink to the bottom of the canal. Let it burn in the fireplace. What did it matter.

Snatching the wad of unspent cash Declan had given me days earlier I opened the envelope Jackson left me. Inside was a single airplane ticket to LA, open-ended. Choking back a fist of emotion, I glanced around the studio at everything I was leaving behind with just a bag of clothes and mascara, then snapped off the light for the last time.

I kept the shoes though, because... well, you know. Gucci shoes.





CHAPTER 6


SOMEHOW HOME SEEMED STRANGE and unfamiliar. It took two days to get there via three different commercial airplanes and by the time I arrived, it all looked manufacture, like a movie set.

“Hello, house,” I whispered when I walked in, breathing deeply, trying to trigger a sensation of belonging. But nothing came.

I dropped my bag on the slate tiles and unbuckled my thoroughly broken-in Gucci sandals, leaving them where they fell. My feet on the cool tiles felt deliciously unfettered and I walked deeper into the house, feeling an inkling of change, a small sense that I did in fact belong here.

Skimming the photos on the mantlepiece, Aunt Winnie and my mother beamed out at me from years and years ago, frozen mid-laugh among friends. I tried to feel them here, the way people say you can. This would have been the exact right time to have a maternal ghost figure around. Someone I could turn to for comfort.

Someone I could confess to.

“Mom, I fucked up so bad,” I whispered into the dusty, dark air.

But she didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say. What would I even tell her? That I screwed over my best friend? That I burned bridges on two sides of the world I would probably never be able to rebuild? That I had apparently given up something real to snatch after a shiny object when some douchebag dangled it in front of my face?

Could I tell her I was that girl? No. It was better she would never know.

I had left the Netherlands with a single bag and nothing else, and that seemed appropriate. My work was gone, my clothes… even my paint materials were in a studio halfway around the world that I would never see again, hopefully.

Well, I guess this is as good a time as any to start over, then.

Sliding open the glass doors, I was grateful to see that Roger had kept the garden and pool from going wild while I was gone. I flipped on the pool light and flopped onto a deck chair, sinking wearily into the cold, fluffy cushion.

The night sky was a smear of grey. No stars at all. With a frustrated groan, I realized I had never even looked up while in Amsterdam. Another chance just wasted. Frittered away.

Deliberately relaxing my muscles, I pushed away any thoughts of what I needed to do. Just for a moment, I wanted to float without feeling. I knew I had to turn everything in my life around, and it was going to be like diverting the Titanic. But just for a few minutes, I wanted to not think.

The sound of the doorbell punched through like a klaxon horn. I sat up straight and immediately began to swear.

“Fuck, I need a new bell. OK, that is job one,” I muttered as I slapped barefoot through the house. Who the hell would be ringing that? If Bridget thought she could have me murdered, she should have hired someone less courteous.

I opened the door, then before I knew I’d done it, threw myself at Jackson and wrapped my arms around his neck. Sudden, choking sobs shook my body.

“Whoa, hey!” he said, his voice pitched with concern. “Baby, hey… No don’t cry!”

But I couldn’t help it. He held me just as tight as I needed on the dark steps in front of my house, squeezing me still while my sobs tried to shake me apart.