"Let me go." I say through gritted teeth, but his grip tightens. I grab onto his shoulders and shove him with all the strength I can muster.
He falls back, his head hitting the mirror and breaking it to pieces. Shards are falling down all around him. Eyes wide, he stills. There's a minor cut on his face, a tiny trail of blood coming down his cheek and mingling with his tears. There must be other cuts, because blood pours down onto the pristine carpet. My first instinct is to help him, so I take a step forward.
But I can't.
Instead, I turn to leave.
He's fast as he grabs onto my dress again, his bloody hands staining the pure white. I look down at him and my heart shatters once more, just like the mirror. Because no matter how much I hate him, I also love him. And that's the paradox; for as long as I live, my love for him will always be shadowed by the hate. And so I do the only thing I still can.
I push him off, tearing at the dress.
Then I run.
L'amor che move li sole e l'altre stelle
—Dante Aligheri, Paradiso Canto XXXIII
Chapter Twenty-six
TEN YEARS AGO,
HISTORICALLY, THE LASTRA AND Agosti families had been good friends. It was, however, the opposite with father and Rocco Agosti. While Rocco had always been known for his extravagant lifestyle and was famous for his lavish banquets, he'd never been as debauched as father in his tastes. In fact, Rocco preferred higher quality bed partners, while father preferred higher quantity.
Rocco's parties entertained the creme de la creme of New York – actors, musicians, and politicians all mingling together.
It had been during one of those parties I'd first seen Catalina.
I'd been attending as usual, doing my best to socialize. I'd never had a taste for these parties since the company was always lacking. But I had to go. Being the son of the Capo meant I had some social duties–even though I dreaded them.
I'd been nursing the same drink for what felt like an eternity, waiting for a chance to greet Rocco and take my leave. The party had been a crush, with too many people even for Rocco's enormous mansion. I'd retreated for a second in the garden, looking for a secluded spot to light a cigarette, when I'd seen her.
She'd been wearing a simple white dress. It wasn't sexy. Far from it. It was a boring and proper gown that showed absolutely no skin. But her face... it was the most spectacular thing I'd ever seen in my life. She was simply breathtaking. Her midnight black hair flowed freely down her back, reaching her hips. She had a pale complexion with a couple of freckles splattered on her nose and cheeks. But it was her eyes that rooted me to the spot. Slanted, cat-like eyes, her irises were such a vivid green I had to blink twice to make sure I wasn't imagining it.
I wasn't.
She wasn't a dream.
I'd taken one step toward of her when someone else approached her.
"Lina, what are you doing out here? You know you're not allowed at these parties." I'd recognize that voice and accent anywhere. It was Enzo, Rocco's son and heir. He was around my age, but we'd never hung out together. There had always been a distinction in our stations. Enzo had been groomed to be the next capo; I'd been groomed to be the one you feared when you turned off the lights
Even now, I was watching the exchange from the shadows, like always.
"I was curious. I wanted to see what these parties were all about. You never let me attend." Her voice, so soothing and melodious, fit the rest of her.
"You're too young, Lina. You know father won't like that." Enzo had commented, steering her towards the entrance of the house. I'd hidden even deeper in the shadows, not wanting to intrude. Putting two and two together, I realized the girl must be Rocco's youngest daughter, Catalina.
"I'll be eighteen soon, Enzo. I'm not that young, you know."
"I know, piccola. Do you really want to grow up so soon? Father is already looking for a match." They had then disappeared somewhere in the house. A strange feeling had developed inside my soul that night.
Catalina could marry no one but me.
I knew someone like me could never deserve her. She was like a ray of sunshine in my otherwise bleak life. But I could try. I could try to deserve her... to be a good man for her.
TWO MONTHS LATER,
"I THOUGHT YOU WOULDN'T come." She leans against the fence, seeking to see my face. I draw my hood, not wanting her to realize just how bad I look. Even though it's been a few days now since the beating, my face is still swollen, a mix of purple and yellow all around my eyes and nose.
"I thought I wouldn't come either." I admit, my voice gruff with pain. My stab wound had gotten infected. This morning I'd noticed yellow puss coming out of it, so I'd had to cut into it again and drain it. But I won't tell her this. It would make her worry. Worry about me... It's so foreign to think about anyone giving a shit about how I'm doing, or whether I'm in pain.
I peer at her from beneath my hood, taking in her celestial face. Seeing her shy smile makes everything fade in the background.
"I can't stay long." Father has been keeping tabs on all my movements. I'd lost the men he'd tasked with following me, but I won't take any risks with Catalina.
I'm starting to believe that no matter how much I want it, or how much I try, I can never be with her. It would mean inviting danger into her life, and I'd die before allowing something as pure as her to be defiled by evil.
It had taken me a few sleepless nights, but I'd decided to stay away from her. Even though I've already spoken to Rocco about the match, I'll just have to take a step back. It's for the best.
"Are you sure you're ok?" She scans me, her eyebrows knit together in worry.
"Yeah... thank you. For everything." I try to convey what I'm feeling with my words, but I doubt anything would do it justice. She's like a ray of sunshine, and I'll be carrying this memory of her for eternity.
I take a deep breath and blink twice to stop myself from tearing up. Funny how I'd never cried during the worst torture, but the thought of never seeing her again has me almost bawling my eyes out.
The saddest part is that I won't ever meet her again – not even in the afterlife. She belongs with the angels, while I belong in the gutter.
"Hey, are you ok?" She tries to get my attention and I realize I got lost in my thoughts.
"I won't be able to come again." I tell her. "It's... complicated."
Her expression falls, and she seems sad at hearing that.
"Are you in trouble? Maybe I can put in a word with my father, or my brother." Catalina immediately offers, and I feel the rift between us widening even more. No one can help me. No one.
But at least she offered.
I stand up to leave, knowing that if I stay a second longer, my resolve will falter.
"Lord!" She exclaims, pointing at my chest. I look down and see that my wound has opened again. "You're bleeding again."
I shrug and turn to leave.
"No, wait." Her hands reach behind her neck and she unties her scarf. "Can you come a little closer?" I stop for a moment, debating if it's wise to do this when I'm craving her like a famished man.