He’d lied to me.
What I didn’t know was why. Had he meant to get my hopes up only to dash them? Had this been meant as a way to reestablish his power over me? Did he fear he’d gone too soft and wished to tighten up the reins? Or had he simply forgotten?
Only as I brought up and discarded option after option did another possibility enter my mind. What if he’d been hurt? Every single day Romeo left me to go do “mafia family business.” I never knew specifics about what he did, just like I’d never been privy about what my father or brothers did on a day to day basis. But it was deadly work. What would I do if he died? Or if he became so injured as to be powerless? Would I be in danger from Angelo or the other Cavettis?
Would they consider me and my famiglia loose ends they would need to tie up?
It would be so easy for them to erase all of us from existence. That had always been a possibility. What interested me about this line of thinking was how much it highlighted Romeo’s protection of me. He’d interceded on my behalf for Giorgio and maybe also for my sisters. Without him standing as a hindrance to his father, who knew what Angelo might decide.
The patriarch apparently wanted a wedding, some sort of legal connection between the Cavettis and the Bonifacios. I wondered if something were to happen to Romeo if his father would marry me off to one of his other sons. If I’d be transferred like a bank balance. And whether that would improve my circumstances or worsen them.
I envisioned what such a scenario would be like. If I’d be given the chance to see his body. If I’d be treated as a widow if we weren’t yet married. What it would be like to look at the man who’d both tormented and made love to me and recognize that he was dead. My breath caught and my chest ached at the idea, my throat burning as if singed.
Pain. I would feel pain if Romeo died. Despite how messed up our relationship had been, I would feel sorrow. A lot of it. I would grieve his loss. I would mourn. I would miss him.
I missed him even now.
Where had that come from?
Was what I felt for him just a need for him to guard me or something more? I thought about the night we’d first had sex and felt my insides quiver. I loved what he did to me, even when it verged on discomfort. The ecstasy he offered stayed with me. I felt his arms holding me tight, his lips on mine, his fingers pressing against me. Even though I’d been sore that next day, I’d always wanted more. Maybe what I felt for him was pure addiction.
Romeo wasn’t like the men I’d seen in romantic comedies or dramas on TV. He wasn’t some benevolent suitor showing up to tell me he loved me. He wasn’t Prince Charming or some knight in shining armor. But I did care about how he was, which was so ironic. Hadn’t I threatened his life not all that long ago? Even if I’d known when I’d said the threat just how idle it was.
The man would forever serve as someone who perpetually confused my thoughts.
My heart was heavy with the disappointment on not visiting with Chiara and Alessandra, I barely glanced up when Philippa arrived with my dinner. It’d now been a month since the events that had ended in Antonio’s death, and though Romeo had removed me from my prison to place me with him, I hadn’t checked to determine if he’d put me under lock and key. As long as I didn’t know, I could pretend that I was free to wander. I could believe that Romeo was better intentioned than he’d proven himself to be.
“Have you seen Romeo today?” I asked her as she pivoted around to leave.
“In passing, Signorina.”
“In passing? Does that mean he’s been in the house?”
“Yes. He is here now.”
Stupidly, I whipped my head around as if he might be standing right behind me. “What is he doing?”
“I am not certain, but he’s been traveling a great deal up and down the stairs.”
I looked down at the back of my hand and caught the glimmer of my engagement ring peeking up at me. “All right, Philippa. Thank you.”
I peered out the window and into the Chicago night. The weather had gone from cool autumn to cold winter now and a gust of wind pushed a cascade of snowflakes against the pane. Romeo had broken his promise to take me to visit my sisters, but he was not in danger. I expected to feel upset at him, even insulted, but I didn’t. Instead, I felt sad. He was the man his father and the mafia lifestyle had created him to be, a traitor prince. Just as I was a dethroned mafia princess.
Those roles had been decided for us right at birth, and they weren’t about to change now.
When the hour grew so late that I became weary, I slipped into Romeo’s bed and drifted to sleep. I stirred momentarily when I felt him join some time in the night, but he didn’t demand anything from me so I nodded back off. Sometime later I was disturbed by a noise, but it didn’t go on for long, so I never even opened my eyes. At least not until it happened again.
There was a whimper and then the bed shook. I blinked and took in my darkened surroundings, turning over to face Romeo to discover that what had disturbed my slumber had been him. He appeared to be completely out as he thrashed beside me. He’d thrown his head forcefully back into his pillow with his jaw so clenched I could make out each tendon in his neck. He’d bent his arms at the elbows with his hands in loose fists; I couldn’t tell whether he was attempting to guard himself or trying to ward something off.
He shuddered and writhed, his mouth beginning to move but no words spilling out. I watched him for a few moments, unsure if I should wake him up or not. His curly black hair had become tousled, his breathing accelerating into something approaching panic.
I’d seen enough.
“Romeo?” I whispered, hoping to not startle him. He didn’t seem to hear me because he started to thrash again, one hand latching onto the sheets and blankets like they were life rafts. “Romeo?” I spoke with a little more volume.
“Muuhh… No…” he muttered incoherently in a much higher-pitched voice than normal, and with that came another whimper. Whatever might be haunting his dreams couldn’t be pleasant.
The nearly full moon had cast its light across his features, highlighting the worry marring his brow. Despite the frigidness of the weather outside, Romeo was sweating, his perspiration beading along his hairline and upper lip. He rolled more violently this time, taking the bed linens with him as his legs became desperately tangled. Hopping out of bed, I padded barefoot over to his side, concerned about him. I’d never seen him like this. So vulnerable.
So human.
Deciding to stand back so I’d be out of his line of fire should he lash out, I called out his name. “Romeo. You’re having a nightmare. Wake up.”
His eyes snapped open, looking frenzied and wild, and he bolted upwards into a seated position. “W-what?” he stuttered out, another first. I’d never heard him be anything but articulate. “Where’s Mama?” he asked raggedly, pronouncing the word with an emphasis on the second syllable, just like our family did. I knelt by his side. Had he seriously just asked for his mother?
I lowered down to my haunches. “I’m sorry but your mother’s not here.”
He swallowed slowly as if gulping down a pincushion full of needles, but when he spoke again, it was with his typical deep tone. “No, of course not. I… I knew that.”