Novel Palace
67
Karma
The ring, which had refused to come off my fingers all this time, had finally slipped off in there. Maybe it was a sign that he’s right? Maybe I had been wrong to come back for his fake funeral?Upstodatee from Novel(D)ra/m/a.O(r)g
He had written ‘whore’ on my skin, and I guess he really meant it. He doesn’t really want me. In fact, he’d rather let me go than admit that he feels something more than hatred for me. Hell, the stronzo is half in love with me. Only, he doesn’t want to admit it. And hell, if he hasn’t converted me to using Italian words in my vocabulary in a matter of weeks. I have only known him for a fraction of my life, and already, it feels like he is a part of me in a way that nobody else has ever been before. Why am I still so attracted to him? Someone who is a psychopath…and a criminal…probably, a murderer.
I draw in a breath and my lungs burn. I stomp down the steps of the nightclub, past the bar on the ground floor that has two bartenders restocking the shelves behind the bar. I reach the door, push it open, and step into the early afternoon.
A cool breeze blows over me and I shiver. The weather has been so pleasant even for early December. Shit. It’s already early December. Soon it will be Christmas… Will I be home for Christmas? Where is home? Here, with the alphahole Mafia Capo? Or in London with Summer and her new husband, who, I confess, I don’t know well at all?
Not like I have a choice. After all, he had thrown me out… Well, he’d kidnapped me, so it was his prerogative to let me go. Hold on… What prerogative? He had taken me and married me… The least he could have done was share his feelings with me. Not to mention, at least, gotten me off.
Now, here I am, walking up the road in the center of Palermo, with nothing but the clothes on my back, and nowhere to go… I need to get to a phone and call Summer. I pause. Maybe if I turn and go back to the nightclub, I can ask to borrow a phone or something? And risk running into my husband-well, my not-husband, to be precise… Nah, no way. It would only give him a chance to smirk. Maybe a chance to tell me to get out, all over again.
Nope. N-a-h. I am going to have to do this without him. Gonna have to find someone with a phone, or someplace which will allow me to make a call. Aren’t Italians largely warm-hearted people? Or at least, that’s what I had read somewhere. I walk up the road, which features other bars, eating joints… No other nightclubs on this street. Guess when the Mafia runs a nightclub, no-one wants to go head-to-head against them. They’d lose. As I had.
I’d thought I could go toe-to-toe with this man, and see what happened? Asshole really did do a number on me. Why the hell did he have to be so…hot? So sexy… So irresistible. Why did he have to show a glimmer of humanity under all that alphaholeness, eh?
If I were truly convinced that he’s evil, I would be jumping for joy right now. The problem is, I now know he isn’t as mean as he pretends to be. Nor as unfeeling as he’d like me to believe. Unfortunately, nothing I’ve said or done so far has convinced him to open up to me either. Jerk.
To think, we actually had a chance to make a go of it. We could have had a future together; a possibility of a life together. Gah! I really have done it now, falling in love with him so completely. I knew I was attracted to him, that I was falling for him, but to be in love with him? Shit, shit, shit. A pressure builds at the backs of my eyes. I am in love with him and he… He, clearly, hates me.
Nice one, Karma. The story of my life. Why do I always realize what I want a little too late?
I had gotten into Goldsmith to study fashion design, then in a fit of rebellion, dropped out… Only to figure out later that I could have done with that little bit of extra guidance… I mean, I was rushing to break the rules without first learning what the rules were. So, in the end, the only person who was hurt by the entire process was me. Just like now, when I am the only person mourning the end of a relationship that wasn’t.
I continue walking up the street. The bars and restaurants have given way to shops that look more run down. There is a coffee shop with a group of men standing about it. Some are seated at the tables outside, drinking coffee, talking together. Many are dressed in pants and vests. Their forearms tattooed. One of them raises the espresso cup to his lips. The guy opposite him says something, and the man throws the coffee in his face. The guy screams. The second man jumps to his feet, smashes the cup into the first guy’s temple. The cup shatters. Blood pours down his face. Shit, I really am in Mafia land, huh?
I pause, glancing up and down the street. I could turn back…but…nah, I am not conceding defeat. I need to keep going. I cross the street, to the other side, then stay close to the wall. I continue walking, keeping my gaze forward. My palms begin to sweat, and I wipe them on the silk skirt of my dress. Shit, why had I worn this outfit? It had seemed like a good idea then. But on the street and trying not to draw attention to myself…? Yeah, think again.
A wolf whistle rings out from the other side of the street. I wince, but don’t look in their direction. Hell, the one thing I know is self-preservation. If I don’t pay attention to them, hopefully, they’ll lose interest. Another wolf whistle sounds, this one louder and accompanied by kissing noises. Ugh. I draw myself up to my full height, keep my pace even. If I run, they’ll know I am scared… And while I am-shitless, to be honest-I am not going to give these assholes the satisfaction of knowing that.
A bead of sweat trickles down my spine. The hair on the nape of my neck rises. The sound of a vehicle accelerating reaches me. I stiffen, turn to find a van overtaking the car in front as it hurtles up the road. The hair on the back of my neck rises. My senses jangle. Somehow, I know the van is headed for me. Run! Get out of here. These blasted heels I borrowed from Cassandra are not meant for running. My ankles wobble, I cry out, then kick off my stilettos, and break into a sprint. The soles of my feet hit the hard concrete. Vibrations of pain race up my legs. I wince, but keep going even as the sound of the vehicle’s engine draws closer. It draws up next to me and the door slides open. A man jumps out in my path. I careen to a stop, pivot to find another man behind me. No, no, no. I throw up a fist, then scream when arms wrap around my center. I am lifted straight off of my feet, and even as I try to kick out, I am flung inside the van. I jump up, but something hits me on the head from behind. Then everything goes dark.