Page 41 of I Would Die For You

It’s well and truly over.

He has to go on his way, I have to make mine. And this will only happen once he’s fulfilled his promise to the Don—he’ll have to deliver me home. Only then will he be able to leave.

Only then will I be able to pick up the pieces of my broken heart and try to put them back together again.

There’s only one way.

“Take me back home, Stefano. Please.”

Chapter 13 Kaya

It’sstilltheblazesof summer all over the US as August rolls on, yet everything inside me is freezing cold. There are some raised eyebrows at the airport—I’m in a coat in this ninety-degree weather. My teeth would be chattering otherwise. It’s like the life is draining out of me. Is this what it feels like when you’re dying?

Stefano didn’t object to my request to leave. The quiet, stoic resignation on his face told me everything I needed to know. We are done, and there’s no going back now. And it was all my fault. That’s what I’ll have to live with now for the rest of my life. Guilt on top of loss, of heartbreak, of having a glimpse of a wonderful life I could’ve had if I hadn’t jumped the gun too soon. No wonder they call girls my age silly—we act like idiots, sometimes, at barely twenty-two.

And Stefano, what will he do when he goes back? Will he be brow-beaten into this arranged marriage his father has planned for him? Will he fight back? Will another woman—that little skank with a potty mouth—have him as her man?

But that’s none of my concern, is it? I’m moving on…

A quick search on his phone showed we could catch the last flight out this evening for Portland International. I went down to say goodbye to Valentino. It’s a stretch to say we’d ever meet again, though I know I now have an ally on US soil. He’s a friend, at least.

All the Andretti brothers were conferring in his study, the beautiful man hovering on the sidelines with them along with the older one. It’s clear I interrupted aBorgatameeting, but time was of the essence. Valentino hugged me tight and told me to not be a stranger. It warmed a tiny part of me to know I wouldn’t be alone here anymore.

Stefano hung back, lengthy goodbyes happening as I left the room. Did he not plan to return here to see his cousins? Not my problem, though. Anything to do with Stefano should be erased from my perception asap. While waiting for him, I pack a small bag. It’ll be easier to have everything shipped over once I’ve found a place to stay. For now, getting out of here is the goal.

It's another silent flight that takes us west, just five hours this time, still tricky and fraught with the tension between us. There’s much he wants to say, I know it, yet he won’t come out and say it. What difference would it make, too? He’s going back to Torino, ultimately, and I’m staying here.

He finally breaks the silence once we’re in the rental car in the parking lot.

“The Don has asked me to put you up in a good hotel until you can find a place to move in.”

“There’s no need—”

“There’s every need,” he bites out.

That’s when I get it. He made a promise to the Don, just like I did. We’d never renege on our word to him. So be it.Va bene, as the Italians are so fond of saying.

Thinking of Italy opens the fault line I didn’t want to probe ever since we spoke back in our room in New Jersey. We also weren’t talking, but now that the communication lines have re-opened, I have to know.

Taking a deep breath, I turn to face Stefano. “Was I really in such danger in Torino?”

His jaw tightens, hands squeezing the wheel tight even though we’re still going nowhere.

So it’s true. I was in mortal peril. Don Giacomo and his enforcer made sure I’d be kept safe. At least one good thing about being back on US soil, it’s that no one knows me here. No Albanian overlord is targeting me in revenge or for some deranged ego-slash-power trip on this side of the Atlantic.

Then a flicker inserts itself—Daku knows who I am. He had my passport, after all. My identity is no secret to him. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned about these criminal organizations, it’s that they leave no stone unturned.

I’m Kaya Norton from Portland, only daughter of Grant Norton, and there aren’t a lot of us Nortons in town. Were someone to come after me, they could do it through my father.

My gasp startles Stefano. His hand’s on my shoulder in a flash, his palm warm and comforting, strong and solid.

“My father,” I breathe out. “He could be in danger.”

His eyes narrow. “You want to make sure he’s okay?”

It strikes me he didn’t ask why I thought so or that I was being far-fetched. Which means he must’ve considered this possibility.

“Where would he be?” he continues.

---