Page 184 of Bitter Poetry
“You have nothing, absolutely nothing, to be sorry about. It is me who should be sorry. I’m fucking livid, at that son of a bitch, at myself, and the world. I’m not a good man. I fuck up daily. What I’m trying to say badly is that when this began, and your father told me you would marry Ettore, I couldn’t see a way to change that. I wish I’d looked harder and tried harder. I’m sorry that I didn’t.”
“You couldn’t have known,” I say sadly.
His quietness tells me that he believes he should.
CHAPTER 55
CARMELA
Christian gets a call and has to leave first.
Shamelessly, I cling to him. “I don’t want you to go,” I mumble against his chest.
“Fuck, Camela,” he says. “I don’t want to go either. But I have to, you know.”
He kisses me, and I open up to it and him. Being with them is a form of addiction. I would do anything for them; today, I realize they would likewise do anything for me.
The knowledge only tightens my resolve on the course I’ve set. I force myself to disentangle my arms from around his neck. In the grainy morning light, I stare into his eyes, feeling the moment slip from my grasp, just the way he is.
Today will be hard, but I’m doing this so that tomorrow might be better.
Then it’s Dante’s turn to leave.
“Are you going to be alright?”
No.“Yes.”
“I’ll speak to you later.”
No, you won’t.Later, he’s going to realize I’m not here anymore.
My eyes feel gritty. I’m worn out. They loved me hard last night, but my body is gladly paying the price.
My shower is fast and efficient. I take today’s birth control and leave the rest there. It would be hard to explain if Ettore or any of his men happened to find them on me. My stomach churns at the thought of being near Ettore without that protection, but there is nothing I can do.
In the dressing room, I pull my hair back into a ponytail, put on a pair of jeans and comfortable shoes, and the oversized gray sweater that Cherry brought me. The apartment complex combines private residences, serviced apartments, and holiday lets. The colors are all neutral, and nothing would stand out. I snag Dante’s baseball cap, the one I’ve only seen him wear once when he met me in the coffee shop. My heart squeezes at the memory. I tighten the cap to fit my head as best as I can and pull it down low.
I leave my cell phone on the nightstand and walk into the lounge where I drink a large glass of water.
It’s still early, and rush hour will be in full swing. The best time to leave is when there are other people around.
I take a deep breath and fail to steady my nerves before collecting the money from the takeout drawer: eighty-seven dollars and a few coins.
I stuff it into my pocket.
There is only one more thing I need to do before I go. God, why does this bring me to my knees? Why is this the hardest step of all?
My fingers shake as I unlock the clasp. I hold the necklace and stare at it for the longest time. I lied for him—wore it against my skin. It can’t come with me. If I’m going to claim Russiansheld me, there’s no way they would leave something valuable around my throat.
It’s a part of me, a part of my journey from who I was to who I have become.
I kiss the heart-shaped pendant and then place it on the coffee table.
When he finds it, he will know I left of my own accord, and that’s for the best—I hope.
With a last lingering look around the room, I head through to the foyer. My hands shake. The first attempt at the combinations fails, and so does the second and the third. My palms turn sweaty. Did I remember it wrong? On the fourth attempt, I hear the lock disengage.
My heart is in my mouth. I’m almost waiting for an alarm… or a comedy portcullis to drop from the ceiling.
