Page 198 of Bitter Poetry
Go?“Where are you going? Is it Christian?”
He stands and puts me down on the couch where he was sitting. Taking my hand in his, he crouches in front of me.
He won’t forgive me if Christian dies, I can read it in his face.
I won’t forgive myself, so that really doesn’t matter.
“He’s tough.”
“But not indestructible.”
“No,” he agrees. “I’ve got to go. Soldiers are outside the door.”
My heart beats a sickly tattoo in my chest.
“If you stay, you do so because you want to… Because you want to be here when Christian comes back, because you trust me—us—to take care of you.” He cups my cheek, the hold is firm, and every bit of gentleness leaves his expression. “But if you leave again, ever, know I will find you, and after, I will never trust you again. What you don’t do—fucking ever—is leave on a misguided crusade to save Christian or me. Understood?”
I’ve fucked up. I can’t reconcile how much I’ve fucked up. My terror knowing Ettore has taken Christian has me in a stranglehold of regret.
My mistakes are mine to own, and I can choose to learn and grow from them. I presumed to know this world, but I was looking at only half the picture. Someone I love is hurtingbecause of me. That my actions come from a place of good intentions doesn’t mitigate the consequences.
I wanted some control over my destiny, but I went about it in all the wrong ways. Nobody has absolute power. We are all subject to forces beyond our control. But there is strength in submission, in trusting someone to take care of you because they have pieces you don’t, and you likewise have pieces that they don’t.
“I won’t,” I push past my raw throat. “I trust you—I trust Christian. Please. Whatever it takes. Whatever I can do that will help. I will do it, whether that is staying in this room until you say otherwise, or something else you ask of me. I-I won’t question you again.”
He plants his lips over mine, brief and fierce, and then he stands, and his hands slip away.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He leaves. I sit, staring at the closed door. Every second feels amplified. Every second I think about Christian.
Please, come back to me.
DANTE
“Is she okay?” Leon asks.
“Physically, yes. But she’s got a lot of guilt to work through.”
“And you?”
I swallow. “I’ve got a lot of trust issues to work through… How’s Cherry?”
He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his pants and stares out at the darkened club. “I could console myself by saying she’s suffered worse, but I’m not sure she has.”
“That good, hey?”
“I’ve crossed lines.”
“Haven’t we all… They’ve got Christian. They know he was colluding with us. Ettore told us he will call at three with a list of demands… We don’t have a fucking clue where he’s been taken. We’re stuck waiting on that call and praying he doesn’t change things up on us and drop his body off on our doorstep.”
It will be a miracle if my brother gets out of this alive.
If he gets out of it alive without being maimed, it will be an even bigger one.
One day I’m going to be building a pyre and putting Ettore’s head on it, but he’s got us at a disadvantage, so it won’t be today.
“It’s time we tested our negotiating skills,” Leon says, his expression empty as he turns to face me. “Get me a meeting with the Russians, I’ll handle the rest.”
