Page 115 of Runaway in the Mafia
Giuseppe dropped me off at Palermo airport. The fact that he didn’t ask questions or stop me from going said enough. He was giving me the choice.
I transferred in Rome. Then I hid underneath the blanket and cried all the way from Rome to Delhi. The first thing that hit me when the cabin doors opened at Indira Gandhi International Airport was the heat. The humidity. The smell. That made ituniquely India. I stood at the threshold, burning my hand on the hot metal staircase railing. I should have felt at home. All I felt was a deep yearning for a dryer climate, calmer streets and limestone walls. And the man behind them.
By the time I made it out of customs my legs wobbled like toothpicks. My vision was a blur. I had everything planned. I was going to come clean with one piece of bad news at a time.
Then I saw him, and I choked up. Papa at the end of the metal railing. My luggage rolled off, and I flew into his arms.
He wasn’t as strong as before, but there was only ever one home aside from the one I’d left behind. In my father’s arms. His hands were soft on my hair. He held me tightly as I sobbed, burying my face in his shoulder. The rush of Delhi buzzed around us. People moved, horns tooted outside. But he didn’t move. He let me have as much time as I needed. Only when I lifted my head up did he cup my face. His eyes were sad but tender. “I’ll take care of it, whatever it is,theek hai.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
“Let’s go.” And I allowed the driver to collect my bags and followed him out of the airport.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
VITALE
She ran. Of course she did. I’d known from day one that if I showed her the exit, she’d burst through it and let the door slam shut on my face.
I’d blamed her for everything, but this one was on me. I’d shown her the damn exit. Laid out the fucking red carpet for her to walk out of my life.
The thing was, I couldn’t do it anymore. Have her with me and not own her fully. Couldn’t make her choose either. I knew how antiquated traditions were. I’d followed them enough times, and I’d certainly defied my share of them. But I was the don. A man. I had the luxury of choice.
She was a girl. A woman born into a culture that wouldn’t take kindly the side steps she’d taken. Fucking hypocrisy. But it was what it was. And taking a match and setting it on fire was, for once, not going to be the fucking solution to it.
So I’d let her go. Let her slip past my fingers like sand in an hourglass. And just like in one of those, it sifted out too fast. Left me behind feeling too fucking empty. But I’d wait for her. Till Iended up six feet under if need be. Then I’d wait for her from beyond. If she ever walked back into my life, I’d accept her, no questions asked. But it had to be her choice.
She’d gone through enough. She’d married a stranger before. Borne the brunt of it. I wasn’t going to be the one to add to her misery.
In hindsight, maybe I shouldn’t have killed the fucker. What could I say? I was born volatile. Thought better with a weapon in my hand than with a pen. A habit I couldn’t kick. Definitely not when the cunt had dared to shove his dick in her. Smack her. Fucking kick her when she was already down. Hurt. Bleeding. My only regret was that I couldn’t bring him back to cut him into little bits and pieces. Again. Sometimes that was all that filled my head. Thoughts of how I would torture him to wipe him off the face of this world. Because these thoughts, I could manage. The others of losing her… of never seeing her…
I couldn’t bring myself to think of that. Even if I knew I couldn’t have her. Not knowing her plans killed me. One breath at a time. Gave me a fucking headache. My mind couldn’t stop reeling.What is she doing? Where is she sleeping? What is she thinking?It shouldn’t matter anymore. It was all in her hands. I’d sent two of my men on the flight, and the moment she was in her father’s arms, my job had been done. I had forced myself to let her go. Ordered my men to pull back, and just like that, she had walked out of my life. Like she’d always wanted to. The tracker on her locket, I had disconnected. The string that attached her to me was cut. I’d always thought she’d be the one to do it. It was almost hilarious that I had been the one to do it.
It had been two days since I took her back to Mamma. Since I had seen her. Smelled her. Held her in my arms. I walked through the house that, yet again, echoed my footsteps. Hollow. Empty. Soulless.
No Ahana. No maids.
Just like it was before. A fucking designer tomb.
I switched on the coffee machine and watched the espresso pooling into the cup, like it would bring me some kind of relief. Stifling the frustration I felt gnawing at my stomach, I skimmed my eyes and found the plastic on the cooker. It reminded me of all the uncooked meals we never made.
Fuck.I hated this house without her. I needed something to forget her.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d smoked a cigar. I went in search of it and found one in my office. It lit in my hands like a childhood memory, but when I puffed, just like a childhood memory, the reality was fucking disappointing.
No Ahana. No life.
The grey haze swirled before my eyes. Empty.
No Ahana. No addiction.
I needed to find something new to do. I stared through the window, watching the driveway and remembering the time I’d put her on my hood and fucked her on it.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I leaned back, took the paperweight from my desk and smashed it against the window. The glass splintered like a jigsaw puzzle. It didn’t do shit to make me feel better. Only reminded me that I might as well get a premium insurance package.
While I thought about all the paperwork I had to handle for it, my pants vibrated. I yanked the phone out without looking and brought it to my ear.
