Page 48 of Broken Pieces
Spending time with him yesterday was also a terrible idea. That side of Damian, so human and kind, is making me feel all kinds of things right now.
My phone rings, taking me out of my thoughts. Without looking at the caller ID, I pick it up.
“Hello?” the voice I can recognize from anywhere says.
“Mom?”
I haven’t heard from her in over four years. Why is she calling? Something must have happened.
Soon after I graduated high school and went to college, my parents got divorced—which I expected, and if anything, I’m upset it didn’t happen sooner—and we just kind of all drifted apart. I moved to Chicago, and I haven’t looked back ever since. My parents were so unhappy with each other they made me miserable in the process. Their marriage never worked, and somehow, I always was at the receiving end of their marital problems. As I kept growing up, it got more exhausting, damaging our relationship more. Especially me and my mother’s.
“How are you, Aria?”
“Good,” I say curtly. “How are you?”
“Same old, same old. I’m calling because I’m visiting Chicago soon, and I want to see you.”
I hesitate. “You know, Mom, my schedule is really busy. I don’t know if I’ll have time.”
“Busy doing what? For the love of God, you aren’t a doctor or a lawyer. You just work at a museum. I’ll be arriving next weekend. We can have dinner.”
I inhale and exhale, trying to even my breathing. This is something I picked up when I went to therapy during my college years. Being on the varsity cheerleading team, having to keep up good grades so I wouldn’t lose my scholarship, and taking extra credits to graduate early really did a number on me, to the point that therapy was a requirement. This is just one of the tricks I picked up along the way. It doesn’t always work, but it never hurts to try. That comment right there is one of the many reasons why I cut ties. I can’t play pretend with her, not anymore. I got really good at masking my emotions while under her roof, because otherwise, she would have made it impossible for me.
I grit my teeth. “Well, I’m actually out of town next weekend. So I’ll catch you next time.”
“Well, that’s fine. I’m staying for a couple of days. We can have dinner or something once you’re back.”
I let out a resigned sigh. “Fine. Just send me the details. I gotta go.” I hang up, not wanting to listen to her voice anymore.
Closing my eyes, I try to calm down the beat of my heart that’s lodged in my throat. The walls start to close in, so I open the door quickly trying to situate myself. I run toward the stairs and take them two at a time, running tothe gallery doors and pushing them open. The windy city breeze welcomes me, my cheeks feeling the sharp chilly day. It’s something that brings me relief, because my body is overheating right now. I take my coat off, welcoming more of that wind, hoping to feel lighter.
The feeling doesn’t come.
The signs of a panic attack start settling in, my hands quickly getting clammy, my body shivering even though I’m sweating profusely. The sound of the busy city street starts to fade as the sound of my own hard and fast beating heart takes over. My vision is blurry with tears, as I start hyperventilating. My cheeks suddenly warm at the touch of two hands that caress them, brushing away the nonstop tears.
Someone’s talking to me, I think. It’s hard to hear over my fast beating heart. I close my eyes, trying to center myself.
It’s a male’s voice. That familiar deep, demanding voice.
“Aria, breathe for me,Tesoro. Come on, I know you can hear me.”
Tesoro.
That brings me back. Little by little, my vision clears, and I’m met with those deep emerald green eyes I’ve grown to obsess over. I focus on them as my breathing calms down, the sound of the busy city coming back.
“That’s my girl,” he says, gripping my cheeks gently. “I thought I lost you there for a moment. Are you okay?”
I blush, loving the sound of—my girl—coming out of his mouth.My heart flutters, because for the first time in my life, someone has been able to help me stop my panic attack symptoms before they got too far. With his commanding presence and gentle touch, he saved me from the dark parts of myself. And it’s a relief, because if I had to choose someone to take me out of the shadows; to bring me into the light—I want it to be him.Always him.
How I fucking hate coming to Vortex.
One of the most exclusive private clubs of Chicago—scratch that—the world. An invite-only exclusive club, where all the top businessmen from around the world come to enjoy the endless amenities or complete multimillion-dollar business transactions. The inside of the club is exactly as expected—fucking tacky. Apparently, the appeal of this place is that they have kept it identical to when it was founded.
The ceiling is full of chandelier lights, and the main room has leather seats with tables scattered all over the place, and a bar at the corner of the room where they only keep top-shelf alcohol. The building has four floors, thetop being an immense library that includes all the classics; plus all the books the founding members have written. The third floor is a casino, while the second floor is a full spa and gym, as well as a basketball court and boxing ring. The first floor is the entrance, typically where people hang out at the bar, or sit around the tables to talk. Walking in, I look around until I spot Enzo and Matteo sitting at the back of the room, playing chess.
I always feel so out of place here. It makes my skin crawl. Being a self-made billionaire puts you in that odd spot where people who come from old money don’t want anything to do with you, and the other half is focused on themselves, trying to keep up with their self-made appearances. The only reason I got a membership is because I needed the connections when I was building my empire. It was out of pure necessity. The guys like meeting here once a month, whether it is to just sit down and play chess or talk business. Enzo kind of has to come here more often than not, since he’s on the board. One of the founding members was our great-great-grandfather, so the vice presidency title has been passed down through generations. The only reason I escaped the responsibility is because we’re cousins from my mother’s side. The position is only passed through the sons of the Mancini family, more specifically, the oldest of the bunch. He didn’t have that much of an option because he’s an only child, so this means he’s gonna have to getcracking and make a child before our uncles go after the position. It comes with power and connections anyone would kill to have. I don’t think he cares that much, anyway. He just kind of got stuck with the socialite responsibilities by default.
I walk toward them, taking a seat next to my cousin and leaning back into the comfortable plush leather, crossing my legs.
