Sinful Addiction

XXII

ELENA CASSANO

My husband passed away on a Saturday night. A few days shy of our one-year anniversary. It was like a sign from God saying we weren't meant to be. And I sure as hell believed it when I shot a bullet into his head, and he fell to his death.

I sat in the pool of his blood for an hour, repainting the white toenails I was forced to endure for a year before I called Alessio and Nicolo.

Nicolo cleaned the mess I made occasionally grumbling under his breath about his expensive Italian shoes. The first thing Alessio asked when he walked in was why. Why did I kill him?

And I told him the truth. No rich prick was going to order me around like I was a sex slave and expect me to just nod my head like a pretty little doll. Hell no.

I envied my cousin in that moment. He didn't see it. Every fucking scar on my body. Every bruise when I accidentally fell down the stairs. Every slap against my face.

        I never told anyone. I made a deal with the devil and danced around in a twisted tale of love. I didn't want pity, especially Mamma's. I didn't want her to fix me like one of her broken dolls waiting to be brought back to life.

I could almost imagine the sound of his voice. His hardened haze, the response sending an irritational lash of annoyance through me. And he would tell me that I didn't know pain. I needed to fucking drown in sorrow in order to experience any type of pain.

My body was in a tranquil, painless state as I watched time fly by like a mindless blur. The funeral for Emilio took place the next day.

The elite of New York, and members of the Cosa Nostra had gathered on the cemetery. Most of papà's soldiers lingered around, keeping guard to make sure the funeral wasn't disturbed.

I stood tall and stoic beside his grave, offering a few fake emotionless tears in order to please everyone. Losing a husband should have ripped a hole through my heart but instead I felt free.

Fake pities were passed to me, and hidden smile beneath their pity casseroles which lingered in the living room.

Alessio stayed with me the night after Emilio's death despite papà's indifference to the whole situation. He held my hand as we waited patiently for the lines that would forever seal my soul.

And when I saw an absence of life, I breathed a deep sigh. My fingers dug into the sink as I watched myself in the mirror and what I had become. Alessio angled his head back and exhaled a harsh laugh.

"I'm here." Alessio suddenly told me. "You can talk to me or not talk to me, but I'm here."

I know, I wanted to say but I settled for a nod.

My sister visited me a few days after Emilio's death. Her eyes soaked with warmth as she wrapped a hand around my shoulder and hugged me close. "I'm so sorry." She whispered in hushed tones, and I could hear the sound of my heart breaking into a tiny million pieces.

A low laugh left my lips. "I barely knew the man, Val."

"Alessio said you were crying."

"Tears of joy." I shook my head. "I can be single. Papà won't bother about looking for suitors. His reputation is more important than his daughter's failed marriages."

She raised a brow, a puzzled look burrowed in her face. "I thought... I thought you loved him?"

Anger brimmed through every single part of my body. No offense to Valentina but she was quite dull. I wasn't an idiot to love a man that could never feel burdened enough to remain loyal.