Burned Dreams - Page 59

“I dream about you even when I’m awake, Ravi.”

I crush my lips to hers, thrusting into her until I come with a roar and fill her with my seed. I’m still coming down from the high, my face buried in her neck, when I hear her whisper next to my ear.

“Will you take me with you when you leave?”

An earthquake strikes inside my mind, shaking my metaphorical fortress. The thought has been nudging me for days. I want to take her with me. We could run somewhere far away, somewhere no one could find us. Until they eventually do.

It won’t be just Kruger I’ll need to worry about. Once I kill Rocco Pisano and the truth of who offed him eventually comes out, my name will be at the top of the Cosa Nostra hit list. Ajello won’t stop until he hunts me down. If I take Ravenna with me, she’ll become a target, too.

It’s either her or my revenge. I can’t have both. The choice before me is a double-edged sword. Can I throw away all I’ve worked for in the last eight years? My purpose in this life? The promises I made to me and Natalie? Can I live with that?

I close my eyes and inhale a lungful of Ravenna’s scent. “I can’t.”

I stare at the ceiling above my bed, following the tiny little cracks that spread from the spot where the chandelier is attached. I’ve spent quite some time staring at this ceiling and this is the first time I’ve noticed the damage. Alessandro is lying next to me, staring at the ceiling, as well.

“I know you’re planning to kill my husband before you leave,” I say.

If he’s surprised I’ve connected the dots, it doesn’t show on his face. His features remain completely stoic.

“I am,” he says. “The don will quickly figure out who did it and will come to ask you questions. Tell him everything, except that you knew I was going to kill Rocco.”

“You think Ajello will come after you?”

“Yes.”

I reach out and brush his cheek with the tips of my fingers. “What did he do? Why do you want to kill Rocco?”

Alessandro stiffens and, for several minutes, he doesn’t utter a word.

“It was Friday morning, a little over eight years ago,” he finally says. “I just got back from a mission and drove only a block away from my house on my way to the headquarters. I could have gone straight home and debriefed later, but I didn’t want my wife to see all the blood on me.”

A sinking feeling grips my stomach as I stare at his profile. Hiswife?

“She believed I worked as a security guard, while the truth was, I’ve been killing people for the government,” he continues. “It’s strange how trying to protect someone you love can get them killed. If I went directly home, she would probably still be alive. That was my last mission, and we planned on leaving that same day.”

“What happened?” I choke out.

“A drunk driver, going almost twice the speed limit, ran a red light. He just left her injured on the street and fled the scene.” He turns his head and meets my eyes. “Your husband.”

His voice is hushed and sullen, but the words explode in my head as if he shouted them. My hand on Alessandro’s cheek starts shaking. I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. The only thing I can do is watch his face—hard lines etched in granite.

“I spent years searching for the man responsible. Rocco’s father covered everything up so well that I only discovered the name of the driver a few months ago.” He moves a lock of my hair that has fallen over my face, revealing my neck. “I intended to destroy Rocco Pisano’s life—piece by piece—and the final step before ending it completely, I was going to make him watch while I killed his wife.”

Alessandro keeps his eyes locked with mine as he moves his hand to my neck, placing the tip of his finger just below my ear.

“Eye for an eye,” he whispers as he slowly slides his finger across my throat in a straight line, all the way to my other ear. “His wife for mine.”

I never thought that silence could be physically oppressive, but as his eyes bore into mine, I can feel the weight of it pressing down on me from all sides. The absence of sounds is so absolute, it’s almost like someone muted a movie.

Alessandro’s touch vanishes from my neck. He kisses the pad of his finger and then presses it to my throat, over the spot where he meant to slice my throat.

He gets up off the bed and puts on his sweatpants, giving me a view of his bare back covered in ink. The scene is ghastly—a heap of charred skulls engulfed in flames, and atop the pile, a man hanging on a rope, his head bent as orange flames rise to lick at his legs. Above the image, scribed across his shoulder blades, a Latin script.

Oculum Pro Oculo

An eye for an eye.

I blink, trying to stop the tears from falling, but they escape anyway. How many times upon seeing me has he been reminded of what my husband took from him? So much pain and hurt.