I look to see if he’s gone to the bar but fail to spot him, so I scan the room and find him standing in the middle of the dance floor with a stranger. My heart bottoms out, and I feel a desolation run through me like ice-cold water.
“I guess his actions don’t prove that,” I comment and look away from the sight. I grab my drink and down it and love the burn that takes over from the coldness that’s hit me. I slam my glass down and loathe my traitorous heart.
“He’s a stupid man, honey,” Allana offers her input and gives me a reassuring smile. “So, want to tell me why pulling a gun on your father was a good idea?”
“I’m an impulsive bitch when I want to be,” I say, knowing that they have no idea why I did what I did. To them, I just left their life without cause. “I just wanted all the lies to stop.”
“You know, Carlo did start the proceedings for you to get out, Amelia. You can have a life like Allana and I do.” Bruno takes my hand, offering me a comforting hold. “Both of you can get out.”
“I’m too deep,” I whisper, and I see the sober look Bruno has me fixed with. “There’s too much bloodshed now, Bruno. Alberto made sure of that.”
“That fucking man,” he growls with intense hatred. “One day he will get what he is owed, and it isn’t going to be fucking pretty.”
“Don’t look so serious!” Enzo declares as he comes over with a tray of drinks. “Alcohol’s here!” He places it down and then stands back to take a seat. “Bruno, you remember Lorenzo Mancini from when we were kids, right?”
“I don’t remember him looking like that,” Bruno comments and reaches out to shake Lorenzo’s hand. “It’s good to see you again.”
“And you,” Lorenzo replies, nodding his head with a hello. “And who’s this beautiful lady?”
Bruno, having seen the look on Lorenzo’s face, puts his arm around Allana’s shoulder, possessively showing whose woman she is. I feel jealousy ripple as I watch him exude enough power to make Lorenzo heed, but not make Allana feel objectified.
“This is my wife, Allana. Baby, Lorenzo lives back in our home country of Amalfi Coast.”
“Nice to meet you,” Allana says politely, but continues to allow Bruno to keep her where he wants her. “What’s brought you over here?”
“Amelia,” he says looking at me. “She’s stolen my heart while living with us.”
“Well, pal, watch yourself. The others might allow you to do what you want with her, but I’m pretty protective of this girl here,” he remarks fiercely, shooting me a wink.
Lorenzo takes a seat on the far side of the table after that and we all slip into a gentle ease of drinking and joking. I’m more inclined to drink than talk, but it’s a nice change to have us all in one place – well, almost.
When Bruno decides to take Allana dancing, Lorenzo being taken by Giovanni to meet girls and Enzo dancing with a redhead I’m less than familiar with, I’m left to find Carlo and Manuel deciding to go and grab more drinks. I’m asked if I’ll be okay on my own and I nod. I don’t mind at all. Well, I don’t until I let myself looking at Zane and fucking regret it. I hate myself for looking. I see the look of pure arousal on his face and jealousy punches through my heart. He’s been with the same girl, laughing, joking, dancing, touching, groping all evening. With everyone around me, it was easy to forget about him, but now I’m stuck staring at him. And the brunette in his arms looks so content and perfect right where she is.
She'll be everything I never will be – innocent, perfect, normal. She'll be everything that Zane needs. And as I watch her dance with him, her movements full of fluidity as his hands chase over her slender figure, I realize she has a free pass to becoming anything she wishes, and at twenty-four, I've already met my defamation. As the burn of envy scorches higher than my burn of alcohol, I realize I have to get out. The music pumps in overbearing beats and treble, and I find it pounds through my head as I'm met with my own sobriety. My jealousy has burnt through my alcohol level and diminished it quickly from my senses just so I can feel every moment of the scene torturing me.
I vie for a man I never want to touch because I never want to taint him. I love a man who gave up his life and his morals for me and admitted himself to corruption and still I can't bear to let him near me. I allow jealousy and want to mingle together, each eating me away in unbelievable measures and I still sit on the sidelines wishing I was the normal brunette grinding against him.
In another world, even another life, we might be able to live out our happily ever after, but in this reality, we aren't meant to be more than we are. We've been torn apart twice, tested by death, and we never survived. Why should our third time work a charm?