“You think you’re going to make a story out of this evening,” I start and just end up laughing. I drop the recorder on the floor and slam my foot onto it. The plastic cracks and some parts give way. “You fucking idiota!”
My comment is met with Giovanni’s actions, who swoops in from the sidelines. He’s clearly just walked in at the most apt moment possible. He steps forward, taking a parlayzed Patrick from the room. Everyone stops and stares as the man goes kicking and screaming, even more so as a few men follow Giovanni’s steps ready to hurt a man trying to outwit a powerful man like my father.
“What is tonight without a little show from the Dio Lavoro?” he asks the crowd, as the silence becomes all too deafening. My father turns to me, pride filling his expression as he looks at me. I haven’t seen this look of pure pride in a while and I find it a little overwhelming. “Maybe you haven’t lost your touch at being an asset to this family, bambina,” he praises, his hands coming to my arms to pull me close so he can kiss my forehead. “You are still worthy of a spot in the Dio Lavoro.”
“Great,” I mutter, applying a fake smile.
“Now, go and enjoy the party,” my father instigates, and I take my leave.
I walk around the groups until I settle beside Carlo as he talks to men who seem more than friendly with him. From what I’ve heard among the conversation, they’re a lot like Carlo – the good guys hiding among the bad ones. It’s alarming how many people in this world aren’t really all in, how many of them have morals, how many of us wish for a get out clause.
“You look stunning in this dress.” Zane speaks from behind me. His thick, baritone voice travels over my shoulders, capturing me silent. I can feel just how close he is to me. My body responds to him, the butterflies spark, my heart skips a beat, and my hands become clammy.
“Go and dance,” Carlo tells me with a nudge, even before I’ve had time to react myself.
I turn and see that Zane is here for that purpose as he puts a hand out for me. He pulls me among the few people actually dancing in the ballroom and I reminisce as I remember my birthday when we danced among the trees.
I live among the music and calm for a moment.
“What’s on that mind of yours, sweetheart?” Zane asks, gently pulling back to the party.
“Too much,” I reply, my tone feather light.
“Tell me,” he coerces me, his hands moving again as if to clench me closer, make me feel like this is an entirely safe place in a chaotic environment.
I sigh. “Manuel told me to stop letting my happily ever after slip away when he’s right in front of me,” I tell him as his hands slide down my waist, poising themselves steady on my hips. Zane offers nothing but silence, so I continue. “I feel like I’m ready for love,” I comment, remaining steady in the slow rhythm. “Slowly, mind you. I can’t rush this again. I’m too weak to survive if this crashes and burns, Zane. I want a life with you. I took it on a time limit once before, and I’d do it all again. I just can’t rush this. I can’t go in all guns blazing for you or me to ruin it.”
“I can do slowly,” Zane muses, nodding his head as he tries to quell the smile. “Just say it again.”
I feel coyness tug at the corners of my lips as they beg to smile. “I feel like I’m ready for your love.”
“God, that sounds amazing,” he breathes, pulling me even closer. I could feel how heartfelt his words are. It’s almost as if he’s been waiting for me to make this move. After my bi-polar moves, Lorenzo, my father, and Zane’s decision to be here, it’s as if this is what he’s been waiting for. "Ti amerò per sempre," he whispers to me, his Italian like a sweet melody filling my ears as he promises a forever love. I’ve seen and heard a lot that has shocked me since coming home, but every time Zane speaks in Italian, my heart begins to swell overwhelmingly. “You just need to survive this time in your life.”
I ponder the thought for a moment, and he’s right, but I also know that strength is not something that can remain intact forever.
“Every time I think I am surviving, something happens,” I say, remembering how he came back into my life, how he left it again, and how I wound up forcing myself to believe that I’m a cold bitch. I look up into Zane’s eyes, making him focus on me as I decide to continue. “This night is wearing me down as it is. I don’t want the praise for what I’ve done. I want to forget, but no one is ever going to let me. Zane,” I breathe, stilling us for a moment, suspending this moment, “do you really want to be like me? I’m twisted and haunted. Do you really want that?”
“If it means I have you, then yes,” he replies, no qualm to his voice. “I know how you feel, you’ve repeated it enough, but know that I am not going anywhere unless it’s with you by my side.”