“I said, let’s go, Bianci. Now, let’s go. Give me your best shot,” I taunt.
His eyes narrow into tiny slits as he taps my pads lightly with his gloves.
“You call that a jab?” I hiss, rolling my eyes.
“Adrianna,” he grits.
“And here I thought you knew how to work a pair of gloves,” I bait, holding my hands higher as the jab finally comes.
Right cross, uppercut, hook.
He releases a series of short breaths as he works those jabs against the pads before switching the combo.
Uppercut, cross, jab.
“That’s it, give me your aggression, babe,” I demand, moving my hands just as he taught me.
“Goddamn it, A,” he hisses, before holding his stance and stilling his hands.
Lifting one hand to his mouth, I watch him bow his head and tear the glove from his hand with his teeth. He takes a deep breath before removing the other one, using his free hand this time. I drop my hands to my sides and follow him to the bench. He unravels the tape from his hands as he straddles the bench.
“What’re you doing here?” He says.
“Looking for you,” I admit. I started to remove the pads from my hands but he stops me, grabbing my hands he pries them off himself.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he rasps.
“Yeah, you want to tell me what’s got you twisted?” I ask, cocking my head to the side as he examines my hands. “Did something happen with my father?”
“It’s nothing,” he insists, bringing one of my hands to his lips then the other.
“Bullshit, Bianci.” I call, pulling my hands back. I lift them to his face, forcing his eyes to mine as I straddle the bench and inch closer to him.
“When I went to visit your old man, I figured he was just giving me another message to deliver to Jack, but he had another visitor, your cousin, Rocco,” he explains.
I squint in confusion. Rocco and Gina are my first cousins on my mother’s side, and to be honest we don’t have much of a relationship with them. We did when we were younger but then their father was deported and they moved back to Italy. Gina is off killing it as some big shot investment banker and the last I heard, Rocco was living in Florida.
“Apparently, your father’s been grooming him for a long time to take his place within the organization,” Anthony mutters.
“What? Wait a minute, you’re telling me Rocco is going to be taking my father’s place?” I shake my head in confusion, I drop my hands from his face and place them over my knees, processing what my husband was telling me. I lift my head and look at him as I piece it together.
“Yeah,” he confirms.
“And that bothers you,” I state, sliding back an inch to better assess him. “Because a part of you wishes it was you taking over, am I right?”
He reaches behind me, grabbing a towel and wiping his face.
“I don’t know,” he admits, wrapping the towel around his shoulders. “I spent most of my life doing all sorts of fucked up shit, thinking one day I’d be the one Victor handed his empire over to. I sold my fucking soul to the devil and have to live every day with the sins I’ve committed. This guy comes out of nowhere, spends a year or so under Vic’s thumb and suddenly he’s in charge.”
He twists the ends of the towel in his hands as he stares back at me.
“You want the truth? I’ll give you the truth, Reese’s. I should be the one in charge, not your cousin,” he confesses.
My eyes widen as I stare back at him.
“What are you saying?” I question, taken aback by his confession, trying to understand him and control my own feelings at the same time. Was he telling me he regrets our life? Did he regret choosing me and Luca over the lifestyle he grew accustomed to?
“Don’t look at me like that, Reese’s,” he says, reaching for me and pulling me between his legs. “This is why I didn’t come home, I needed to make sense of what I was feeling so I could better explain myself.”
“I never asked you to choose,” I blurt. “I accepted you for who you were. You were the one who insisted you couldn’t be with me, you insisted Luca shouldn’t grow up the same way I did, and while I agreed, it was never me who made you choose.”