Elude (32 page)

I smiled sadly. "I'd rather feel than forget."

He nodded his head. "I figured you'd say that."

A woman stood next to him, practically glued to his side, but something about her stance seemed cautious, like she was afraid I was going to pull a knife on her or something.

"Ah…" Nicolai stepped to the side. "…meet Maya."

I held out my hand.

She stared at it.

Nicolai nodded to her like it was okay for her to actually do something as simple as touch me. When her hand touched mine, a zap of familiarity hit me; my eyes narrowed as I took in her face, the features so similar to the woman I'd just buried.

"Maya," Nicolai said in a low voice. "Andi's sister."

I dropped her hand in shock. Where Andi had bright features, Maya's were much darker. She was slightly taller with an athletic build. But her lips, her nose — they were so similar it was scary.

"I'm—" Her voice cracked. "I never knew her." Tears welled in her eyes. "But from what Nicolai has told me, she had a good life. Because of you, she lived." She hung her head. "Thank you for protecting her from my father."

"It was my privilege," I said honestly, silently wondering if she was in the same predicament Andi had been in — or worse, still under her father's thumb.

My gaze flickered to Nicolai, but his expression gave nothing away. If anything, he'd completely shut down. Emotion, it seemed, still had no place in his life — not that I could blame him.

"Thank you for coming." I took a step back.

Nicolai wrapped an arm around Maya.

She flinched, not necessarily in fear, but almost like his touch had caused physical pain — maybe even emotional.

They walked off to a waiting limo.

And I was left by the gravestone.

The rest of my family stood close by. I told them I needed a minute alone, which, naturally, they interpreted as backing up at least twenty feet but not letting me out of their sight.

I couldn't blame them — not really. They were worried about me. They shouldn't be.

I was sad.

Devastated.

Alone.

Upset.

Angry.

I was all of those things — I'd be lying if I said I wasn't — but every time I wanted to yell or scream or shoot something, I thought of her face, I envisioned her smile, and suddenly it all seemed pointless.

Why would I respond in anger when I'd been given one of the most priceless gifts of my life?

I crouched down next to her simple grey gravestone and touched it with my fingertips. "You were right." I swallowed and closed my eyes. "You said I was dead inside, and you were right. I was so pissed at you for calling me out, for upsetting my carefully planned-out life, for making me feel when all I really wanted to do was throw a pity party and lock myself away with a gun." I opened my eyes and smiled, remembering the way she'd woken me up that first morning. "You said I was dead. I think because of what you were going through, you recognized death easily in others. You saw the signs in me, and, instead of allowing me to follow you, you healed me." I stood. "Thank you."

I took a step back and shoved my hands into my pockets.

"I'll love you… until we both shall live."

****

"Eat." Chase shoved a plate piled high with at least three different types of pastas, two sauces, and enough bread to feed a small country in my direction. "It helps."

"Eat my feelings?" I countered, picking up a piece of bread. "Don't know if that's such a good idea."

"Drink." Frank poured me a healthy glass of wine.

"I'm fine," I said, probably for the tenth time in the last three minutes. "Really, you guys don't have to stay."

Mo pulled out a chair next to me and scooted my wine closer.

I sighed in her direction then took it and sipped. The taste wasn't comforting; it was missing something. I frowned then got up from my chair.

The room was silent.

Swear, they were just waiting for me to snap.

I wasn't going to.

But no matter how many times I said that, they didn't believe me.

When I reached the edge of the kitchen, I reached up into the liquor cabinet and pulled out the giant bottle then turned to face everyone.

"Vodka?"

You'd thought I'd just agreed to give all my cars to the homeless and go on a
Lord-of-the-Rings
-style journey to find myself.

"Vodka?" Frank repeated, his voice just barely above a whisper.

I pulled out shot glasses, filled each to the rim, then nodded to the guys. Each of them grabbed one and handed the other to their significant other.

I held mine into the air and whispered, "To Andi."

"To Andi," they said in unison.

Italians drinking vodka at a funeral, never thought I'd see the day.

Sergio

A WEEK WENT BY AND THEN TWO,
followed by three.

I counted them; it made me feel less like I was going insane and more like I was developing a serious case of OCD.

Everyone left a week after the funeral.

I was alone in my house again.

And it felt lonely — damn, did it feel lonely. I hadn't been able to focus on anything except actually making it through the day, eating three square meals and exercising to take my mind off the emotional pain that sliced through my chest every single time I went into the bedroom I'd shared with my wife.

Finally, during the third week…

I woke up.

And felt different.

I wasn't better, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I felt… okay, like the world wasn't crashing down around me. Like I could breathe, maybe, just a little bit deeper.

After breakfast I walked by my study and paused. The door, the door I'd always had shut from the world, was ajar.

I scratched my head.

The last time I'd been in there had been months before. The guys knew not to go in on account that I was a private man, and there was a certain amount of respect between all of us and our offices; it was our domain, where we did the ugly, the dark… where we sat and contemplated our sins and begged for forgiveness.

Curious, I stepped inside.

Nothing looked out of place.

Except the black folder.

I'd placed it on the farthest side of my desk.

But now? It was propped up against the lamp — the only light flickering in the room.

Was Frank behind this?

His final way to get me to read it?

I walked closer.

There was a small pink sticky note attached to the bottom. I picked it up and smirked. "Read me or perish —Andi."

I burst out laughing. Of course she would. Threatening me even in her death, bloodthirsty Russian.

The folder had no power over me, I knew that, but I also knew I wouldn't like what was inside. It was the equivalent of seeing all the horrible sins you'd committed in black and white.

Impossible to erase.

Impossible to forget.

Slowly, I pulled out my chair; it rolled against the wood floor. The sound may as well have been a gun going off.

I was doing this.

Because Andi had left me a note.

And I could deny that girl nothing.

The folder was heavy — it would be, knowing what I'd done, the things I'd experienced in my short life.

With shaking fingers, I opened the first page.

A small rubber bracelet was taped to the inside with another pink sticky note attached.
"Wear me."

What was this?
Alice in Wonderland?

The bracelet was one of those
LiveStrong
ones, the ones that high-schoolers wore like crack on their wrists. I lifted it into the light and smirked.

From Russia With Love.

On the other side, it said...

Best Friends Forever.

My laugh soon turned into a silent sob as I put the bracelet on my right hand. It felt like she was there — in that room with me. Tears dripped down onto the pages of the black folder, staining them, making them appear less terrifying and more breakable, like I didn't have to let them define me.

Andi wouldn't have wanted that.

Hell, I didn't want that.

I closed my eyes and for a brief moment remembered her bright smile, her big brown eyes, and constant sarcasm. If she could see me crying, she'd kick my ass. I laughed at the idea of her scolding me.

I could do this. I took a deep breath and looked down at the next page. It was filled with everything I assumed it would be filled with.

Facts about me.

My age.

My birthday.

My social security number.

Known aliases.

The date of my first kill.

The person's name and organization.

Like I needed to be reminded of any of those things.

I turned the page and paused. A piece of notebook paper was taped to the inside. My name was scribbled across it.

Frowning, I peeled it from the page and opened the note.

Italy,

I'm only going to say this once. Stop crying, or so help me God, I'm going to rise from the ashes and haunt you for the rest of your life. I'm sure right now you're thinking that would be better than nothing. But believe me, nothing cool about being haunted. Imagine me hitting a pan with my baseball bat every hour of the day. You'd go crazy, and nobody wants to see you lose your shit.

You may be wondering why I wrote you a letter.

I was watching you sleep.

Ha, creepy, am I right?

I snorted back a laugh and wiped at the tears on my face and kept reading.

Did you know you have a scar on the back of your ear, left side. It's hardly noticeable, unless you have superhuman vision like yours truly, compliments of my Russian heritage.

I rolled my eyes.

Stop rolling your eyes, Italy.

I smiled.

Anyway, when I first met you, I was constantly trying to find a stupid flaw. I mean, how could a guy be so perfect? Naturally, that thought was short-lived the minute you offered to kill me — thanks by the way, super special moment. I was lying in bed staring at that stupid scar the minute this idea hit me.

I self-consciously touched the scar behind my ear, the one given to me by my brother when he'd tried to shoot an arrow into a tree, and it had veered hard right, nearly impaling me in the back of the head.

You're going to be lonely, which is expected. I mean, let's face it. I brought a lot of loudness into your life. I forced you to take me on a crazy honeymoon, forced you to have sex with me — ha ha, just kidding. That wasn't forced, and we both know it. Aw, my little Italian lover. The point is… a lot of these things had a purpose, one I wasn't even aware of until now.

She's really pretty. I think you'll like her. She's a bit quiet — okay, so a lot quiet, more quiet than I am, but sometimes opposites attract. Her eyes are this killer hazel that I know guys have the capacity to get lost in. Her name is Valentina. Pretty name, right? Oh, stop freaking out. It's an Italian name! You should be jumping for joy!

She's scared of heights — you'll have to help her with that. Terrified of traveling out of the country — so maybe she deserves to go to the places I never had a chance to.

Can't shoot a gun to save her life. Loves romance novels — especially ones with dukes and earls. I may have bought you a costume, just in case your flirting's shit, and you can't get her to talk to you. Ha, kidding.

But seriously. You will talk to her. You will try. See, it occurred to me that I married an old man. I mean, you're going to be thirty this year. You need to settle down, have a family, stop shooting things. You get the point. And I thought… what better way to encourage you to start dating than to pick out your very first date — and hopefully if she's as amazing as I've heard from Luca all these years — your last.

Have you put the pieces together yet? Get there faster. In the pages of this black folder you'll discover some things about yourself, things you never thought possible. It seems great minds think alike.

I was meant for Dante. Care to guess who you were meant for? Valentina. Luca handpicked his own daughter to marry you. Just like he handpicked his son to marry me. Yet, things got messed up, and in that mess, Luca, bless his heart, still planned for the worst. I think that was me — my sickness — you and yours.

Because let's not pretend you weren't sick — maybe more sick than I was. But now you're better, and honestly — so am I. Remember, you promised not to cry, so stop it! I'm happy. I can kick ass without getting dizzy, and, as you're reading this, I'm most likely watching you from above, drinking wine with Luca and cheering to our amazing planning. We probably could have taken over the world someday, me and Luca.

In this folder you'll find everything you need to know about the Nicolasi dynasty. So you see… the black folder? Though it has a lot of your information in it, Luca built it. He created it to give you a path to follow. He knew you needed guidance — guidance you never got from your father. He knew you'd one day need him — and he wasn't so sure he'd be able to do that if he was dead.

Funny that the thing you were most afraid of… most disgusted with — is going to be your salvation. Then again, life is like that, isn't it?

Frank's going to ask you to go with him to find the twins. To find Luca's kids — to convince them to join the family. Go with him. Take a chance.

Smile at the girl. Don't frown. It makes you look scary. Help her. She's going to need you.

And know you have my blessing, even though I'm going to be as jealous as hell that another girl is going to experience what I got to experience. We were lovers. Best friends. Enemies. We were everything. But that doesn't have to be the end. You still have time for more story, and I'd like to think that God isn't cruel enough to give us only one soul mate. I'd like to believe he gave you two.