Stay (11 page)

Two years was all I had left to bide my time and get out of there. I would miss Giano, but I didn’t know what was real anymore. He was like the stranger living with me. The more I thought on it, the more I was the stranger living with me. I didn’t know who I was. I wasn’t really Angelina Diamante, but I was no longer Fallyn Valencia.

At dinner, I was quiet, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Not that Giano and I had long talks and quiet walks, but we did go over my day every single night. However, this was one time I wished for the safety of solitude.

“Care to share your troubles, angel?” Giano opened up.

I hesitated then blurted out, “What exactly happened to Angelina?”

He paused, something flashing in his eyes I had never seen before … possibly regret.

“She was in the car with her mother.”

Boldly, I continued on, “I knew that, but why didn’t you report her death?”

He smirked dangerously. “It was my car. They weren’t supposed to be in there. In my world, you never show all your cards.”

For the first time in all those years, I was actually afraid of Giano. I wanted to ask him more questions, but the look in his eyes told me I should let it go, so I dropped my head and looked at my plate.

“Castillo shouldn’t groom his son for the business. He obviously shared information he shouldn’t have, and young Paul has the loose lips of a whore working the corner.” I looked up at Giano and saw his eyes were still cold, but he was as calm as usual. “Don’t let this bother you, angel. No one knows who you are. Any ramblings of the young man will pass.”

“He says you’re a killer,” I whispered.

“And what if I am?” There was no hesitation in his response. He hadn’t raised his voice. He had replied as if we was talking about the weather.

I watched the man across the table from me, and I couldn’t help wondering if I was in over my head.

I wanted to ask him so much more, but fear seized me, and I stopped myself. I felt as if I knew nothing of Giancarlo Diamante. I felt like we had come full circle, and he was back to being my stranger once again.

And what if I am?
replayed in my mind.

What could I do about it? What did I care to do about it? I felt dizzy. I felt overwhelmed. More than anything, I felt like I was in big trouble.

Chapter Fourteen

Fingers penetrate. The burn … Oh, God, the burn.

Shut it down, Fallyn.

One Mississippi. Two Mississ—

Make it stop. Please, make it stop.

The stranger stood over my bed, and my father’s eyes were wide in shock as the knife sliced across his throat. His blood covered me.

Those eyes … the stranger’s eyes. I knew those eyes!

I startled awake, covered in sweat. My breathing was erratic, and my chest physically hurt as the panic overtook me. Those eyes in my dreams—the eyes from that night were the only thing I could see of the stranger who had saved me from one hell and brought me to a new one. He had brought me from one house of secrets and lies into another one.

Giano was at the door, watching me as I tried to calm myself. Instinctively, I glared at him as he moved toward my bed, and like many times before, he reached out to cup my chin. Rather than lean into his affections, I pulled away.

“What is it, angel?”

“You … you…” I stuttered. “It was you that night.”

“Was it? Are you so sure? It’s been years, Fallyn.” He gently pushed my shoulder back, pressing me to lie back down. He brushed his knuckles against my cheek, and everything inside of me craved his touch.

Was I that deprived? One minute, I thought he was the one who had killed my family, and the next, I wanted any attention I could get from him. I was totally and completely crazy to be all over the place with this man who was still a stranger in so many ways. Years later, I still had more questions than answers. Yet, the minute he touched me, I melted and all seemed to be forgotten. Seriously sick and twisted—that was me at my core.

“Relax, angel. It was a bad dream. You’ve had a stressful time lately, so of course the mention of your family would bring the dreams back.”

“Will you ever tell me the truth? I need to know what happened to them.”

“Does it make a difference? Think on that, angel. You are here, healthy, safe, and for the most part, a happy, young woman. Do you really want to dig up a past that was already so dark?”

Every time he alluded to my past, part of me wanted to shout out,
what do you know of me?
Think on it
. I had thought of it so many times through the years. I not only wanted to know, but I truly, to the very depths of my tarnished soul, needed to know.

“I need to know,” I whispered.

“Need and want are two different things. I believe you want to know in this moment. But the need to know … I disagree as you have done fine for all these years without dredging up the past.”

I sighed, sensing he wouldn’t budge at least for tonight.

“Stay?” I asked, needing him to keep the nightmares away.

Without missing a beat, he climbed in beside me, and I snuggled close. Trying to sleep, I counted to myself, and before I knew it, I found I was counting the even breaths of the stranger beside me. I truly felt as if I knew nothing of him other than he had given me a new life.

Breathing deep, I inhaled his natural musk and found comfort in his embrace. I knew it was wrong, but everything in my life was wrong. It went all the way back to the beginning. Maybe I was one of those people who just wasn’t meant to get it right.

I closed my eyes and matched my breathing to his.

His weight was over me. I inhaled sharply as fear gripped me.

“Shhh…” he whispered against my neck as his hot breathe came down on my skin. He trailed kisses up my chin, pausing at my mouth.

Brushing past my lips, he followed my chin down to the other side of my neck, testing me.

I moved, needing space.

“Angel, trust me.” At his words, I calmed, moving my hands to his sides.

His lips made their way back to mine. When he moved to tease me once more, I reached up and gripped his head, pulling him to me and pressing my lips to his. When he groaned, I ran my tongue along the seam of his lips, and he instantly opened for me. With our lips parted, our teeth collided as the passion ignited.

I arched my breasts into him, no longer a little girl. I was all woman, a woman who knew what she wanted.

“Giano,” I moaned.

“Right here, angel,” I heard him say as his fingers found their way to my panties.

No longer did I wear the cotton panties of a child, but rather the lace thong of a woman. His fingers moved the scrap of fabric over and slid into my slick folds. I moved my legs and hips, seeking more as he teased me.

“Giano,” I called out.

“Angel, you’re dreaming again. Wake up,” I heard his voice and began to blink my eyes open.

My body was on fire with need. I had been so close in my dream, though that was all I could remember. Just like my days lately, my nights were all over the place.

“Angel, what’s wrong?” he asked as I squirmed beside him.

“Hot,” I croaked out
.
“I’m really hot.”

He pulled the comforter off of us, leaving only the sheet.

When he started to pull away, I reached out and grabbed him. “Stay,” I whispered, knowing I was probably playing with fire, but I couldn’t have him away from me right now.

Pulling off his shirt, he laid beside me in only his boxers. His arm extended as he lifted my head and placed me in the crook of his shoulder. His other arm draped down my back as I rolled to my side, facing into him. He began to rub circles on my lower back over the thin camisole I wore.

My nipples hardened against the fabric as I wrapped my arm around his bare middle, trying to let the steady thumping of his heartbeat lull me to sleep.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi
, I counted each beat to myself, hoping as I drifted off to dreamland, I would be able to stay in the darkness alone and not get sucked into the things nightmares were made of … or, worse, find myself more on fire with need than I already was.

“Thank you for staying,” I whispered against his cool skin.

He pulled away enough to look down at me as I smiled softly up at him. “As long as you need me, I’ll stay.” He kissed my temple then tucked me back into his side tightly. “For you, I’ll always stay.”

Chapter Fifteen

Silently, I sat back and studied Giano’s hands as he poured his coffee in the morning. Were those the hands of a killer? Were those the fingers that wielded the knife against my father’s neck? The more people talked at school, the more it bothered me.

My journal entries were no longer about tracking the days here, but rather tracking the comings and goings of Giancarlo Diamante. I felt half insane as I listened to the noises of the night, only to find Giano stayed home more often than he went out. My mind went into overdrive as I attempted to push my sleuthing skills to a higher level.

After another week of torment at school, full of whispers and shuns, I couldn’t help needing to know more. When all else failed and a girl had questions, where else to find the answers except on the World Wide Web? Even if I didn’t like what I found, knowledge was power. I needed to know who I once was before I could sort out who I would one day become.

I had lived my life in a bubble of captivity, always trapped by the secrets and lies of my home. If I was ever to break free, I must first find a way to be honest with myself.

Giano was out for “work” and said not to expect him before bedtime; therefore, I immediately set to work. The desktop computer came to life, the block dancing on the screen, daring me to type and click search.

I began where my heart felt safe.

Nicholi James Valencia.

Nothing shocked me at first. He had been a proud Italian-American business owner who imported fabrics to the east coast here in New Jersey. He had been married to his wife Alessandra Valencia for forty-two years before she died of cancer. He never remarried. They’d had one son, James Nicholi Valencia, who inherited Valencia Fabrics upon his father’s untimely death.

That was where my stomach turned, and my heart beat wildly. The article went on to describe in detail the brutal murder of Papa Valencia, the kindest man I had ever known. He had been killed in what looked like a mob hit. More importantly, according to the reporter, it had appeared to be a mob hit due to Valencia’s unwillingness to have any connections to organized crime. Of course, the police would not confirm or deny this speculation, so it was merely the opinion of one reporter.

My “family business,” as my father had called it, had been clean. The article went on to say that, while deeply saddened at the loss of his father, James Nicholi Valencia would take over Valencia Fabrics and continue to run the family company.

The pictures of Papa Valencia tugged at my heart. He was a jolly man of tall stature with a slight belly, gray hair, and a gray beard. When he smiled, his entire face seemed to come alive with happiness.

The pictures of my father hid the monster he had been behind a tailored suit and a sinister smile. He had been every bit the devil himself. My stomach churned at seeing him once again. This was why I had only searched once before, just enough to know what people had assumed happened to Fallyn Nicola Valencia and my family. Looking at the articles then with our family standing proudly together in the pictures made me just as sick as it did now.

Looking at my father, I found myself turning away multiple times before I could finish reading the article. Nothing made me feel more vulnerable, weaker, and more disgusting than seeing James Nicholi Valencia, even in pictures.

Going back to the search box, I typed in Valencia Fabrics. Nerves consumed me, and my fingers shook as I moved to grip the mouse and scroll down. The articles were there to show the thriving business—the continued success and even expansion as my father took over. One name continued to pop up time after time, Castillo. More importantly, Remo Castillo, the head of the Castillo family, son to Robert Castillo and father to Paul Castillo. The Castillo family who happened to be the largest known organized crime family still active in New Jersey.

My mind wandered. Why would Castillo be tied to my grandfather’s business that had at one time been clean? What had happened? Did he have Papa Valencia killed? Someone certainly had. What did any of this have to do with what had happened to the business? To me? To my parents?

The next search revealed how our deaths were portrayed and was shocking, despite the fact that I had seen some of it years ago when I searched. My parents had both died in a house fire. Although my remains were never found, those of my father were found so close to my bed the investigators felt it safe to assume he was attempting to rescue me and failed. It was a tragedy that our wonderful, loving family had all died together due to a gas leak and faulty wiring in our home.

Only, none of that is true
, I wanted to scream at the computer. Did it matter? No, none of it did, nor did it change anything in my current situation. Looking at the clock, hours had passed by as I had read article after article, all saying a different version of the same material. I shut down the computer and made my way to my room to ready for bed.

After a shower and changing into my nightgown, I stood at the window and gazed into the night sky. With the curtain in hand, I counted the stars as I thought of Papa Valencia’s smile. Closing my eyes, I imagined him with me now. Then my thoughts went to Angelina who had died with her mother, the accidental victims of a violent world.

Why them? Had Giancarlo been the intended victim? Had an innocent young girl with a full life ahead of her had been taken at the whims of some men in suits for some power play? That seemed like a cruel hand in life to be dealt. My innocence was gone before I ever realized it had existed, and hers had been taken before she could hold on to it.