being frozen in place by Angelo’s hateful stare.
His lips curl so I can see his teeth. “I don’t need to do anything.”
A tense silence stretches between us, and I cross my arms in front of my chest to hide the shaking in my hands. I wish he didn’t scare me so much, but I can’t help it. I’ve seen the way he gets when he’s like this. Angry. Vindictive. Territorial. I’ve had to patch up my walls four times from where his fist went through the drywall. I’m pretty sure every time he hit the walls and had plaster crumble around his fist, he was imagining me, instead.
I’m definitely not getting my deposit back on this place.
But hey, at least my face is still intact, right?
“Serena.” Angelo sighs, letting his shoulders drop. His face softens, and I think his eyes fill with tears. “I made a mistake, baby.”
“You cheated on me with a waitress at your restaurant. It’s over. It’s been over for months.”
“If you leave me, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself.” His eyes widen, and a hopeful smile twitches at his lips. “Who will cook dinner for me and take care of me now?”
I cock an eyebrow. “Ask your mother. That’s what you wanted from me, isn’t it? Someone to wash your underwear, iron your socks, and cook your dinners like a good little housewife? Well, newsflash, Angelo, I’m not your mother, or your wife, or your little servant girl. Leave.”
His smile drops, and the hardness returns to his eyes. “You’ll regret this.”
The iciness in his voice makes terror rear up inside me. Every muscle in my body tightens, and the tension between us ratchets tighter. I can’t feel my fingers or toes, and my chest feels so tight I might pass out.
“You need to go.” I wish my voice wouldn’t tremble so much.
Angelo arches an eyebrow and takes a step toward me. I back up as my heart gallops away from me.
This is why I need to get out of here. This is why I took a job on the other side of the country, even though the pay is shit and I know no one on the West Coast.
The reason is standing right in front of me, clenching his fists as he advances.
Angelo Berretti, stand-up community member, small business owner, and violent fucking drunk. And lucky fucking me, I was his high school sweetheart. I want to thank that waitress with all my heart for giving me a good reason to break up with him.
He wasn’t always like this. Things changed about six years ago, when I got pregnant by accident. I went from his high school sweetheart to the woman who was trying to entrap him, and he became angry. He started drinking. Started saying hateful things to me that still echo in my brain after all these years.
Then, I lost the baby, but Angelo kept his new personality. I thought he was grieving like me, but now I wonder if he just enjoys being cruel.
Angelo’s eyes are cold. Hard. His jaw ticks. I watch his fists curl and uncurl, and my heart bangs against my ribs. Tendrils of cold snake through my veins, making it hard for me to back up. He’s pinning me to the ground as my body slowly freezes in place. What can I do? Angelo’s standing between me and the exit, and my phone is in my bag by the door.
My ex-boyfriend snarls, and my body starts to shut down. I know this face. He’s about six drinks deep, and he’s about to get very, very angry. This ugly grimace is one he reserves only for me, behind closed doors.
Tears threaten to fill my eyes, but I won’t let them. I’ve cried enough, and I know it only fuels the monster inside him.
“Leave, Angelo.” My voice is as hard as I can manage.
Angelo stops walking, pulling himself up to his full height in the middle of my apartment. “So that’s it, then? Ten years together and you’ll let one little mistake come between us?”
One little mistake? I want to scream. I want to punch him. I want to hurl something at his ugly fucking head—but all I can do is stand here and tremble.
It wasn’t one mistake. It was a ten-year campaign to chip away at my self-esteem. He’d call me ugly when I wore no makeup and call me a whore when I did. He’d pinch the fat around my hips and tell me I wasn’t worth