dry.
After all this time.
Why now?
He makes his way toward me and I think about running in the opposite direction because this man is dangerous, in more ways than one.
It’s one of those life-changing moments.
Stay and face a heartbreak that has haunted me for ten years.
Or run.
But I can’t move because my feet appear to be fused to the floor.
The music thumps around us like a heartbeat.
He moves slowly like a man who has all the time in the world, while electricity sparkles in the air around us like embers.
He stops a yard away from me, but even from here I can feel the strong pull of his orbit.
“You…” I breathe out. “You were at the club the other night.”
“Yes.” His voice is deep. Dark and smooth.
“You were watching me.”
He takes a step closer and I walk backward until my shoulders hit the wall behind me.
“Yes.”
He comes closer and I feel my heart squeeze in my chest. Despite wearing his masquerade mask, I can see he is exquisitely beautiful. Eyes as dark as night and a strong face, classically handsome with chiseled cheekbones and just the right amount of scruff on his jaw.
I can barely breathe.
All of a sudden, I am a naïve, sixteen-year-old girl who has yet to feel the true pain of a broken heart, waiting to be kissed by the boy who is the reason she breathes.
“Why are you here?” I whisper.
He comes even closer until there is barely any space between us. My lips shamelessly part with need. His palms press the wall behind me as his strong body engulfs me in its radiant heat. When his lips brush close to mine, he hesitates and then frowns, and I see the storm in his ink-black eyes.
He presses his cheek to mine and I feel a dormant longing awakening in me. I close my eyes, fighting it.
“You don’t remember.” He sucks in a deep breath as if he is absorbing me into him. “But you will.”
I bite down on my lip and he growls with need.
Releasing me, he steps away, and within seconds he is gone.
I stare after him.
He is wrong. I do remember.
I remember every agonizing second.
Ten Years Earlier
The music has stopped, and all the guests have left. Everyone except me. I sit at the table littered with used plates and cutlery, and fancy crystal glasses half empty with soda pop. A spectacular birthday cake sits amongst the chaos, its sides cut open and chocolate crumbs spilling out of its guts, its birthday candles melted into a congealed pool of wax on the table. Floating around the room, spangles of light from the disco ball above the table glitter slowly over the entire lonely, pathetic scene.
I’ve stopped crying, but the tears have stained my cheeks, leaving streaks through my makeup.
He didn’t show.
I had waited all night.
Kept my eye on the door.
Early on in the evening, I had bubbled with effervescent excitement, knowing in my heart that he was coming. That all the years of waiting were finally over.
That he would show.
That within hours, minutes, seconds, my one true love would walk through those doors to take me in his arms and proclaim me as his queen.
But as the hours ticked by, my smile slowly began to fade, and my heart began to sink lower in my chest.
My friends’ smiles softened to looks of pity and empathy, while my father and godfather watched on with no expressions, just an inkling that something wasn’t right about my demeanor.
Alessandro and I had vowed to respect our father’s wishes.
We would not contact one another. We would not write. Would not sneak messages to each another. All out of respect for our fathers. Because your word was your honor, and when you gave it, you kept it.
Besides, we did not need to contact each other to know that our hearts still fully belonged to the other. Our love was pure and true, and right. All we needed was Alessandro’s vow that he would be here, and my promise to welcome him with open arms.
For two years, I believed.
For two years, I had faith.
But it was all a lie.
Because tonight he never showed up like he had vowed, and I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again.
4
Alessandro
My name is Alessandro Lastrantonio.
They call me the King of the Boroughs.
It’s a title I hate.
But it’s a title that lets my rivals know that I am a big fucking deal.
I’d say it is a pleasure to meet you.
But that wouldn’t be true.
You don’t want to