Angelo: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance Page 5

  “I was home,” I explained. “When my parents were murdered.”

  Angelo said nothing. I turned my eyes from the wall to take in his face. He sat passive, not betraying anything.

  “It was just me and Mom and Dad. Sophia was off somewhere. Probably at a friend’s house or something.”

  Angelo’s hand scooped up mine. I squeezed it lightly.

  “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

  I ignored his offer. I needed to get it all out. Needed to dispel the poison that had lived in me for too long. All this time this sick memory had been lurking inside me and I didn’t even know about it.

  “Mom and I were in the back. Dad answered the door and we heard voices. They got kind of loud. Mom looked so scared...” I swallowed hard, seeing her pale face.

  The face that was just as pale as my hands were now.

  “She made me go into the false wall behind the closet in her bedroom. It was this small standing up place. There were a couple little holes in it, though, so you could see out a bit.”

  I’d always wondered why my parents had that false wall, and thought they were just paranoid. Soph and I knew about it our entire lives. Mom and Dad always said that if something happened, if someone broke into the house, we were to go and hide behind it.

  I took a moment. Telling the story, feeling all these things again, had me faint headed.

  “She was starting to leave the room…but these men came in, pushing Dad in front of them. They had guns, and they said a couple other things, but I don’t remember what it was. They shot Mom and Dad. Right there.”

  I shut my eyes, trying to escape into the blackness behind my lids. “I almost screamed out loud. I had to cover my mouth with my hands. It happened so fast. They left really quickly after that.”

  Angelo’s hand tightened on mine. “Paige… I’m so sorry.”

  My eyes fluttered open. It took some effort, but I managed to look him in the eye.

  “What did you do next?” he asked.

  “I stayed there. I was frozen. I couldn’t move. It never occurred to me that Mom and Dad might be alive. There had been so many bullets and there were no sounds. The men left right away. And then, I don’t know how long after, the police came. The neighbors called them after they heard gun shots.”

  I gulped. “Even when the cops came I couldn’t get myself out of the closet. I couldn’t move my legs. One of the police officers heard me crying, I think. That’s how they found me.”

  Angelo’s face was stony, his eyes cold. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you had to go through that.”

  I shrugged. What was there to say to that?

  “I never remembered it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I forgot all about that day,” I said. “I didn’t remember anything about it until today. I thought… I always thought I wasn’t home. And Sophia and I never talked about it.” My heart rate picked up. “But you know, I never remembered just where I was.”

  “It sounds like you repressed the memory. People do that sometimes after traumatic events.”

  “But Soph had to know I was there,” I murmured. “The police must have told her.”

  “Yes, but she saw what it did to you. That’s why she never brought it up.”

  “That’s why she let me think I was somewhere else when it happened,” I added, putting it together as I spoke.

  “I don’t get why it would come back to you today though. You keep photos of your parents, right?”

  “Yeah, I do. I have one in my bedroom. It was the shirt.”

  “Huh?”

  “The shirt Mom wore in the photo. It was the one she wore when she was killed.”

  I remembered seeing that shirt through the hole in the wall, the fabric she loved so much stained with bright red blood. I saw it as she crumpled to the ground, her legs giving way and sending her crashing to the carpet. After that I didn’t see much of anything else.

  In fact, I don’t know just when I started functioning properly.

  Hell, maybe I never did.

  “No one ever suggested this to you?” Angelo probed. “No one ever said, hey, you’re blocking out part of your memory?”

  I thought hard. “Maybe. But it’s been years. It wasn’t like I had anyone to talk to. Not about the murder, anyway. I mean, what’s the point?”

  “What about therapy? Did you get any of that?”

  “Yeah.”

  I tried to think back, but just the effort made my head hurt. Slowly the memories trickled in. I’d been to a few different therapists over the course of several years. Though they were all only faint memories, I got the feeling I didn’t really remember the first one.

  “I don’t think it helped,” I told him simply.

  Angelo sighed. “I’m sorry it didn’t.”

  “I didn’t speak for six months. That much I remember.”

  Angelo ran his hand up my arm, attempting to comfort me.

  “And the nightmares...” I took in a shuddering breath. “Those I remember. I kept seeing the murder happen over and over again. Sometimes Sophia would walk in and they’d get her too. Always there was just me left.”

  “I can’t imagine,” he murmured.

  “I bounced around to a few different therapists, but nothing really seemed to help. I had bad anxiety and depression for years. I got a prescription to help deal, but eventually the doctors told me I was not clinically depressed.” It took some effort to smile. “I can’t say that I had a problem with that diagnosis. I hated all those pills.”

  “But what changed? Something had to change? You don’t seem depressed and anxious today.”

  “Mostly, it was my writing that helped. And going to college. It got me in a new headspace. Being responsible for readings and projects got my mind off of being down all the time. And the people I met in college didn’t know about my past. That made a difference. It was a fresh start, you know?”

  He nodded. “Do you remember any more about what happened since that day?”

  “Bits and pieces. I mean, those first months are blurry… but after that, yeah. I think I do.”

  “Maybe you suppressed that one memory to cope. Maybe not right after the event happened, but at some point. That could explain why you don’t remember everything from before.”

  I stared at him, hating how true the words probably were.

  Just how much of my life did I know nothing about?

  How much of myself did I not know?

  “I guess that’s why I didn’t recognize you or Franko.”

  He tilted his head. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. Time does that to the best of us. I didn’t immediately recognize you either, for the record, when I saw you in the coffee shop that first time. I just thought you looked familiar.”

  “At least you remember most of the details of your life before you were fifteen.”

  “Yes,” he slowly said.

  “I barely do.”

  His jaw clicked.

  “You look angry,” I stated simply.

  Angelo ran a hand along his jaw. “I am. Just at the fact that you had to go through this.”

  “Well there’s nothing to be done about it now.”

  He didn’t look at me, instead seeming to be off in his own world.

  “I also didn’t remember anything about Dad’s job. I mean, about...”

  Angelo looked back at me. “His involvement in the mafia world?”

  “I knew he was a tailor, but I didn’t remember he had… dealings.”

  “He was kind of my family’s tailor. He did civilian work, but I don’t think he worked for any of the other families.”

  “And you don’t know why they might have been killed?”

  “No,” he frowned. “I’m sorry.”

  I bitterly clicked my tongue. “I’m worthless.”

  “Don’t say that,” he fiercely said. “The past isn’t who you are anyway.”

  I studied his face and
decided he meant what he said. It helped some.

  “Anyway,” he went on, “Now that this has happened you might start remembering other things.”

  “Maybe.”

  Hopefully any other repressed memories were better than the one of that fateful day. Not likely, though. Wasn’t the point of repressing memories that you wouldn’t have to think about unbearable things?

  “You should sleep.”

  “Can’t. It’s just not possible.”

  “All right,” he conceded.

  “Has Sophia called back?”

  He checked his phone. “No.”

  I sighed and dropped my head back against the inclined bed. “TV it is, I guess.”

  Angelo got the remote again and clicked through the channels, finally settling on a rerun of some old black and white show from the fifties. I did my best to pay attention, but the reality of everything that had happened was still there.

  The memories. The fears. They seemed just as real as ten years ago.

  I couldn’t help but think maybe I’d been better off in the dark.

  Chapter Eight - Angelo

  “Thank you,” I told the nurse, and returned to the private hospital room.

  Paige lay with one arm behind her head, the bed inclined all the way up. She stared at the television screen, but whether she really watched it or not I couldn’t tell.

  “I heard the news,” I announced.

  She sat forward. “About what?”

  “That they’ll release you at six tonight.”

  “Yeah. It sucks. I’ll be here all day long.”

  “It’s standard protocol. At least says the nurse I just talked to.”

  “But I have to work tomorrow. I need to go home and make sure I’m ready.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll call Victor and get you the day off.”

  “No,” she resolutely replied.

  “You’re in the hospital. It’s a viable excuse.”

  “I just started this job. I can’t take a day off. And it doesn’t matter that I’m here. I’m not sick anyway. Can you drive me home tonight? Please, Angelo.”

  Really. How could I say no?

  “I don’t want you to exert yourself.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “Okay. Fine. You should probably rest once you get back to the city. We might not get home till close to nine.”

  Her lips pursed. “That’s not that late. As long as I’m home tonight.”

  I had to admire her determination.

  Still, the idea of taking her back to the city left a bad taste in my mouth. Once back, everything would continue on as planned.

  Namely, the arranged marriage.

  I held my hands steady so they wouldn’t clench into fists. Paige had already been through enough. To be married off to a man she didn’t even know on top of it all was awful.

  There had to be something that could be done.

  Yet I couldn’t think of anything.

  The mere existence of the arranged marriage meant that it was important. It had some reason for being. Moretti hadn’t just seen the Bianchi twins one day long ago, found them to be his type, and decided he wanted one. Usually deals like this existed to help ensure peace between at least two parties.

  “I’m worried about you,” I told her.

  “I’ll be fine. Really. And I’ll rest once I get home, I promise.”

  It wasn’t the asthma attack that had me concerned.

  “There seems to be no convincing you, so fine.”

  She nodded, the sadness in the gesture not lost.

  When six o’clock rolled around Paige booked it from the hospital, barely looking over her shoulder to make sure I followed.

  We climbed into my BMW, my feet dragging the entire way.

  I didn’t know what came next, but I was fearful it wouldn’t be good. What if I dropped Paige off at her apartment and never saw her again?

  Soon she would be married to another man, and I might be (thanks to my family) barred from even contacting her.

  My teeth ground together and I hit the gas pedal a little too much, clunking over a speed bump as we left the hospital’s parking lot.

  I couldn’t let such a thing happen.

  Packing up at the house took close to no time. I waited for Paige in the main living room, giving her some space before our drive back together.

  She entered the doorway, the duffel bag swinging from her hand, her eyes steely and dark in a new way. Her gaze floated past me and over to the fireplace’s mantel.

  I bolted up from my seat. It had been stupid to wait for her in the living room, so close to the photo that caused her so much pain.

  “You ready?” I asked, rushing forward and extending my arm to her.

  She walked past me like I hadn’t spoken, her eyes still fixated on the mantel.

  “Paige, you don’t have to look at that.”

  “No,” she softly said, her back to me. “It’s fine.”

  She stopped in front of the photo and peered up at it. I shoved my hands into my pockets and counted the silent seconds as they crept by.

  Slowly, she reached a finger up to graze it across the photo. “This man.”

  I gingerly made my way across the room to join her. “Which one?”

  “This one.” She pointed at the youngest person in the photo. “He was there the day my parents died. He was one of the men.” Her throat bobbed up and down as she swallowed. “Not one of the ones with guns,” she added in a low voice. “But he was there.”

  My stomach flipped. “What? Are you sure?”

  She stared me down with such intensity I couldn’t do anything but trust her. “Yes.”

  “Wow,” I breathed. “You saw their faces?”

  Her eyelashes fluttered and she turned away. Realizing I might be taking things too far with the questioning, I put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I should just be quiet.”

  “It’s fine. You don’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing. Do you… do you know who that man is?”

  “I...”

  There was no use lying. Paige didn’t deserve that. “Yes, I do know who he is.”

  I half expected her to fly into a rage, to demand I fess up and reveal the man’s identity. Instead she just gazed at me with an unreadable look on her face.

  “He’s a friend of the family,” I said.

  That part was true.

  Well… For the most part.

  All in all, it was actually more complicated than that, but I couldn’t find the nerve to go on. Not with Paige looking up with those doe-like eyes.

  “They never found out who killed my parents or why. Now I’m guessing it has something to do with their involvement with the mafia...” Her eyes fell to the floor. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  I tried not to sigh too heavily. “I’ll look into it. I’ll ask around, ask my parents.”

  Paige’s eyes lifted back up to mine, open and honest. “You really don’t know, do you? Why they were killed?”

  “No. I swear I don’t.”

  At least I could be completely honest about that.

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “Are you ready to go?”

  Her shoulders lifted and fell, with a heavy sigh. “Yeah. I need to get back. I hate to leave here though. Even with what happened this morning it’s one of the best places I’ve been in a long time.”

  “I hate to go too.” I gazed down at her. She lifted her chin up to meet my eyes. “This weekend didn’t go exactly as I planned.”

  Paige smirked. “Yeah, well, at least we’re still alive and kicking, right?”

  I ran the side of my hand down her arm. She shivered when our skin touched below her sleeve.

  “It’s not fair,” she softly said.

  I didn’t have to ask what she was talking about. Her parents. Her arranged marriage. None of it was fair.

  There didn’t seem to be anything to say. All I wanted was to keep her there with me, hole up for a
t least a few more days. Maybe even till Moretti came banging down the down to whisk her away.

  Was it the dire and crazy circumstances that had me feeling this way? Or was it just Paige herself? Was she really that alien when compared to all the other women I’d been with?

  Yes. She was different. Both in ways easily pointed out and in ways not. She was sweet. Gentle. Open hearted. And she was so much more. Sleeping next to her the last two nights had been beyond easy. It just felt right. It scared me a bit. But, then again, so did the thought of losing her.

  There was nothing to say that would change anything, so I kissed her. She shifted under my touch, her warmth wafting up and embracing me. Our lips meshed together, the sweetness turning into hot passion.

  All of a sudden, she broke away. “We have to get back.”

  I nodded but didn’t move. “Yes.”

  Licking the lips I’d just tasted, she pulled out her phone and aimed it at the framed photo.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I want to get a picture of this.”

  “Are you sure? Doesn’t it upset you?”

  “No,” she mused. “I guess that’s weird, but I think it’s because she looks so happy.”

  I peered at the small figure that had been Paige’s mother, her grin stretching ear to ear. It was easy to see where the twins got their beauty from.

  “I don’t have any photos where she’s smiling like this,” she explained. “I want to keep it so I can remember her this way.”

  My throat burned. I barely cracked out an answer. “That’s nice.”

  Finished taking the picture, she put the phone away. “I’m ready.”

  I followed her out the door, killing most of the lights but making sure to leave the front porch on and set the alarm system.

  Maybe I needed to just tell her about what I knew.

  No. It won’t do any good.

  I needed to wait till I had more information, till I had things figured out. Paige didn’t need any more stress. She needed protection.

  And somehow, I quietly nominated myself keep her safe.

  Chapter Nine - Angelo

  The BMW glided past the little Italian restaurant. I wistfully watched it disappear in the rear-view mirror, wishing for that day back.