Fate Book Two (22 page)

“Seriously? You’re seriously not into men?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

She grinned. “I’m a very convincing actress, I know.” She let out an accomplished sigh. “But my girlfriend, Amanda, has finally given me the courage to come out.”

Even for someone like Nikki, that wasn’t going to be easy. The press was going to have a field day. “Well, I’m here for you if you need someone to talk to,” I said.

She smiled. “I really like you, Dakota. I think we’re a lot alike.”

I laughed.

“Well, I know you’re into men,” she said.

“No. I’m laughing because you’re outgoing and look like a centerfold. I’m a complete wallflower compared to you.”

She cackled. “Wallflower…Oh, that’s a good one.”

The officer knocked on the door and signaled through the window that it was time to leave.

Nikki looked at me. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to convince you to leave.”

I lifted my chin. “Thanks, but I got myself in here. I’ll get myself out.”

She smiled. “Okay, if you say so.” She leaned in and kissed my cheek. “
Ciao
, Dakota. I’ll be in touch.”

“
Ciao
. Good luck with the whole coming-out thing.”

“Good luck with…
him
,” she said ominously.

Did she mean that Paolo was going to be pissed?

Well, bring it on. Bring. It. On.

~~~

At about eight in the morning, another female officer appeared and informed me that my release had been cleared. I was eager to get back to Mandy’s house for a shower and some clean clothes. And after a little nap, I would make damned sure Mandy and I still had our fun. Why let the news that your fiancé and father faked their deaths, or a little arrest, ruin a perfectly good weekend in New York?

When I exited the building, still wearing my short “girls’ night out” dress and pale pink platform pumps, I expected to see Mandy waiting, but instead, there was a black stretch limo. Paolo leaned against the door, wearing jeans, black boots, and a vintage brown leather jacket that looked like it had lived a dangerous life.

Paolo crossed his arms, and his dark brows shrugged together in an intimidating frown. And those full, sensual lips? Those looked angry, too, like they were about to form a series of words that might start with the letter F.

Regardless of his fuming state and expression, I stopped in my tracks to stare. Yes, Horse had told me Paolo was still alive, but I couldn’t escape the feeling that I was looking at a ghost. Because after ten months of wondering, there he was. Alive. Beautiful. Menacing.

It was funny how this man had disappeared from my life three times now, and each time I saw him again, it felt like the first. His tall, lean, well-built frame had that perfect balance between strength and elegance—not too bulky, not too thin. His unshaven face, masculine and striking, always had a slight edginess to it. Not too sweet, not too pretty, but jaw-droppingly handsome. And his disposition, refined yet rugged, gave off that intimidating vibe—the type that made you want to look, need to look, but made any other guy in the room cautious about messing with him.

Our eyes locked, I took a nerve-steadying breath, and then approached him. I didn’t know what to say, and my mind vacillated between hugging him and showing off my mad knee skills.

“So, you’re in New York.” I stood about five feet away and crossed my arms.

He dipped his head and stared with that fierce gaze. “I am now.” He opened the door to the limo.

“Nice of you to let me know you’re alive.”

Anger flickered in his dark eyes. “Get in.”

“No.”

“Get the hell in. It’s freezing and look what you’re wearing.”

Oh. Now you want to be my mother, too?
Besides, it wasn’t that cold.

I tipped my head to one side. “How about you go fuck yourself.”

His cold eyes narrowed. “Get. In. Or so help me God, Dakota, I will pick you up and throw you in.”

“In front of a police station? I think not.” I looked across the street at the small coffee shop. “You want to talk, we can go in there.”

Square jaw pulsing with tension, he pushed his hands through his messy, dark hair and then turned to the side. “After you.”

I marched past him, and he followed me across the street inside the coffee shop, where I ordered two regular coffees and two fresh plain doughnuts.

I put a splash of cream in my coffee and Paolo loaded his with sugar, both of us in complete silence. When we sat at a small table next to the window, I could see Paolo was about to explode.
Let him. I’m done giving a crap.

“So,” I sipped my coffee, “ride inside any exploding planes lately?”

“Don’t start, Dakota. You know why it had to be this way.”

I forced myself not to lose my temper. “You made a promise. And you broke it. Again.”

“I know.” He stared unblinkingly.

“That’s it? Just…‘I know’?” I hissed.

“Anything I say won’t make this easier for you.”

“You’re right. But you wanted to talk. So talk.”

He sipped his coffee. “I want you to go back underground.”

I blinked. “Sorry?”

“You’re safer living under another name. The same goes for your mother.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“No.”

“And who’s after us now?” My father was “dead,” Paolo’s family was behind bars, and Felix was gone, too.

Paolo stared.

“No one,” I answered for him. “No one is after us. You’re just paranoid.”

“I call it cautious.”

I laughed. “Sorry, but I’m done. My mom is done. If anyone wants to come after us, they’re welcome to it.”

Paolo leaned in, seething. “You don’t understand. It’s only a matter of time before someone somewhere—”

“Paolo, let me make myself clear. I’m not going into hiding. I’ve clawed my way out of the dark, muddy hole I’ve been living in these past few years, and I won’t go back. If I die tomorrow because a bus runs me over or I choke on a slice of pizza or because some deranged terrorist thinks he’ll get something out of it, then so be it.”

“You don’t care if you die?”

“I care about
living
,” I growled. “There’s a difference. And I’ve finally accepted that there are no guarantees. Except one: The people you love will always hurt you.”

“I tried to protect you, not hurt you.”

“You failed. On both counts,” I added.

“Dakota, I understand this is difficult to process, but the truth is I can’t be someone else. I can’t uncouple myself from my family. Not completely, anyway.”

“You don’t need to be someone else. You just need to accept that no matter what you do, there’s risk in being alive.”

“Yes, but the risk is infinitely higher being married to an Abelli. I can’t change who I am.”

I leaned in. “Apparently not. Because you’re an idiot.”

“I’m practical.”

“No. You’re an idiot. Because every time you’ve left me, something bad happened. Mr. M kidnapped me because you thought you couldn’t protect me.” Paolo had unknowingly handed me right over to my father’s enemies. Of course, Paolo rescued me, but I’d come very close to losing my life. “Then you left me at the altar, and I got mixed up with your family. You left me in Rome, and Felix found me. Every time you tried to make choices in my ‘best interest,’ I ended up nearly getting killed.”

“So you’re saying I should be with you, protect you, and all this will go away? That my family won’t someday come after me—after you?”

I stood up. “No. I’m saying that we’re done. And from now on, I’m taking care of myself. But when you take your last breath on this earth, you’ll be wondering how you ended up alone. You, my dear, sweet bodyguard, have completely missed the purpose of life. Good luck with that.”

I walked out and didn’t look back. What was the point? So I could see that beautiful masculine face staring with those cold, calculating eyes and know that anything I said wouldn’t make a difference? The truth was, when Paolo and I first met, he’d saved my life. And I’d thought I’d saved him, too. From his ghosts, his past, and his pain.

But now I knew the truth: No one could save another person’s soul. Not a priest, not a therapist, not a girlfriend, wife, husband, or anyone.

Sure, support and encouragement were always nice, but at the end of the day, you had to save yourself.

Because life wasn’t a fairy tale where people ran around falling in love and making everything “all better.” Our ghosts and demons stuck with us, only momentarily masked by the bigger moments in life—falling in love, graduating from school, losing someone, seeing someone you’ve lost miraculously rise from the dead. Sooner or later, though, when the dust settled on whatever drama or wonderful thing was happening, your demons and ghosts would be right where you left them. That is, until you decided to face them.

No. I couldn’t save Paolo. He had to do that.

As for me, I’d finally seen the light. I had fallen in love with Paolo for all the wrong reasons—he’d made me feel safe—and I hadn’t been able to let go of him, because I didn’t believe I could stand on my own two feet. I saw myself as weak.

But now I’d finally gotten my wish: I’d learned how to take care of myself. I was no longer that awkward little high school girl Paolo had first met. I wasn’t that terrified woman he’d been assigned to at UC San Diego either. And I certainly wasn’t that woman he’d whisked away to Costa Rica who felt like she needed him like some security blanket to be able to sleep at night.

Yes, I still loved Paolo. Deeply. Because regardless of what initially drove me to have feelings for him, love couldn’t be undone. But there was a huge difference between loving someone because he fills a void and loving someone because doing so simply gives you joy. Paolo and I had been two broken halves trying to make a whole, and that never would have worked.

I had to accept that I couldn’t change him or make him face the ghosts that compelled him to live in the shadows of life. And hell, who was I to judge? After all, his demons compelled him to do some scary shit on behalf of humankind. Of course, there were other ways to do good, but he couldn’t see that. He couldn’t see that he deserved to live and be happy just like anyone else.

But me? I was finally free from my ghosts, ready to start the life I’d put on hold and always dreamed of.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Miami, Christmas Eve

After my weekend in New York City—yes, I’d stayed through Sunday, and Mandy and I did see our musical (hysterical); and went shopping; and I did not get arrested again—things settled into a routine. My mother seemed content, working at the hospital and helping others. I started classes at Miami U and enjoyed a normal life for the first time in a long time. I even began volunteering at a local animal shelter. Boy, were they surprised when an anonymous donor gave them enough money to build a new wing and upgrade their existing kennel.

Then, just before Thanksgiving, my mother decided to buy a real house: two-story Mediterranean with a pool, near the beach, and with furniture she picked out on her own. She said it was time to put down roots again.

Anyway, I still thought about Paolo more than I should—how could I not?—but with each passing day, my heart grew a little stronger and my soul a little lighter. There was life after Paolo, even if I wasn’t ready to date again.

Ironically, though, Mandy had started seeing Horse after meeting in the bar. When I spoke to him and read him the riot act, thinking he was still playing super spy for my father’s organization, he assured me it had been a onetime thing. Of course, then my concern became his “lady’s man” ways, but he assured me he’d never met anyone like Mandy—“so American and sexy, but with an Italian body and fashion sense”—and that he was all in. At the end of the day, if Mandy was happy, then I was happy, too. And dang, was she happy.

Nikki and I also became good friends after she came to Miami and introduced me to Amanda, a few weeks following my visit to New York. At first I was a little suspicious and thought it was an excuse to check up on me. But after spending a few days with them, I realized Nikki just needed to be around someone who understood what she’d gone through. Learning that the world is filled with such dark, savage, and ruthless people, who aren’t just characters on a movie screen, can be a pretty jarring experience. And losing someone you love in a violent way, well, I didn’t know about that, but I did know loss. And I did know about always having to pretend you’re someone you’re not.

With Mandy’s dad living an hour from Miami, she, Nikki, and Amanda ended up spending a few weekends at my beach condo for a little wintertime fun in the sun. And for the first time in a long time, I felt happy.

So even though my mother and I would be alone at her house for Christmas (my aunt Rhonda was on a cruise, as usual, and Mandy was in California with her mom), I really looked forward to just us two girls hanging out, cooking and sipping wine. Okay, honestly, I still wasn’t so into alcohol, but I was into mashed potatoes, which was why I was on smash duty while my mom finished up the turkey.

As I was mashing away, singing to “Frosty the Snowman” in the kitchen—an awesome huge chef’s palace with state-of-the-art everything—I heard the doorbell ring.

“Must be the UPS guy,” I said. We weren’t expecting anyone, but Mandy had said she was sending me a special new dress she’d made. I couldn’t wait to see it either. The whole flirty, short dress thing had really grown on me. Even today I had on a little red tank dress and black sandals.

I got up from my stool at the granite counter and made my way through the dining room, living room, and to the front door. As I reached to open it, my mother appeared behind me, wearing freshly applied makeup—red lipstick and mascara—her blonde hair neatly pulled back. It was odd because she never wore anything on her face, except for special occasions.

“Oh,” she said, “that must be my date.”

I blinked at her. “You have a date?”

“Surprise?”

“When were you thinking of telling me?” I asked.