LUNA
Curled up on a chair by a rainy window in my new apartment, I stare at my phone.
It’s been a month since I woke up in Priest’s country mansion with a concussion and a broken heart.
A month since the night he told me he was giving me the divorce I wanted.
That I was no longer necessary for his empire.
He hasn’t tried to call.
Not even a text to see how I’m doing.
Just silence.
Like I’m dead.
And I guess I am dead to him. Makes sense, because a part of me died that night.
The doctor checked on me in the morning when Rocco came to pick me up for the airport. And, surprise, I wasn’t supposed to fly so soon after getting concussed. Alternate arrangements were made. By Priest? By one of his guys? I don’t know.
All I do know is that I wound up in a five-star hotel with a stack of cash and an open-ended return ticket to Iowa.
But I didn’t leave the city. Instead, I used the cash as a deposit on my apartment.
I bought furniture. I texted Rocco and told him where to direct my books and my laptop.
I haven’t even had the heart to unpack my Lorine Niedecker collection yet. But I’m firm on one thing.
I’m not going back to Iowa. Not finishing my MFA there. I can’t. I’m not the same person who left, and I don’t want to be her. Instead, I’ve been working on finding a postgraduate program that appeals to me here in the city. I’ll transfer my credits. I’m not giving up. But the plans have changed.
And there’s someone I need to tell. Not Priest. He’s made it abundantly clear that he wants no contact with me. Any communication concerning the divorce or my father’s businesses comes via lawyers. I’ve been ghosted.
I tap the contacts list on my phone and scroll to Isla’s name.
When I powered on my phone a month ago, I discovered at least two dozen missed texts and calls from her. She’d been worried about me after I’d gone to see my father and hadn’t returned. If she’d only known.
I was tempted to call her the very first day. I’d been devastated and confused and alone. My instinct was to call my bestie and unload. But I hadn’t known where to begin. I’ve never been honest with her about my father or his occupation. What would I have said?
I hadn’t known then.
I’m not sure I know now.
All I do know is that the time finally feels right.
I call Isla.
She answers in half a ring.
“Oh my fucking God, woman. Where have you been? Are you dead? Are you alive? This isn’t Luna’s kidnapper on the phone, is it?
Shit. Luna? That was a bad joke and now I’m rambling, and if this isn’t really you, I’m going to have a stroke.
But if this is Luna’s kidnapper, I’m going to the police right now.
They’ll trace your cell phone pings, and you’ll be totally fucked. ”
I’m grinning. “It’s me, Is.”
“Luna! Oh, thank God. I was starting to worry I was mouthing off to your creepy stalker who abducted you and was hiding you in his basement lair.”
I choke out a laugh, because part of that is painfully close to the truth.
Except there was nothing about Priest that was creepy, and he certainly wasn’t my stalker.
“Not exactly.”
“Wait. What?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Never mind. Where have you been? You disappeared on me after you went back east, and I was afraid something terrible happened to you.”
Terrible things did happen.
But I don’t even know where to start, how to explain. I’ve kept a lot from her, out of necessity.
“My father died,” I blurt. “And I needed…some time. I’m sorry I went off-grid.”
“Oh, Luna.” Her voice goes hushed with sympathy. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Thank you. It was unexpected.” Part of me feels guilty at accepting her condolences when I’m still withholding the truth.
But I can’t exactly try to explain to her over the phone. There are some things that will need to be said in person. Hopefully, we can get together sooner rather than later. I know she has a lot of obligations involved in finishing up her own thesis.
“I totally understand needing time to yourself,” Isla says. “I basically became a hermit for a solid year when my parents and Lily died.”
Isla lost her mom and dad in a private plane crash.
Her dad was piloting. They hit a storm on the way to their friends’ summer house, and they went down in bad visibility.
Isla’s younger sister was also a passenger on the plane.
Isla was supposed to be aboard, but at the last minute caught a cold and decided not to go.
The weight of the guilt still eats at her, years later.
“I’m sorry, Is,” I say quietly. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
“Don’t be. What I meant was that I get it. We all react to trauma in different ways and have our own coping mechanisms. You don’t need to apologize to me for taking care of yourself.”
“I am sorry it took me so long to reach out, though,” I say, feeling a swell of emotion rising in my throat. “I should have before now.”
I’ve spent the last month licking my wounds. Finding my footing on my own. Getting settled. I decorated my humble apartment. Wrote enough poems to make two solid collections.
I thought about Priest almost nonstop.
I missed him.
Loved him.
“I stopped by your place, and it was empty,” Isla says. “Someone said they saw a bunch of movers packing everything up. And I heard through the rumor mill that you’re not coming back. Is that true?”
“It’s true.”
Cid jumps into my lap just then, with an adorable little purr trill that I can’t get enough of.
The first thing I did after getting my place was to visit a shelter.
Cid’s a gray tuxedo cat with seafoam eyes, the loudest meow I’ve ever heard, and a penchant for climbing curtains.
He’s a little bit wild and a whole lot sweet, and he reminds me of Priest, all aloof and standoffish one minute and purring in my lap the next, a daredevil who doesn’t give a fuck.
And he’s a great cuddler.
“What was that noise?” Isla wants to know. “Do you have a cat?”
“I do.” I smile, thinking about the first time Cid and I met. “It was love at first sight.”
“Pics or it didn’t happen.”
“Hang on.” I swipe out of the phone conversation and open my camera, snap a picture of Cid, and send it.
“He’s adorable. Those eyes .”
“Right?”
There’s a pause.
“So you’re really not coming back.”
“My apartment in Iowa is no pets. And I’m not giving up Cid.” I pause, weighing how I’ll phrase the rest of what I want to say. “Also, I met a guy.”
“Shut. Up. What’s his name? Not another NHL player?”
“No, and Jackson wasn’t in the NHL when we met.”
“I’ve been binge-reading a lot of hockey romance lately, so I guess I was trying to manifest it for you. Have you seen how flexible those goalies are?”
I laugh. “It’s criminal.” And then I stop laughing and try not to cry. “But anyway, we broke up. So it’s not a thing anymore. But being with him made me realize that I wanted to stay here and put down some roots.”
Specifically, I want to run my father’s businesses. I’m not going to just pass them off to Priest. Part of me wants to prove myself. To him. To the memory of my father. To myself.
“It sucks that it didn’t work out.”
“Yeah,” I agree, my throat thick.
I will get over him.
It may take months or even years, but I will get over Matteo Andriani.
“Are you going to transfer to finish your MFA?” Isla asks.
“I am. I’m still deciding where I want to be.”
I’m still deciding a lot after everything that happened between Priest and me.
“That’s the thing,” Isla says. “When something is right, you know it. Take your time, Luna. You’ll have your pick of the best programs out there.”
We talk for another two hours, catching up exactly where we left off. I laugh until I cry. And when we finally end the call, I’m left with my best friend’s words, haunting me.
When something is right, you know it.
What Priest and I had felt right. Even though it shouldn’t have. Even though every single thing about it was wrong.
Cid digs his claws into my thigh, tearing me from my thoughts as I wince.
“You’re right, little guy. Fuck him.”
But I don’t hate Priest the way I should. I still love him. I still long for him.
And, like it or not, he’s still my husband.
Until I sign the papers.
Priest
It’s nine in the morning, and I’m on my second Johnnie Walker Blue. I’m not going to say this is a regular occurrence. But in the month since I walked away from Luna, it’s happened more than once a week. I’m not proud of it, but I’ve been a wreck without her, and I’ll do anything to numb the pain.
Saint is rattling off a bunch of shit at me, most of which I haven’t listened to and don’t care about. He’s my consigliere for a reason. He should be handling it. And why do I need the rundown? Business is booming. The families are unified. I’m the don. I have everything I ever wanted.
Everything except her.
It’s a hollow, sad fucking victory. Because it turns out that having it all without the woman you love at your side is the same as having nothing.
“So the Bratva is good with the latest shipment?” I ask like I fucking care.
Okay, that’s not fair. I do care. A little. As much as I need to care. Enough to do my job, anyway. In the last month, we’ve forged a new alliance with the Bratva. It’s been going well so far.
“Scorpion’s contact reports back that all is going well and the Pakhan is pleased,” Saint tells me, watching as I down the rest of my glass and pour another. “You’re having another drink?”
“No, I’m going to confession. What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?”
I pour a double just to annoy the fucker, and then I take an exaggerated sip when I’m done.
“What else do you have for me?”
“I spoke with Lazaro.”
Lazaro is one of my lawyers. One who’s recently been given a very specific task.
I stiffen and take another drink. “Where are we at in the proceedings?”
I don’t say divorce . I can’t seem to get the word out. It’s bitter on my tongue. Like ash.
I don’t want a divorce either. But I know it’s what I need to do. For Luna’s sake.
“Lazaro sent the initial paperwork to Luna to review, but she’s dragging her feet about Tomasso’s businesses. Claims she wants to keep them and run them herself.”
I’m inwardly impressed by her defiance. It’s standard Luna, and I love it.
But I’m also a businessman. And her running them makes no sense when she’s in Iowa writing poetry.
“She doesn’t live here. How the fuck is she going to run the businesses?”
Saint’s expression shifts. He doesn’t say anything for a second.
And he doesn’t need to.
“She doesn’t live here,” I repeat. “She went back to Iowa the day after that shit went down with Amedeo.”
I’m waiting for my brother to repeat this truth, which I’ve kept locked around my heart for the last month like barbed fucking wire.
But he doesn’t.
“Where is she?” I growl.
“She’s here,” Saint says.
“Here where?”
“Here in the city. She didn’t fly out the next day. Doc said it was too soon, given the concussion. We set her up in a hotel until she was cleared for travel. But when the time came for that, Luna told me she decided to stay. She rented an apartment on the south side.”
I stare at my brother, everything inside me freezing. Going numb.
“You mean to tell me that Luna has been here in the same city as me for the last four fucking weeks , and no one thought to tell me?”
Saint winces. “We’ve all been instructed not to say her name.”
True. But fuck him.
“Since when do any of you assholes listen to my fucking instructions?” I hiss, furious.
My brother’s face is carefully expressionless. “We always listen to your instructions, Don Andriani.”
“The fuck you do.” I shoot out of my seat, restless as a caged lion. “Why is she still here?”
“You’d have to ask her yourself.”
Ask her myself? That means seeing her. And I can’t risk seeing Luna again. I’ll want her too damn much. I won’t be able to walk away a second time.
I pass a hand over my jaw as I start to pace my office. “Fuck.”
“I can drop you a pin with her address.”
I turn on him. “Have you been to her apartment?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. Wanted to make sure she’s settled in and all that.”
He’s been seeing Luna, and he never said a word. I want to strangle him, but I also want to know more.
“How is she?”
“You turned your back on her right after she survived being kidnapped and beat up by Amedeo the Animal. If you want to know how she’s doing, why don’t you see for yourself?”
“I did it to protect her, and you know it. She didn’t want this life, and if she stayed in it, it would have killed her.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
I stalk toward him. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means that you made the choice for her, frattore mio . You didn’t ask her if she wanted this life or if she wanted to stay with you. You just walked away from her when she was broken and hurting.”
Saint’s not wrong. As much as I want to punch my brother right now, he’s not the problem in this room.
I am.
And I’m the only one who can fix this mess I’ve made. I fucking love her, and if she’s stayed, maybe—just maybe—that means she has feelings for me too.
“Send me the pin.”