Mafia Casanova

The man knew no bounds, and each year he proved how much he truly knew me. Last year was the first time I didn’t see him, nor did I receive anything in the mail from him. It was like he’d fallen off the face of the earth or worse…

I had.

His brother was the complete opposite of him, where Romeo was sentimental; his brother was over the top. This year I received a diamond tennis bracelet engraved with my birthday and the year that we were in as if Tristian wanted me to remember when and who gave it to me. Every year it was diamonds, luxury cars, clothes, shoes, you name it, he probably gave it to me at some point.

That’s how different the brothers were. One wanted to own my soul while the other wanted my heart. There were days where I couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

I couldn’t tell you how many times I contemplated calling, writing, showing up at his penthouse unannounced. I never did. I couldn’t. Rejection was a bitch, and I wasn’t ready to have him tell me to go home once again. I barely survived it the first time. There was no escaping my conscience. Not when it came to him. The mere fact I was still thinking about him made me feel like I was the biggest piece of shit human.

Woman.

Wife.

The more I tried to forget about him, the harder it was. It didn’t help that Tristian was home less and less, and when he was, we pretended to be this perfect little family. Though in my heart, my soul, something was off. Almost overnight, his brother was out of our lives, and it gave my husband this insecurity I’d never seen or experienced before. He couldn’t hear his name without tensing, spewing hate, or arguing with whoever brought him up.

Romeo became his rival.

His enemy.

The villain in our lives and this tainted love story.

I loved Tristian. However, the longer we were together, the more apparent it became that maybe I was never in love with him to begin with. I wanted to be.

I tried.

I begged.

I prayed.

When I looked into Tristian’s eyes, all I saw was pain where there had once been so much affection.

Devotion.

Love.

Something had changed. Three years of marriage, and it was like we’d turned into different people.

Wants.

Needs.

Expectations.

This future I thought we’d have wasn’t at arm’s length any longer; it was miles upon miles of distance away. Every time I thought we were close, we were almost there, an issue would arise, and we’d find ourselves on opposite sides of the fence, still looking toward a future we may never have.

Further and further, it flew out of our paths.

As much as I told myself not to do it, I texted him this morning.

Two words.

So many meanings.

What happened?

He never replied, which simply brought on more unexplained heartache.

More confusion.

More questions and no answers to them.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed with his lack of response, interest, attention, or concern. I read the text message probably a hundred times throughout the day.

Waiting.

On my twenty-fourth birthday.

At my party for him to give me something.

The Sinacore family never did anything half-ass; this event was another outlandish celebration where they proved who was in power and needed to be respected.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight, Red?” Tristian remarked, wrapping his arms around my body from behind me. Tearing my thoughts away from the life I lived in.

I froze.

Stiffened.

There was no denying it.

No hiding.

Especially, no lying.

“Are you all right?” he quickly addressed the elephant in the room.

Me.

We were on the dance floor; suddenly, it felt as though all eyes were on us, and the room was closing in on me.

I spun around to face him, setting my trembling hands on his solid chest. He was wearing a black tuxedo, looking as handsome as ever. Reminding me why I fell for him in the first place.

With my eyes settled upon his, I questioned in a steady tone, “Why did you call me that?”

For a brief second, he flinched, showing how our marriage was hanging on by a thread. His gaze raked over my dress; I was wearing a light-peach strapless gown that hugged my curves perfectly; it subtly flowed out down by my knees. My hair was curled and tied to the right side of my head, with a few strands of hair framing my face. My makeup was heavy on the eyes with dark black eyeliner and thick mascara. Some blush and a soft shade of nude for my pouty lips.

In a matter of a few seconds, his stare went from endearing like he was trying to make a memory of me to defensive, sad, angry…

It happened in the blink of an eye. He challenged, “Is Romeo the only man who can call you that, Red?”