Dead Man's Hand (Vegas Underground 7)

Hoping I didn’t screw up with him one too many times.

Gio

I break up with Marissa by text and I want to punch myself in the stomach.

Your grandfather is right. Violence follows me. I don’t want to fuck up your bright future. It was fun while it lasted.

Nothing’s fun about the fucking text and the reply nearly kills me. No, Gio. You saved my life, and I want you in it. Forget about my nonno. We can work this out.

If I weren’t already dead, the last living, breathing part of me dies when I text the next message. We’re over, angel. Your debt to me is forgiven. Have a nice life.

Next, I let Michael know I’m backing out of the deal to buy Michelangelo's.

He’s pissed, and I don’t give a shit. I hang up on him cussing me out.

And once those two shitty tasks are done, I hit the bottle again and sit down at my piano to play a three-hour rendition of The Rolling Stones’ Paint it Black.

Marissa

Whoever said time heals all wounds was a douchebag. The pain is getting worse.

The first few days I stumbled through. I somehow managed to show up and do my work, like I always have, although I probably looked like a zombie.

It hadn’t really sunk in that Gio broke up with me. That after all that coming on strong, making me believe he just might stick around, he bailed.

But after I found out he pulled out of the purchase agreement for Michelangelo's, it finally hit me that he really wasn’t going to come around. He wouldn’t be there waiting one day after my shift. He had no plans to play that beautiful baby grand in there.

After that, I couldn’t get out of bed. I got a terrible cold and used it as an excuse to stay in my room for the past week. Maybe it’s been over a week. I don’t even know.

For once in my life, I let everyone else figure out how to get things done. I don’t even come out of my room to eat—they’ve been bringing food into me.

I ignore the tap at my door now.

And my aunt ignores my lack of response and comes in anyway.

She sits down on the side of my bed and pulls the covers back from my head. “Jesus. You look like death, Marissa.”

“I feel like death,” I tell her.

“Maybe a shower or bath would help.”

“Mmm.” That’s me ignoring her suggestion.

“You know, come back to the land of the living?”

“I don’t want to.” And that’s the God’s honest truth. I simply can’t imagine ever returning to my life again. I’d rather get on a Greyhound to nowhere than pick up where I left off.

“Is this about Gio?” she asks softly. It’s the first time anyone around here has spoken his name and I’m unprepared for the emotion that floods to the fore. Tears crowd not just my eyes, but my entire face and throat, making it hot and full.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I manage to croak before hiding my face in my pillow again.

“Marissa…”

I ignore her, hoping she’ll go away.

“I didn’t know he meant this much to you,” she finally says.

And then I suddenly do want to talk about it. In fact, I sit up and a flood of words come pouring out of my mouth. “Aunt Lori, I didn’t want to date him. I mean, Nonno always made the biggest deal about the Tacones and there was the shooting last year. But Gio’s the one who got shot. Out on the sidewalk? I saw the whole thing. And I guess he’s had nightmares like me. Except in his nightmares I’m the one who’s going to get shot.” I stop and clap my hand over my mouth. “Oh my God! Do you think it was a premonition? Like fate sent him to make sure I didn’t get shot?”

Lori’s brow crinkles and she looks at me with sympathy. “No, honey, I don’t think—”

“Well, anyway, that’s why he felt like he had to protect me and he started coming around. And Lori, he wasn’t scary or dangerous. He was kind and generous and protective. He may have hurt the man who pointed a gun at me, but he would never, ever hurt me. I know that in my soul.” Tears drip down my face. “I mean, that’s why he’s gone now. I kept pushing him away, and he decided maybe he is too dangerous for me.”

I grab a tissue and blow my nose.

Lori opens her mouth to speak, but before she can, more word-vomit comes from my mouth.

“And the thing is, I didn’t want to let him into my life. Because of Nonno and also because… of my mom. You know” —I wave my hand, fresh tears dripping down my face—“how she left? And I was trying to keep him at arm’s distance and then”—I blow my nose again—“the minute I let him in, the minute I got used to feeling like maybe I am enough, maybe I won’t get abandoned this time…”