Brando’s knife drops to the table and he plants his face in his hands before running rough fingers through his hair.
“Do you have anything to add?” I ask him, praying to God he doesn’t, because I already want to slit my damn wrists.
“No.” He stares blankly. “I agree with Cass.”
My eyes feel damp so I ram my fingers into my eye sockets, rubbing any emotion clean away.
“So, what are you saying? I should try to get her back?”
“No, Fiero.” Cass’s tone turns irritated. “I’m saying you need to think about whatyouwant and stop worrying about what other people expect of you. If you want to get her back, then you go and fucking get her back. If you want time to think, take the time to think. Don’t let expectations derail you. You’re the Don of this family, Fiero. You can do whatever the hell you want.”
I stand with more conviction than I’ve felt in months.
“I don’t need time to think,” I state. “I know what I want.”
Brando lifts his head. “He’ll get over it.” He means Remo.
Cass settles back in his chair. “What are you waiting for?” Then he grins, knowingly. “Go and get her.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Fiero
The city feelsunfamiliar when I leave the club. Not because anything has changed, but because I have.
The events of the night have only served to solidify what I knew but was too afraid to admit: Pfeiffer is my girl, my love, my home.
To be fair, a lot of things have stood in our way: the memory of what she did that day, the abuse she suffered at the hands of her uncle, the hatred each of my brothers had for her.
But she was always meant to be mine.
Rain starts the second I step outside, an eerie reminder of the last day I returned home from school.
But I can still hear Cass’s voice in my head.
Like the world will end if you don’t love her back.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel until my knuckles ache.
By the time I pull up outside Pfeiffer’s apartment building, my chest feels too tight to take a full breath. I stare at the place through the windshield for a long moment.
Jesus Christ. This is where she lives?
The building is old and the bricks are stained dark with age and weather. A rusted fire escape snakes down the front and the deli beneath it has iron shutters pulled halfway down, flickering fluorescent lights buzzing behind the glass.
A bitter taste floods my mouth. Every night at the club, after I dressed her in designer silk, fucked her in Egyptian cotton and let her cry on me in a luxurious penthouse, she came back here. To this. To fluorescent kitchen lights, old fire escapes and subway steam.
I kill the engine and sit here another minute before finally forcing myself out.
It’s nearly midnight so it’s mostly quiet except for faint voices arguing somewhere in the building. Her world feels stark and real, not the polished world I wrapped around her while setting fire to everything beneath her feet.
I walk up the stairs to the second floor. Apartment 4C.
Then I knock, softly. If her father’s asleep, I don’t want to wake him.
Nothing happens for a second, but then I hear footsteps. Then a lock sliding. Then the door opens.
Pfeiffer freezes, her features paused in shock.