Page 66 of Promise to Break

I shake my head because, of course, Santino wouldn't let anyone see his wife naked, especially another man.

"Killer, tell me, is she okay?" I nod at Maricela, taking in her shocked expression. The one person Maricela loves with all of her heart is Serena, something I will never be able to grasp for myself. Her love is too pure for someone like me.

"I want to see her," my little girl almost begs.

"I'm sorry," the doctor replies. "You can't. She's with Santino, and he won't let anyone harm her."

My jaw tightens. "Maricela is coming with me," I announce to the room. "The baby is fine, and so is Serena. Call me when the baby is just about here."

I take Maricela's hand and pull her to her feet. "And you, Little Girl, don't you dare contradict me. Come with me," I say only to her.

She does as I say, not arguing until we enter the elevator. I never give anyone permission to call me Killer, not even if the world burns under my legs. But I gave Maricela this right, and I know it didn't go unnoticed by my mother, and I'll hear from her later.

"Where are we going?"

"To the roof. You need to clear your head." And where Julian won't be able to be all over you like that. No one will.

"I need to be there. Serena needs me."

"No, she doesn't. She has the best doctors to take care of her, and her husband is there. She doesn't need you. Not for this. Not now." Hurt flashes in those worried eyes of hers, the blue flashing at me as if telling me I hurt its master. Just seeing this smidgen of vulnerability makes me want to burn this entire place down.

Little Girl, you're a risk, a fucking catastrophe in the making. One that I will gladly stand for, even if I end up one of its victims.

A strong wind greets us once we find the rooftop, and my senses instantly become more alert, more alive. From here, you can see a big part of Manhattan. People rush from one place to another, thinking it will change their lives. Horns honk, and everything moves with no time spent appreciating the view.

It's called a shimmering urban oasis, this speck of the world. Manhattan is a beautiful place in many aspects, just as it is tragic. Most people see the skyscrapers and the grandiosity of this place. No one wants to see the ruin, the devastation. Thousands, perhaps millions of people, walk by the homeless on the streets, the drug addicts, the hungry. They don't care that one of the most beautiful cities in the world is full of loss and hunger. I don't care either, really, or I try not to.

"What are you thinking about?" Her voice is small. The strong Maricela I've come to know has gone to a place I can't reach. I want to be there with her, to hold her hand.

What the ever-loving fuck?

I refuse to think about my hidden conscience or my desires. They're a nuisance. So, keeping my gaze on the view in front of me, I ask, "Do you feel big or small in a place such as this?"

Maricela steps up to the wall and looks out at the view as well. "I always feel small, no matter where I am or what I do. The world is bigger than me or my choices." Her gaze falls on the same scene I studied before, but where I only looked, Maricela takes out her phone and starts taking pictures. I've never seen her in action, though I've seen every single one of the photographs she's sent to Maverick's desktop after snooping in her room. She has a raw talent. Her lens sees the world full of wonder and bigger things.

"It's an excuse for the weak, and you aren't weak, Maricela."

"You like to think you know me, telling me I'm a good person or that I'm strong."

"And aren't you?" The human mind is a wonderful place. Traumas can take us in one of two directions. The first will lead us to direct repression of what happened to us to the point of self-blame. Whereas the second will force the brain to deal with trauma by making the trauma your bitch. Make it dissolve between your legs. Maricela chose to avoid her trauma, to blame herself for what she didn't do.

"I shouldn't tell you these things," she says with a sigh. "You use everything against me."

"I do, and so do you. You tell me these things because you want to. You let me fuck you because you want it. You let me feed you with my cock because you want it. I didn't force you to do those things, and I could have. So, yes, I use the way you think about yourself the way I see fit. And you, Maricela, my little lost girl, are stronger than all the people I know combined."

The disbelief on her striking face is what I want most to battle myself and never allow anyone else to see, because no one can know about the weaknesses of this girl. No one but me.

She doesn't argue, so I add, "You're kind and loving, and the fact that you don't want to see it or believe it won't take the person you are away." She still refuses to look at me, the phone capturing the things she sees.

Finally, she says, "May I remind you that you tried to ruin the good in me for the longest time? Now, you choose to see the things you want. Don't be a hypocrite. It doesn't suit you."

"And yet you're still here with me. What does it say about you? Who's the hypocrite in this scenario?"

I take the phone out of her hand, open the gallery, and go through each picture. The first is of a woman talking on the phone. She's clearly unhappy with what she hears on the other side of the conversation.

"I am." The words leave her lips on a heavy sigh, and she doesn't even try to take it back. Her phone is the only new thing she accepted from my brother every year for her birthday. It's her second model, and I know for a fact that she lets him pay for storage as well. People who like photography typically live on Instagram or any other social media, but Maricela doesn't. She's an enigma, indeed.

"So, tell me, who do you think you are?"

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