Page 104 of Corrupted Heart

You’re an idiot.

The other part wants more. Not more of the aggressiveness and the blisteringly hot sex—I mean, yeah, I want more of that, too—but more from him.

I know this wedding is about stopping mafia hostilities from turning the streets of New York into a war zone. I know we’re not actually a couple.

But then, what are we? The easy answer would be friends with benefits or fuck-buddies, but it’s not that, either.

It’s like we are in a real relationship, but neither of us wants to admit it. Or maybe neither of us can admit it. Maybe it’s just not in the cards for us.

I shouldn’t be bothered by that.

But I am, more than I care to think. Because what I feel for the huge giant I’ll be marrying soon is something I’ve never felt before. And sure, it could just be me confusing sex with something bigger. But I don’t think so.

I know how I feel when I’m with him. I know how I miss him when I’m not. And I know it worries the hell out of me that I’m still calling whatever we are “fake”.

“Well,” Dad sighs. “If you want the expensive dress, it’s yours. Done. I’ll send one of my guys over right now to get it.”

I grin at him.

“But…” He pulls a jangling keyring out of his pocket as he marches across the old dressing room to the padlocked wardrobe. “If you want another option…” He turns to smirk at me as he slips a key into the lock. “This might work, too. I’ve been keeping your mom’s dress for you since the day you came to live with me.”

The breath knocks out of me, a gasping, choking sensation wrapping around my throat and closing off my words. Half of me wants to sob as my heart wrenches. The other half also wants to cry, out of pure joy and love for this man.

“Are you…” Tears well in my eyes. “You’re serious?”

Vito smiles at me. “Of course! Now, it could be dated as hell. I mean we’re talking the 90s here. Not sure if poofy sleeves and bedazzling is your thing.”

I choke out a laugh as I sniff back tears.

“And I haven’t actually taken it out in years,” Vito says as he unlocks the wardrobe. “But, I have a feeling she’d want you to wear?—”

He jumps as I crash into him from behind, hugging him fiercely.

“Thank you,” I blurt into him. “I love you, and thank you.”

His arm wraps around me, patting my back. “Love you too, Bumblebee. Okie-dokie, let’s check this thing out.”

With a flourish, he flings open the double doors of the wardrobe. Instantly, both of our faces fall.

“Son of a bitch!” Vito chokes.

I blanch as stare into the dank, disgusting interior of the wardrobe, my heart sinking. The whole inside is black with mold, as are the four garment bags hanging on a rusty pole and a fifth slumped like a corpse on the floor. A dank, sour smell wafts out, making us cover our noses and step back quickly.

“Fuck!” Dad hisses, peering at the wardrobe.

I look too, and we notice it at the same time: the whole back of the wardrobe is rotted away. Behind it is a big gaping hole in the drywall of the room, with a wet, moldy pipe jutting out.

“Goddamn water leak!” Vito groans. He glances at me. Then he puts on a brave face and marches over to the wardrobe.

“No, Dad?—”

“Hang on.”

He yanks out one of the garment bags and carries it over to a table against the wall. He goes to open it, but the rusty zipper crumbles to dust as he does. When the bag finally opens, my heart drops when I see the moldy mess inside.

“Shit, kiddo…” Vito turns to me, stricken. “I’m so sorry…”

I use all my willpower not to cry. I know this meant as much to Vito as it did to me, and I’m not going to let him think this is breaking my heart. Even though it is.

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