Page 33 of Love Him Like Water

With that, he turned and left.

Taking a chunk of my heart with him.

After that, I made my way back to the subway, aware of one of Renzo’s men following me the whole way.

I made the trip back to Brooklyn regularly after that. Every few months or so, when my book pile dwindled, and I felt like I had an ‘excuse’ to visit.

Even though, in my heart, I knew what I was actually doing.

Hoping to catch a sight of him.

Sometimes I was lucky, seeing him walking around, talking to people. Other times, I left feeling defeated and depressed, annoyed with myself for being so desperate.

It was a pattern I kept up until, finally, at eighteen, I forced myself to stop. To quit being so needy and pathetic and, well, creepy.

Then I tried my hardest to put my girlish crush on Renzo Lombardi behind me.

Mostly unsuccessfully, I might add. Because those dark eyes were always there in my mind, his deep voice a soothing balm on frantic days. And, well, in my sweaty, restless dreams.

But by the time I was twenty, I didn’t think about him all of the time anymore.

Until, suddenly, I walked in on a conversation in Lorenzo Costa’s—the Capo dei Capi—house one day, hearing that Renzo Lombardi wanted a marriage alliance with our family.

That one of us Costa women would need to marry him.

It all came rushing back then, those thoughts, feelings, memories.

There’d been no reasoning with me then.

It felt too much like fate.

I was going to marry the man who’d saved me once upon a time.

And here I was.

Married to him.

It was nothing like I’d dreamed of.

But I still couldn’t stop myself from thinking of him as I made my way back to the apartment where Elian was waiting, looking at my coffee and bag of books, then offering me a small smile before opening the door for me.

I fell into one of my books after that, cuddled in bed, pretending I wasn’t waiting for Renzo to come home, to reach for me again, to give me a taste of his attention.

The only kind he seemed inclined to give me.

But when I finally heard sounds from the floor below, it wasn’t just Renzo, coming home to see me.

It was him and all of his friends again, the sounds of their partying filling the apartment, making me very much feel left out and unwanted.

Once again.

I hated myself every second of it, but I sat there in complete silence, barely even letting myself breathe, in case I might miss the sound of Renzo calling for me, inviting me down, introducing me to his people, including me in their merriment.

But the call never came.

And as the stupid tears stung my eyes, I flung off the covers, taking myself into the bathroom, stripping, and climbing into the shower, scrubbing at myself as if I could wash away my own pathetic longing for a man who clearly never thought of me, save for when I was lying beside him.

Until, suddenly, the bathroom door was swinging open.

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