Page 29 of Borrowed Bride

I’m not entirely sure if my words soothe Emilia, but her spirits do seem lifted for the rest of our afternoon tea. She tells me about some new saplings she’s been cultivating and explains at length how this time of year is crucial in making sure some of her plants survive the winter. She speaks with such passion that I’m almost jealous.

I have no love for a hobby like this. My life has always been fight-or-flight, with no time to stop and enjoy somethingjust because I can. Maybe I would garden if I ever had the opportunity.

Tea lasts until Emilia grows exhausted and I excuse myself as her team takes over to care for her. I head back to my room and immediately dive into my laptop. I can’t do anything to help with the Leonardo situation, but my own situation is something I can take charge of.

Having a fake Mafia husband comes with a lot of perks, including a laptop that’s already connected to a server that makes getting information easy. I’ve been focusing on trying to get all the information on the woman I saw at the party.

If she is coming for me, I need to be prepared.

I’m not sure how long I spend bent over the laptop, but when someone knocks at my door and I sit up, the back of my neck is stiff. “Come in!”

Tara pokes her head around the door. “Hey, you didn’t come down for dinner so I brought you something. Are you okay?”

“Tara!” A friendly face is exactly what I need to lift my spirits. I pat an empty space on the bed beside me and slide the laptop onto my knees. “Come in.”

She enters and places a tray of soup and bread onto my bedside cabinet, then she settles next to me. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I’m okay, I just want some company.”

“If you wanted company, you would have come to dinner,” Tara points out. “You’ve been off ever since the party. Did something happen? If someone hurt you, you have to tell Marco!”

“No, no it’s nothing like that!” I clutch at her arm and my heart lurches at her concern. “It’s nothing, really.”

Tara squints at me then glances down at the laptop screen. “Why are you looking at prison records?”

I slap the laptop closed, but the cat is out of the bag and I groan softly. “Do you promise not to judge me?”

Tara smiles and rolls her eyes. “Look where we are. None of us are in a position to judge.”

Taking a deep breath, I reopen the laptop and a tremor runs through my shoulders. I’ve never told anyone this, but Tara is the only friend I have here, and in the event that I do end up dead before Marco can find out, then at least someone can give him clarity.

“I…” Emotion suddenly clogs my throat and heat prickles behind my eyes. “Sorry.”

“Hey.” Tara’s face crumples with concern. “Gianna, what’s wrong? Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad?”

The tears flood my eyes and vulnerability makes my chest ache. “I don’t know,” I sniffle. “It might be.” Closing my eyes, I will back the tidal wave of repressed emotion and begin.

“When I was younger, about sixteen, seventeen, I was running with this gang. I didn’t know it at first, y’know? I thought we were all friends, and I would see stuff but I was on the streets so I didn’t care. I thought I had friends, and they were a reason to get up in the morning, so I was fine with it. They taught me a lot of things, and we would pick pockets and scam men in bars for money or like, a night at a hotel room.”

Tara nods along as I speak, and she pulls some tissues from the pocket of her uniform then presses them into my hand.

“I didn’t know a lot about them but it was fine. They didn’t know me either. There were two women I ran with the most. They called themselves Mango and Cherry. Nicknames, I suppose. Anyway, one night I chose someone at a bar, but he freaked when he figured out I was only seventeen, and he started waving a gun around. I thought I was going to die.”

My heart races as if I’m suddenly back in the alley of that seedy bar, staring down the barrel of a gun. Tara reaches for my hand and squeezes tightly.

“Mango and Cherry took over. They disarmed him and then they started harassing him. Accusing him of all sorts of stuff because I was underage. I think they wanted to scare him because he terrified me. They got him to empty his bank accounts and we left with the cash.”

“Honey, that’s not your fault,” Tara says tenderly. “One, you were a kid. And two, he almost killed you. Losing his money? The least of his worries.”

“No, it gets worse.” My vision blurs and saliva thickens in my mouth. “A few nights later, he got really drunk because we’d basically ruined him. He went driving and ended up killing himself and another person. The cops tracked us down pretty quickly, I guess because of his bank accounts and then the bar. I was soscared. Someone died because of us. He might have been a terrible person, or just scared. I don’t know. But he died. And he killed someone else. Because of us.”

Tara moves closer and places an arm across my shoulders, but I resist her comfort. I don’t deserve it.

“I was scared of the cops too,” I continue. “So I told the truth. And because I was young, they offered me a deal. I guess they’d been after Mango and Cherry for a really long time and this was what they finally needed. I felt so guilty that I told them everything and Mango and Cherry went to prison. They let me go because I was a small fish I guess.”

“Is that why you’re looking them up?” Tara asks. “To see if they’re still there?”

Dabbing at my eyes, I pull the laptop closer and swallow hard. Each breath scrapes against the rawness in my throat, and my chest throbs.

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