Page 74 of A Life Chosen

He recalled Giovanni’s words the day at the race track, cryptic at the time but now becoming clear: “There may be greater tolerance for difference, provided that difference looks the same.”

“It would be an honor, boss,” he replied.

Slowly, men stood, not with derision but with respect on their faces, each of them raising a glass to toast Mathias’s appointment and pledge their loyalty. Mathias was no longer a shadow lurking in the background, waiting for his due. He had a seat at the table, directly below the boss, in clear line of view.

Through the haze of triumph, Mathias felt the cold hand of fear. His mind flashed to Rayan slumped against the car. To be seen meant to be subject to the full scrutiny of the family, every flaw and weakness magnified. Too many times, Mathias had caught himself looking at the man when he thought no one was watching.

How brazen he’d become.

He knew then what his acceptance meant. There was no room for error. Any defect would need to be eliminated. He had compromised himself. And if Mathias was compromised, so too was the family.

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

He’d seen more of Mathias when they lived in different cities. Weeks went by, and Rayan heard nothing. Cowed by his injury, he rarely left the apartment. He grew dizzy with the boredom of it all. When it got to be too much—when he buzzed with rage at how useless he’d become, Rayan lifted weights for hours. If his arm refused to cooperate, he would punish the rest of his body. One handed push-ups and single-arm deadlifts. Once, he passed out and woke several hours later to find the room dark. After struggling to pull himself up, he’d made it to the bed, where he’d collapsed and slept until morning.

It was late afternoon, and Rayan stood in the middle of his living room after a particularly grueling workout. He had long ago piled the furniture into one corner, giving the space a strange starkness that suited his imposed confinement. Breathing heavily, he stared at his right hand as it trembled, his arm spasming. The minute-to-minute pain had lessened, but he experienced sudden flare-ups, the wound asserting itself while he attempted simple everyday tasks—holding a knife, turning the shower handle—his body reminding him that he was a fool if he thought he could escape this penance.

The lock on the door clicked, and he was barely able to wipe the despair from his face before Mathias walked in, eyes sweeping the room, taking in Rayan and the state of the apartment.

“Interrupting something?”

Mathias’s voice broke the trance. Rayan picked up the towel he’d left on the counter. He pressed it to his damp face and bare chest then threw it around his neck. “I’m done.”

“With what, exactly?” Mathias asked. “Martin told you to take it easy.”

Rayan frowned. “I want to be ready for when I’m needed.”

“You’re not,” Mathias said flatly. “Not in your condition.”

The fury swelled. Since the shooting, Rayan found he struggled to control simple emotions that had glanced off him before. “I’m fine. It won’t be long before I’m back to where I was.”

Mathias stepped over and placed a hand on his shoulder. The longing rose like an ache, immediate and physical. Mathias slipped his thumb down to the mess of scarring below Rayan’s clavicle and dug it into the flesh. Rayan let out a growl and shoved Mathias backward, his hand flying to the wound. He grit his teeth as the throbbing continued, waves of pain rolling down his arm.

Mathias looked at him. “You were never much of a liar.”

“You’re still as much of a bastard,” Rayan spat.

A flash of surprise crossed Mathias’s face. The word choice, though accidental, was heavy with implications. Rayan regretted it immediately. He also regretted the way his pulse had quickened when the man touched him. In Mathias’s increasing absence, Rayan had thought too much about his former capo’s hands on him.

There was a thwack as his head hit the wall behind him, Mathias gripping his neck, his face dangerously close. When the man spoke, it was hard. “Wake up, Rayan. You were shot. You don’t bounce back from that.”

Rayan expected to feel anger but instead felt it drain from him. A piercing dread took its place. He didn’t know what he was if not useful. He’d scrabbled together this pitiful life, and it was slipping through his fingers.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

Mathias dropped his hand, stepping back. Something was different. Something had changed. Rayan reached for him, but Mathias recoiled like a stranger.

The fear from before was back—the years of watching, afraid of what he might reveal. All those times he’d wanted to touch Mathias and hadn’t. Rayan had become so emboldened that he’d forgotten this feeling, deluding himself by thinking he had a claim over the man—that all of it wouldn’t simply disappear in an instant.

“I’ve been appointed to the council.”

Rayan’s eyes widened. “The Quintino?”

Mathias nodded.

It was an unprecedented honor, a befitting acknowledgement of Mathias’s dedication, all that he’d worked for. Despite everything, Rayan felt a swell of pride. “That’s… No one deserves it more.”

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