Page 71 of Cruel Longing

“For me?” She blinked.

“Don’t argue about what’s ahead. Get Enzo and then we’ll figure out the rest,” I instructed her.

“Luka.” She wiggled away from me. “I’ll be right back.”

I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Okay. I’ll get some of the plans out. We can go over them together after our meeting with Enzo.”

The doors closed and I heard the engine roar as the elevator carriage descended. I walked over to the canisters where thearchitect plans were rolled together and stored. I unfurled the first set and spread them out on a sheet of plywood balanced on top of a pair of sawhorses. I used my phone to anchor one sign and keep it from curling up. I grabbed a discarded brick and laid it on the opposite corner.

I tried to predict what Amara would think of the plans. Would she like the layout? How many changes would she make? Thinking about what she had done at the Vieux Carre, I knew it was going to be extensive. Ridiculously expensive. An over the top budget. Fuck. She might spend more than we made the first quarter just getting the offices the way she wanted.

I laughed. It would be worth it. To see her happy. To see her thrive here. To finally be on the same side. To take control of the city. Together.

I wanted to see the look on their faces when they realized what we had done. All the families that had told us what we could and couldn’t do. My father’s friends. My mother’s circle. They needed to know that the old guard wasn’t in place anymore. Amara and I would have a new way of doing things. Two mafia families from different cultures and different organizations could tear down the barriers. We were going to walk in the sun together.

It was long past time that New Orleans evolved. I took a giant breath. This was exactly what I wanted to talk to Amara about at dinner tonight. Not to mention, I wanted her to see the new place. After spending two days at her compound, I was ready for us to be together, but I refused to live under a roof that used to be Lorenzo Amato’s. We needed a fresh start.

I checked my watch. How long had she been gone? Where were she and Enzo?

I glanced at the elevator. It was quiet. I walked to the doors, leaning my ear closer. I didn’t hear a single gear turn. There was no movement on the other side of the large door.

I sent her a text.

The champagne is getting warm. Where are you?

I stared at the blank screen. There were no blinking dots. There was no response from her after another minute. I scowled at the phone, walking through the site to see if the reception was shitty. I had full bars. That wasn’t it. The message had been delivered.

It had been close to ten minutes since she’d ridden the elevator to retrieve Enzo. Was the key stuck? Had she misplaced it when she dressed hastily?

I called her, waiting for her voice to tell me to have more patience. She would be up shortly. I didn’t expect it to go straight to voicemail. What kind of a business call was more important than this? I was anxious, but I didn’t know how she could put us on the backburner. Not when everything was at stake.

It was in that moment. That one second I gasped for air. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Something was wrong.

It hit the elevator button repeatedly. My heart hammered in my chest. As soon as the doors opened, I ran inside, pressing the lower level as many times as I could. It didn’t make things happen faster. Nothing was fast enough. The doors were in slow motion. Everything felt like fucking slow motion.

As soon as I landed on the first floor, I pried the doors and squeezed through. I ran through the lobby, bursting through the revolving carousel. The sun blared overhead. I searched thesidewalk, looking right and then left for Amara. I scanned the curb for where she had pointed out Enzo’s car. The street was empty.

He was gone and so was Amara.

Epilogue

It was hollow. A vast emptiness. I had edged closer toward it. Stepped farther than I vowed I would allow myself to go at this point. It was too soon. Way too soon. But if I gave in—if I gave up, what would happen? If I succumbed and let it swallow me whole, where would I be? If I let the darkness seep under my skin and live inside my lungs, what would happen next? Each breath was hard enough. A struggle at best. A fight of will and stubbornness over illness. How many more breaths could I muster? How many more before the door opened and a cloaked figure beckoned me? I knew he was close. Hovering outside my door. I thought I saw his shadow this morning. He was neither patient nor kind. I didn’t deserve either comfort. The choices I’d made in my life had brought me preciously to this moment. My fate was decided the day I stepped behind my father’s desk. So was hers. It has always been that way in the family, it would always be that way, whether I was here to see the power transfer or not.

I thought of all the times she looked at me with bitterness. Fear. Distrust. I didn’t think about it then. Not when I left in the middle of a ballet recital for a meeting. Not whenshe won a prize at the science fair, and I wasn’t there to see her receive it. I had told myself she was only a child. I dismissed the tears as immature weakness. I didn’t understand years of disappointments could pile on top of each other. I underestimated that it would create impenetrable resentment.

Would I change it now if I could? Would I die regretting the choices I made as a father?

When she was very young, she would climb into my lap. I thought she was too small. Too fragile for me to hold. I’d place her back on the floor and we would examine each other before I moved to another room. Those are the moments a dying man takes the hardest. I destroyed the affection she had for me. I poured cold water on her excitement when she waited by the door for me to come home. I walked into the study, closing the door behind me and locking her out. I didn’t want sticky gooey hands on my bank statements. I didn’t want to answer questions about butterflies or frogs. I didn’t want her to know I could barely tolerate myself, much less a child I helped create.

I closed my eyes as another coughing fit shook my entire body and rattled any hope that I’d survive another night. The nurse hurried through the door. I felt her attempt to push me forward as she offered a glass of water. My neck barely moved. Water dribbled along my chin. I clutched at her, gasping.

“Cir…ooo.”

“Mr. Amato, shh, shh,” she soothed. “He hasn’t called. I’ll let you know when he does. I keep my phone right here.” My eyes opened enough to see the nurse patted the pocket on her blue scrubs.

“Amara?” I whispered next. She shook her head.

“Not yet,” she answered. She straightened my pillow and tapped something on the machine adjacent to the bed.

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