Page 141 of Stricken

And now I'm left with nothing but the bitter dregs of what might have been, a future shattered like the empty bottle at my feet. The shards catch the glitter of string lights decorating the terrace, jagged and sharp, a fitting metaphor for the ruins of my heart.

I close my eyes, letting the gathering darkness swallow me whole.

I won't go back to Purgatory anymore.

I'm done humiliating myself in front of his employees.

The sound of approaching footsteps splinters the silence, dragging me out of the abyss of my thoughts. I don't bother turning, too lost in my own anguish to care about the intruder on my solitude.

The footsteps stop right behind.

"I'd be careful if I were you with the booze," the last person I expect to be here, at this house, says. "Or you'd turn into Roberto. Dumb and drunk."

Salvatore.

I twist in my seat, my gaze falling on his form. He looks like hell, but then again, so do I. Only his is a different kind of hell. Wary and bruised. Usually, people don't come back from it. He should be dead by now, or on some boat across the Pacific since Chiara pleaded for him hard enough. Tony simply wouldn't leave him be. Not after the attempt on his life. Still, the weasel is in the house. Walking free.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, my words slurring slightly. The whiskey has taken its toll, but I'll be damned if I let my cousin see just how far I've fallen.

Salvatore shrugs, a humorless smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I could ask you the same thing,cugino. Drowning your sorrows in daddy's expensive liquor?"

I bristle at the jab, my fingers tightening around the glass. "I thought you'd be a corpse by now," I shoot back. He looks like one too. "After all, Tony had you dragged out of here by your dick. You have no right to be in this house."

"It was my house before it became yours."

"It was always mine. You were simply too blind to understand that you don't have what it takes. You tried the coward's way. Didn't work out, huh?"

"I'd be careful what you say to me right now."

"Why? You're a fucking traitor. Tried to kill your own father who's one step in the grave already. Couldn't wait? Winning fair and square isn't on your resume?"

Something flashes in Salvatore's eyes, a hint of anger quickly masked. He steps closer, invading my space. "Funny you should mention that, Nicola," he hisses out. "Mamma wanted me back. Said the family needs to stick together now more than ever."

The revelation hits me hard. Of course, deep down I guessed a family member begged for Salvatore to be released from whatever basement Tony has been holding him in. Still, it hurts, hearing this from him.ZiaChiara, the one person who always had my back, wanting Salvatore back in the picture? It doesn't make sense, but then again, nothing does anymore.

I struggle to find words. The ground beneath my feet feels unsteady, as if the very foundations of my world are crumbling.

Salvatore watches me, a predatory gleam returning into his eyes slowly. He knows he has me on the ropes, and he's enjoying every second of it. The bastard always did love to watch me squirm.

"What's the matter, Nico?" he taunts. "Not used to being the one left in the dark?"

I want to hit him, to wipe that smug grin off his face. But I don't have the energy, the fight drained out of me by Vlad's stab in the back.

So I just sit there, staring at the desert sky stretched out in front of me, wondering if it was worth it. If being Tony's only legitimate successor was worth having my heart broken.

* * *

Anthony Morelli, the patriarch of the Morelli family, dies on a sunny Nevada day.

It's Aunt Chiara who spends his last moments with him, only calling me in for a second. Tony, all shriveled like a raisin kept too long in the sun, face unnaturally gaunt, holds my hand in his and says he is proud of me for stepping up. He is happy that fate has put things back where they have always belonged.

He has one last request.

Don't kill Salvatore. That would make Chiara happy.

Let Roberto in on a small portion of a family business, so he doesn't feel left out.

I promise all these things to the old man as I squeeze his thin hand tight. I promise to do what I'm asked because I'm not an asshole like his two useless sons. I know what a dying king wants—to be reassured his empire continues to strive and his line goes on.

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