Page 24 of Merciless Monster

“It’s you. I can’t believe it. How are you, Mia?”

“A damn site better than you, by the looks of it. What happened, Dante? Who shot you?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Hey, we have all night.”

“Is this your home?”

“Yes.”

“Do you live here alone? No boyfriend…husband?”

“No, I’m single.”

I daren’t tell him about our son, Angelo. Thank God he’s with the babysitter tonight. I have no doubt that his face will give away his patronage. My son is a carbon copy of his father.

“What happened? Why are you in LA?” I ask again, hoping that this time the man I’ve been dreaming about for five years will tell me what the hell is going on.

“I’m here on business.”

“Does Gina know?”

“No.”

“Who shot you?”

“A very stupid man, that’s who.”

“What happened?”

“I suspect my competitors are out to do away with some healthy competition. I don’t want to talk about it, Mia. I’d much rather talk about you. How have you been? I can’t believe it’s been five years since Gina’s wedding.”

“So, that’s it,” I say, suddenly very upset. “You stumble back into my life, wounded and bleeding, on death’s door, and you don’t want to talk about it!”

“It’s for your own safety, Mia. I’m sorry. Thank you for helping me. Truly. I’m more than grateful.”

I’m pacing the room. That’s what I do when I’m upset and frustrated. This is not how I wanted my day to go.

“I’ll go if you tell me to,” he says and makes a motion to get up.

“No. You’re not well enough. Just stay in bed. We’ll talk about it in the morning. I’m exhausted.”

“I’m sorry, Mia. This isn’t how I hoped we would meet again.”

His words sterile a cord. Does he mean to say that he’s been thinking about me? Or is he just being polite?

“I’ve thought about you often, you know,” he says, his eyes sincere. “I’m so sorry I had to leave before I had an opportunity to say goodbye, Mia. I had a wonderful night. We shared something amazing.”

I stop pacing.

“I thought so too.”

“How are you? You haven't changed a bit. You’re still as beautiful as the first time I laid eyes on you.”

“If you’re trying to win brownie points, you’re doing a good job,” I grin.

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

---