Page 690 of The Tempted

Chapter Seven

Juggling the groceries in one hand, I open the door and disarm the alarm, turning around to face the quiet house.

“Gina? Bert? Ma?” I call out into the silence.

I drop my keys on the console table in the hallway and make my way into the kitchen, setting the brown paper bag, full of groceries, on the counter. Robotically I unpack the bag, waiting for the boisterous voices of my in-laws.

After I returned from my visit with Vic, I found Michael and Nikki on my doorstep with my in-laws in tow. Vic’s sister, her ‘companion’ Bert, and my ninety-four-year-old mother-in-law were staying with me for the time being. They drove up from Florida after finding out Michael had proposed to Nikki. I think they’re disappointed we’re not throwing the happy couple an engagement party. Nikki is having a hard enough time planning a wedding without her father to even think about planning an engagement party.

I grab the colander and toss the fresh string beans into it before running the water over the vegetables. I break the ends of the string beans, discarding the tips into a bowl as I go.

“Whatcha got there Gracie?”

Victor’s arms circled my waist as I leaned over the sink and cleaned vegetables—fresh from the garden I planted in our yard.

“String beans,” I said as he leaned over me and turned off the faucet, spinning me around in his arms. “What are you up to Mr. Pastore?”

“Does a man have to have an agenda to want a moment with his wife?”

“Victor…” I admonished.

“Fine,” he relented, smiling sheepishly at me. “I have a surprise for you,” he admitted, leaning down to press his lips to mine. “C’mon, we’re going for a ride, Gracie.”

I stop cleaning the string beans as the memories work their way to the surface. Since my visit with Vic I haven’t had a moment alone. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. I’ve been begging God for a moment of quiet, just a sliver of silence, which is ironic, since my husband turned himself in all I have left is silence. It drives me mad, sitting here, day after day, alone in this big house with nothing but the memories of the life we shared, the life we made that was cut short.

I felt the car stop rolling and Victor’s hands on my shoulders.

“Can I take the blindfold off now?”

“Not yet,” he replied and even with my eyes shielded I knew my husband was smiling at me. I felt it in my bones, I heard it in his voice. Vic’s smile, his happiness, it was just as contagious as everything else about him. I grinned as he opened my door and helped me out of the car.

“Just a few more steps, Gracie,” he crooned, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Right there. Stop. Are you ready, sweetheart?”

“I’m ready, Victor,” I whispered nervously. I never knew what to expect with Victor and usually I rolled with the punches. After all, I was the wife of the most notorious mobster in New York. What other choice did I have?

He lifted the blindfold and slowly I opened my eyes blinking against the sunlight as I stared at the brick mansion that took up more than half of a block. It was a corner property, a house we had passed a bunch of times, one I always stopped to look at.

“Welcome home, love,” Victor whispered against my ear.

Victor thought I used to stare at this house with envy but the truth was I’d look at it and wonder what kind of people lived in a house like this. I assumed the previous owners had a big family to need a house of this size to call home. And then the monstrosity became ours and I had the answer to my question.

The little, semi-detached, two family we were living in since we first got married wasn’t big enough, no, it wasn’t grand enough for Victor Pastore and his family. Victor had risen to the top, and every king needed a castle. Our house wasn’t a home but a statement to the rest of the world.

I want to scream; I want to cry. I want to wake up from the nightmare. I swipe my hand across the counter, sending the fancy canisters lining the granite counter top shattering against the floor. Flour and sugar splatter everywhere, and I don’t give a damn.

It feels good.

Next to go flying across the kitchen is a ceramic bowl full of fruit and after that I pull the pots and pans off the rack hanging above the island. Tears stream down my cheeks as I wreck my kitchen and grieve for the man I loved and lost, the life we made and the future we no longer have.

Grabbing things out of the drawers, I fling them over my shoulder with no regard until I hear my name.

“Grace!”

I freeze, dropping the wooden spoons to the floor as I slowly turn around and stare back at my sister-in-law. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment as my body quivers. I open my mouth to speak but can’t find the words.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asks calmly, stepping over the debris as she walks further into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” I sob, shaking my head as I take in the destruction. “I don’t know what came over me.”

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