Page 95 of Straightened Out

“What are you going to do?” he asks.

The answer is simple—I’m going to do what I should’ve done from the start. The difference is back then I thought I was invincible. I believed I could be the change. The one man who survived the underworld and lived a full life.

But with power comes sacrifice.

I lift my eyes to his and swallow.

“I’m going to end it.”

Because with love comes death.

Chapter 31

Violet Cabrera

When things feel too good to be true, they usually are and tonight proved that much. I went from being showered with diamonds to being dumped on our doorstep without so much as a goodbye. I had it coming, though. I mean, things were just too easy for us. Not only did my brother accept our relationship, but my mother faded into the background once I officially moved into Rocco’s mansion. On top of that, I nailed a part in the Academy’s production, securing my spot on the stage and Rocco appeared to be mending things with his sister. They had ways to go but they were no longer greeting one another with insults.

Like I said, things were too easy.

We were doomed.

I didn’t realize it at first. I let myself into the house, poured myself a glass of wine and undressed. The plan was for Rocco to find me in bed when he got home, wearing nothing but the new jewels he had gifted me. But when the sun started to rise and he still wasn’t home, I knew something was wrong.

I called him.

I called my brother.

Dread filled me and I turned the television. I took solace in the fact his face wasn’t plastered on the morning news show and tried to calm down. If he had been shot it would be all over the local channels. Keeping that in mind, I did my best to go about my day. With the production coming up, I couldn’t afford to miss a single practice. I was already inundated with rehearsals and put extralong hours in at the academy. Some nights I didn’t get home until well after nine and Rocco was either still out from early in the morning or just leaving again. Thinking about it now, that was probably the first sign of things falling to the wayside of perfect. I mean, after a long day I just wanted to curl up on the sofa with my man or maybe take a long bath with him and there he was dressed to the nines, with one foot out the door. I didn’t argue, though. It’s not like he was leaving to paint the town red—not in the sense most would anyway.

I think that’s why I was so eager for last night’s date. It wasn’t about the jewelry or closing the famed store to privately shop, it was the promise of shutting out the rest of the world and just being Rocco and Violet—before the mob and the ballet.

Making my way out of the bathroom, I step into the closet we share and grab the first thing I see. Throwing it on, I pull my hair back into a bun. I’m about to head out of the bedroom when the door opens. Spinning around, my eyes connect with Rocco’s and my heart sinks at the sight of him.

He looks ragged.

Swallowing, I straighten my shoulders and cross my arms against my chest.

“Nice of you to come home,” I say, although there isn’t much bite to my tone. He roughly comes his fingers through his hair and takes a step closer. That’s when I notice his eyes are bloodshot. “Have you been drinking?” I hiss.

At the suggestion anger immediately surges through my entire being. I don’t like being blown off for business, but I will accept it. I won’t fucking tolerate him blowing me off to go get drunk. I am not that girl.

He shakes his head.

“I need you to sit down,” he says hoarsely and again, my stomach rolls with dread. He juts his chin toward the bed and I reluctantly follow his silent command, taking a seat on the foot of it. He follows and sits beside me. We sit there for a few moments and an uncomfortable silence settles between us, then he turns to me and our eyes lock. That’s when I see it.

The pain.

The regret.

The gloom.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he rasps, pausing to swallow. For a second, I tell myself I heard him wrong. I even drag my nails across my arm, much like I did the night Pilar died, but just as I wasn’t dreaming then, I’m not now.

“What can’t you do?” I ask foolishly because no heartbreak is complete without a little self-inflicting torture.

“This. Us. I can’t do it anymore.” He tears his eyes from mine and drops his head into the palm of his hands. I stare at him blankly, waiting for him to elaborate, wondering what the hell could have happened in the last twelve hours that could’ve brought this on. And even though I hate how pathetic the next words sound, I say them anyway.

“I don’t understand.”

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