Page 54 of Ruthless Consequences

Her eyes fluttered open, and she gazed up at me. That door opened and shoved us into a room. It seemed like we met in a memory from long ago, locking us out of present time.

When reality set in for her, giving her an out, she stood so fast I had to catch her before she tumbled down the steps.

“Here,” she said, slamming her hand into my chest. She wanted me to take Mooch’s leash so she could run away from me. She hated that I knew what she had been thinking about. And she knew because she knew me. About this, my face held no secrets. If anything, it was an open book that I dared her to pick up where she’d left off.

“Lucila,” I said, and my voice came out gruff.

All the blood drained from her face, and I thought that I’d have to catch her like I did years ago. She went slack in my arms.

“What?” she barely got out.

The sun had caused the freckles on her nose to appear, and her eyes had specks of gold in the cinnamon. The darkness of her hair only intensified the unique color. She smelled like the bakery, the Italian salad she probably had for lunch, and the sun.

My light. Always my light. My Lucila.

She was fucking perfect.

“What?” she said again, this time more forcefully.

A moment too late, I realized why she was panicking. “She’s okay,” I said, talking about Ma. But in a rush that cleared out the sweet memory I’d been in, dread set in.

Ma was doing okay, but she wasn’t okay.

She’d never talked to me about her feelings or the future. But she had a couple of months back. She was planning because the disease could paralyze her mouth and throat muscles. She told me how much she loved me. How much she wished the relationship between me and Michele could have been different. Not because she wanted us to change, but because she knew she was the last link to what connected us. And she’d be worried about both of us after she was gone.

“He’s not who you think he is,” she’d said. “And you’re not who he thinks you are.”

Michele and I had come to a silent agreement long ago. It wasn’t up to either of us to change the other’s mind about that. Some things are what they are.

Resigned, she’d asked me to play the piano for her, so I did. It was easier with music. Because like the woman standing in front of me, she knew she could read my moods by the notes that I’d play.

Then again, it was harder, because the music I played spoke all the words I refused to say. And in words, I refused to say goodbye to my mother. The woman who gave me life and loved me despite myself. The woman who tried to direct a violent future down a different path by music.

She’d once told me if anyone wanted to find huge masses of locked up potential, the best place to look was prisons. “It’s all caged up there,” was what she’d said. “It’s just that, sometimes what we don’t realize we have is hidden in darkness. We all need light to find ourselves. Just like with anything else, it’s a balance. Daytime and nighttime. There’s a reason—a purpose—for both.”

She’d always seen my potential as caged, but she’d always just seen me. And she loved me my entire life without ever locking me out.

With the last note I’d played—she’d hugged me as hard as she could and breathed me in. “My baby,” she’d said, like she was carrying me in her arms again.

This visit, after I played a soft melody for her, we both seemed to know it was goodbye. The brio Carine Valentino had for life and for her family was slipping away. But neither of us was letting go. That would be the hardest part.

The pain of it hit me in the chest like a stab wound.

“Lilo,” Lucila’s voice was soft. She was squeezing my forearms.

That was when I realized I was holding on to her too tight. She’d be bruised. I released her, but she held on to me.

“Talk to me,” she whispered.

I said the only thing that came to mind. Her response would be the only thing keeping the wound inside of my chest from bleeding out.

“You’ve become my mind. All my thoughts.” She always consumed me. The brightest spot in my life. My eyes searched hers. “You’ve been reliving our memories. You can’t stop.”

“That’s not what I want to talk about,” she said, looking away. Her hands slipped from my arms, but mine automatically reached out to hers.

I held tight, but she wasn’t really struggling. “We’re at a crossroads, Lucila.”

Her eyes whipped to mine, trying to be defiant but failing. She loved to hate me, but she still loved me. And that was what she hated. She had no control over it. Just like I didn’t.

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