Page 71 of Blood Money

Disappointment weighed me down. I tried calling again.

Voice mail.

Me: Vittorio? Where are you?

Time seemed to be ticking by at an accelerated rate. Before I knew it, nearly everyone was onboard, and only a few stragglers were rushing in. The train would leave whether the ticketed passengers were all there or not. I needed to board.

I sent another text telling him which seat was mine. He was supposed to get there early enough to make sure we could change our seats to be together.

“Miss? Are you riding this train?” a woman asked me. “It’s the one to Grand Rapids, right?”

“Yes.”

She sighed in relief. “Thank you. I’ve never taken the train, and I feel so lost.”

I gave her a tight smile.

As she climbed on, she glanced back at me. “Um, shouldn’t you be boarding?”

With my brows knotting in the center, I glanced around again. My shoulders fell, and my chest ached. “Yeah, I should.”

With heavy feet, I went down the aisle and found my seat. I was happy to see I was by a window. With my nose practically pressed to the glass, I stared out the window, watching for Vittorio to come running.

But he never did.

As the train pulled out of the station, I made excuses. Something happened. He got stuck in traffic. There was an accident, and he was hurt. In the accident, his phone was crushed, and he couldn’t contact me.

Except every excuse fell flat because he would’ve found a way to contact me.

If he wanted to.

Me: I guess you decided not to come

The cold, hard truth was that he wasn’t coming, and he probably never had any intention of being there. Everything he’d told me was a lie.

Then there was the sad fact that for weeks after I got home, I still tried to contact him. I texted, called, even sent a written goddamn letter.

Certified.

Signature and return receipt requested.

I even messaged his older brother, Gabriel. I wasn’t stupid, but evidently, I was desperate.

Gabriel told me I needed to let it go. That was it. Then I think he blocked my number.

After a month had gone by, I deleted Vittorio’s number from my phone.

Then I wished I hadn’t.

“Everybody’sFool”—Evanescence

Seventeen Years Old….

“I’m sorry, sprite, but he said to tell you not to call him anymore,” my nonna quietly admitted.

Tears burned behind my lids as I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Did you tell himwhyI’m trying to call him?” I choked out. “I’ve been calling for months.”

She was the only one who knew, and I’d sworn her to secrecy.

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