Life Before Damaged, Vol. 9: The Ferro Family (2 page)

I
feel
horrible about lying to Erin. I told her I'd wait for her to finish her meeting and then we'd spend a quiet evening together. I knew it was a lie as I said it.

Sitting in the hot Porsche, I lower the visor and look at my reflection. I've changed so much in the past couple of months. So far the changes have been for the better, but I'm not so sure about the alterations that will take place after this. Tonight isn't just a cosmetic change. Tonight I'll take values I've always considered important and toss them in the trash. I'm about to be miserably married with a lover on the side. "Well, it's now or never, Jenny. Let's find out what you're made of."

I put the finishing touches on my black, cat-eye eyeliner and cherry red lipstick. I flip the visor back up and open the car door, stepping out into the cold night air and making my way toward Ricky's club.

"Gina."

I freeze when I hear my name fall from those lips. Pete. My head tells me to keep walking, but everything else pulls me toward him.

"Gina?" It comes out as a question, almost as if he's no longer sure I'm me. I close my eyes briefly, take a deep breath, and turn slowly.

"This is getting old, Pete. How did you find me this time? Did you chip me like a pet, or am I that predictable?"

Pete laughs once, but it's a hollow, empty laugh, almost as tired as his voice. "You are the farthest thing from predictable." His hands reflexively rub his face, remembering the slap I gave him. His eyes cut to my shoulder, taking in my new ink as he takes a tentative step toward me. "Your list of go-to spots is short, and it helps that you left your cellphone on your bed, open to a message telling Gambino you're meeting him here tonight."

I try to remain calm, even though I’m fuming inside. I say placidly, "You went in my room? You looked through my things? Did you have a good time?” I feel my bitch face sharpen the words as I ice over.

"Considering the circumstances, I had every right to try and find you. Besides," Pete lifts a single eyebrow and looks over to the Porsche, "That was a gutsy move, Granz, stealing my mother's favorite car. If you're lucky, we'll get it home before she notices it's gone. She's likely to kill someone if she thinks her precious baby is missing." Pete looks impressed, but the expression disappears quickly, replaced by the serious, no-nonsense version of Pete. It doesn’t jive with his leather jacket tousled hair, and stubbled jaw. "Come on, Gina. Let's get out of here. You and I need to talk."

Pete takes my hand and pulls me toward his bike. It's parked in the shadows at the far end of the parking lot. No wonder I didn't see him when I pulled in.

“No.” It’s one word that changes everything. I don't want to be dragged off. I don't want to hear his explanations.

The cold winter wind cuts into my skin like little knives. My halter-top does nothing to keep me warm, and I’m regretting leaving my sweater at Erin’s. It was only supposed to be a few steps from the car to the bar.

Pete’s fingers uncurl from mine, and he releases me. I wrap my arms around myself to ward off the cold, and rub my arms vigorously with my hands, careful not to touch the tattoo.

Pete takes off his leather jacket and hands it to me. “Here. You're riding with me on the bike. I'll send someone for the car.” He’s wearing a dark, tight-fitting turtleneck sweater that hugs every toned muscle of his chest. He looks warm and comfy, and it makes me think of cuddles in front of a warm fire with mugs of hot chocolate and marshmallows.

I glance at his jacket longingly, really wanting to take it and wrap myself in its warmth, but I don’t. I stand defiantly, shaking my head, teeth chattering and rubbing my arms.

This action earns me the Pete Ferro blazing blue eyes of fury—sending tingles up my spine. “Gina, put the coat on now and get on the bike.” He shoves the jacket my way again, but I stand my ground, still rubbing my arms. It's cold enough that each exhaled breath forms a puffy white cloud in the air between us. My legs tremble, shivering with cold, but I won’t give in.

I plaster my most charming smile to my lips, and reply sweetly--the way my mother acts in public. I know it’ll piss him off, and I look forward to his rebuttal like some sick form of foreplay. “What exactly did you want to tell me, darling? It's getting a little nippy, and I really must go indoors before I catch a chill. Nothing? Well, thank you for checking up on me, then. It was very courteous of you. Please tell your mother I’ll be back before dawn and will return the car promptly. Have a good evening, sir.”

Mental translation: tell your Mom she can suck a lemon and then fuck herself with it because I won't come running every time she calls. I turn on my heels and start to walk toward the bar.

“Dammit, Gina! Get on this bike and come home with me.” Pete’s voice is a low rumble, dangerous and sexy.

I’ve been trying to keep it together, but hearing him speak that way is like blasphemy. My heart aches at the sound of it, and I long for things I can no longer have. These people keep finding ways to hurt me over and over again.

I turn around to face him once more, my hair whipping around and hitting me in the face. “Home?” I laugh but there’s no joy to it. I press my fingers to my chest and bite out the words. “I don’t have a home. Not anymore. You and your family made sure of that. This place, right here,” I jab my thumb over my shoulder, toward the club, “has been more of a home to me than anywhere else in the past couple of months. You may have given me a roof over my head, but home is where a person feels both safe and loved. At your house, there is neither.”

Pete’s expression falters, losing a bit of its edgy bite. He works his jaw, and I can tell he wants to say something, but he’s holding himself back, shaking his head until he mutters, “If you only knew.”

I laugh once, loudly. This is a sick joke. There’s nothing to know. I step toward him and get up in his face. “If I only knew what, Pete? Huh? If I only knew how you all think that everyone outside of your precious family is worthless, including me? Is that it? Yes! You’ve made it very clear and flaunting all those women in front of me makes me feel very loved. Thank you so much. What else is there? Oh, yes! I almost forgot the fact that your mother is constantly watching every single step I make, following me around, trying to catch me doing something wrong so she can toss my ass in jail. Again, I’m very much aware, and it makes me feel very safe. Oh, and by the way,” my hands drop to my sides and ball into fists as I rise up on my toes and scream, “I’M BEING SARCASTIC!”

Pete just watches me from an inch away, not speaking. Those eyes are filled with pain and remorse, but I’m not falling for it—not again. It doesn’t matter what I see in him, because it’s not really there. The man is a walking illusion. He uses whatever he can to get anything he wants. For a while he wanted me—to toy with, to fuck, to add to his long list of conquests.

He inches closer and it makes my heart jerk inside my chest. I know I’m the one who got this close to him, but now I want to back away. I dig my heels in. This fight determines our future. “I’m not spending the rest of my life in a living mausoleum. Screw that. I’ve sacrificed my happiness to protect your family, yet that doesn’t seem to be enough—”

“Gina.” He says my name like a plea, but I don’t stop.

“They always want more. There’s always another fee to pay, another role to perform. It’s sucked me dry. This is the only thing I have left that brings me any joy. You’re not going to take it away.”

Suddenly, we're standing toe-to-toe, and he points his finger toward the club. I have to tilt my head to keep eye contact with him. His eyes are a mix of anger and pain, and the more I spew my feelings at him, the more he looks like I’m cutting him to shreds, flaying him raw.

Pete talks, but his jaw doesn’t move. It’s clenched too tight. The muscles bulge in his cheeks. “You have everything so wrong. Those people in there aren't safe, and they don't love you. I don’t want you anywhere near them. I don't trust them.”

I toss my arms up in the air. “Oh, what a surprise! Breaking news, everybody! A Ferro that doesn't trust someone. Well, that's certainly a first! I have news for you, Pete. It's in your DNA to not trust anyone. You are so convinced everyone has an ulterior motive that you can’t see the good in anyone anymore. They aren’t bad people, Pete. They're my friends, and they look out for me.”

Pete takes a step back and runs a hand through his hair in exasperation, coat still dangling from his other hand. He paces around in a small circle before he rounds on me again. He leans down so that our faces are only inches apart. His voice is a hiss through his clenched teeth, his jaw muscles twitching. We aren’t touching, but I am aware of every inch of him. The moment feels charged, the air crackling between us like a high voltage current.

Pete explodes, “For once in your life, listen to me and WAKE UP! Those people in there are lying to you! They want you for your connection to me. They don’t care about you. There are a lot of things I will tolerate, Gina. I can stand by watching as you pull extreme stunts like skydiving or stealing my mom's car. I can even feed your need for danger myself, taking turns so sharp on my bike that I worry we won't make it back alive. I do it because of your laugh, the way your face lights up, the sparkle in your eyes--they're all breathtaking. It’s infectious, and I need more of it, I crave it.”

I want to put my hands over my ears. They’re suddenly pressing the sides of my head. “Stop! I don’t want to hear this!”

He grabs hold of my wrists and yanks them away. “No! Listen to me, Gina. You matter to me. It makes me want to be alive just to experience it over and over again. Then you turn around and get your body tattooed, and it makes you look so damned beautiful that all I can think about right now is running my hands over every inch of your body.” Pete’s eyes look down while his hand hovers over my shoulder. He releases my wrists, but I can still feel the searing heat shooting through my skin as if he was still touching me.

His hand clenches into a trembling fist, and he shuts his eyes tight. “But even I have my limits. There is no way in hell I will stand by quietly and watch these people take advantage of the only woman I’ve ever loved in my whole sorry excuse for a life!”

S
ilence
.

Pete and I stand motionless, breathing hard. I feel neither hot nor cold. My teeth are chattering, my entire body shivering, but I’m not sure if it’s from the weather or from what he just said. I feel like I’ve just been through the spin cycle of a washing machine.

Pete looks like he’s in shock. It’s as if he’s said something he never intended to admit. His face has gone white, his eyes open wide as plates, and he covers his mouth with his hand like he’s trying to take back what he said.

This can’t be real.

Pete is the first to move. He runs a hand through his hair and reaches out to touch me. I can't let him. I stumble backward a step. Ok, maybe it’s more like tripping over my shoes and ungracefully losing my balance, arms flailing. I screech. I’m about to land on my ass, but Pete is quick and catches me by the waist, pulling me close to him. His warmth and his touch are welcoming, but after what he just said I can’t do this. My brain will short-circuit again, and I’ll start believing him.

His arms circle my waist and hold me tightly, keeping my cheek pressed to his chest. His heart is beating fast and hard, like he’s running for his life. He rests his head on top of mine. I keep my hands fisted, arms tucked between us, ready to push him away. I’m being soothed by the rhythm of his rapid breathing.

My body goes stiff as I try to fight off the impulse to melt into his arms.

This isn’t happening.

It’s not real.

It can’t be.

Peter Ferro did not just confess that he loves me. But he did. I heard it. I can’t fathom why he’d say it. It can’t be true. This isn’t like him.

Pete’s hands travel up my back, one laces through my hair, cradling my head, keeping me close to his chest. He drops a small kiss on the top of my head and holds me tighter. His whole body is trembling.

“Let me go,” I say weakly, trying to break free.

Distance. I need distance.

He loosens his hold on me, but he doesn’t let me get away from him. He stares down at me, pain etched across his face. When he swallows, I see his Adam’s apple bob up and down like he’s just swallowed a football. “I can’t let you go, Gina. I know I should, and I tried, but I can't.”

Pete exhales and leans in, pressing his forehead against mine before closing his eyes. He looks like he’s attempting to shut out the world around him, and my traitor heart breaks for him, wanting to comfort him. His warm breath spills across my face, and it’s dizzying. I stare at his mouth so close to mine. How I’d love to close the space between us, to feel the softness of his lips on mine once more, but I can’t.

Pete’s voice cracks when he talks. He’s fighting off words that are coming out without his consent. “I’ve tried so hard to fight this, to let you go, to push you away. But I can’t, Gina. I can’t. How can someone so small and sweet manage to cause so much damage? But you did. You crashed into my life like a train coming in at full speed--I had no chance of surviving the impact. You’ve broken me. I never wanted to feel anything for anyone, but you made me decimate the one rule I swore I’d never break."

"Asking a chick over to your mansion bachelor pad isn't a super-hard rule to break."

Pete exhales shakily. "Not that rule. I promised myself I'd never make the mistake of falling in love. What have you done to me?”

When Pete opens his eyes again, there is no anger left. There’s just desperation and immense fear. Pete Ferro is never scared. He’s reckless, angry, and passionate, but I’ve never seen him scared of anything--until now. With another trembling breath he exhales, “Gina, I love you.”

I want to hold him tight, to kiss him hard and soft, to ease his fears, to tell him I love him, too, but I can’t tell him how I feel. What if he’s lying, again? Like that kiss in Central Park. It seemed so real in the moment, and I believed him. He’ll just hurt me more if it's not true. It can't be this simple, can it? I’ve cared for Pete too many times, and he crushed my heart each and every one. I'm never good enough for him. He has no clue what love means. He has another woman waiting for him at the mansion. I saw her.

I struggle to free myself from him and this time he lets me. Without his arms around me, without the intense warmth of his body, I start to shiver again. Pete stares down at the ground, defeated and lost. He looks like a little boy lost in a crowd. His hands are twisting the supple jacket. When he talks, his voice has no spirit left in it. "I've tried to do the right thing from the start. My methods may not have been best, but I promise I'll fix things for you. I was hoping that we could have this conversation back at the house, but I guess it's too late for that.”

I don’t understand. Shaking my head, I glance down at the sidewalk and back up at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m turning myself in.” He chances a glance up to me, under his lashes. “I’m going to the police tomorrow and confessing. I’m going to tell them that everything was my fault--the trespassing, the rave, the assault, the manslaughter, the arson, everything. I’m going to jail for this and I’ve accepted it. It’s the only way to give you back your life, because you don’t deserve this.” He offers a painful smile.

He lowers his gaze and then looks back into my eyes. “I guess this is goodbye.” Pete takes one of my hands in his and turns it over, before he presses a soft kiss to the center of my palm. He folds my fingers over the kiss, trapping it in my fist. Then he lets go, turns around, and walks over to his bike.