GIANNI


    It’s nothing but a house, though it’s not the house that’s the problem.


    It’s that she would rather live in that tiny dump of a house than with me. She’d rather return to the ope <b>ce </b>she swore she didn’t want to be, with a father who suffocates her. All because the dea of living with me is <b>too </b>disgusting for her to consider. The blood in my veins is boiling


    The ce is dark except for the light over the front door, illuminating a rundown porch. They’ve been gone for halt an hour, she and her dad. Roger witnessed it–I didn’t want to be here in case she recognized me on her way out.


    She or Charles. <b>That </b>prick. The man’s had it out for me long before our daughters ever met. Even if she didn’t notice me parked halfway down the block, he would <b>have</b>. He’s got <b>a </b>sixth sense when ites to me.


    All the more reason to get the hell out of here before they return.


    “What is taking so goddamn long?” I growl into my phone, staring at the upstairs window I know looks into her bedroom. The blinds are drawn, and any innocent neighbor wouldn’t notice the faint glow behind them. They <b>wouldn’t </b>be scanning for it in a quiet, peaceful neighborhood like this.


    They don’t know the big, bad wolf has arrived.


    I know what to look for, of course, and every moment that glow persists is a moment closer to Roger being discovered when the man of the house returns. I’d imagine he’s working by shlight, which I doubt makes it easier to get shit done efficiently.


    Not my problem.


    Roger sighs. “The name of the game is discretion, right? Hiding the camera? Feel free toe in here and do this if you think you could do a better job.”


    If I <b>didn’t </b><b>need </b>him so goddamn badly, I’d fire him here and now. Nobody talks to me that way. I’m still Gianni fucking Rossetti


    Gianni Rossetti, who is now parked halfway down the block on the street the woman he loves grew up on. Waiting for his right hand man to finish nting a camera in her bedroom so I can at least look at her. I’ve be addicted to the sight of her, and the past two days without her <b>have </b>felt like hell I’m addicted to her scent, her touch, her taste. None of again unless I can convince her that nothing was going on with Amalia. I hate the thought of her think wasn’t real


    se I’ll get to have what we shared


    There’s the option of taking her anyway and keeping her tied to my <b>bed </b>until she promises she’ll never leave, but that’s a bit unconventional, <b>and </b>I highly <b>doubt </b>Tatiana would allow it. My only option is to wait patiently, which is not my strongest


    attribute<b>. </b>


    en


    When she left my house, I knew this was where she would end up<b>. </b>She had no other ce to go but was so determined to get away from me. Hence it was obvious that she would go straight back to the one ce she wanted to avoit recall the things she said about Charles, how he keeps her in a cage. I won’t deny the <b>proof </b>that’s in front of me..


    She would still rather live with him than be with me. I’ve been through brutal fistfights that didn’t leave me aching the way that plece of truth does. There’s a pain in my chest, bitter and persistent. She wants nothing to do with me. It pisses me off, yet there’s nothing I can do to make her believe otherwise. I’ve called her a million <b>times</b>, texted her, and <b>tried </b>everything I could to exin the truth to her. Nothing is working. I wouldn’t have to go to such irrational lengths to see her if she would only just listen to what I needed <b>to </b><b>say</b>.


    God, she’s so stubborn and beautiful.


    “Are you getting the feed?” Roger’s question stirs me out of my booding, and just in time. I’m beginning to hate myself for it 1 pick up the tablet and scroll through the app connected to the <b>desce</b>. “It’s dark,” I groan. “How much fucking longer <b>is </b>this


    going to take? They could show up at any minute.”


    “My hand was over the lens.” He pulls it away, and now the Image on the screen is of a girl’s bedroom. It’s about as big as my


    bedroom closet, decorated in pinks and creams. The walls are covered in posters of musicians I vaguely remember Tatiana being interested in years ago. It would seem Charles didn’t bother taking them down when Caterina moved out. I bet he wants to freeze her in time, the soft innocence of his daughter.


    There’s not much we can rte to, but I can understand his mindse. There are times I don’t recognize the woman my daughter has be. There are still days when I expect a freckled ten–year old toe running in from the pool, dripping water all over the kitchen floor while digging in the freezer for a popsicle.


    “I don’t like the angle. I want to see the bed.”


    “I’ve already fixed the angle,” he informs me in a tight voice.


    “Then change it. Fast.”


    youk


    know…” The image jerks, giving me a clear shot of his scowling face. “This could all be cleared up much easier and much less illegally.”


    Illegal. As if we’ve ever cared about <b>that</b>. “What, you suddenly have qualms about breaking and entering?”


    “Breaking. “Entering, Installing a camera in a girl’s bedroom so you can spy on her. In the home of a detective, by the way, in case you forgot.”


    “What’s your big idea<b>, </b>genius? How would you handle a situation like this?”


    “Well, there are many ways, though you could start by trying to talk to the girl. One–on–one.”


    Η


    “Do me a favor and get the job <b>done</b>,” I bark into my phone. “I don’t pay you to give advice unless I’m asking for it, and I didn’t ask for it this time.” I did, just only after he started bitching. I have no idea what’s gotten into himtely–he usually reserves his opinion except in serious matters. Life–or–death shit


    The past few months have marked a turning point. I noticed it before now, when he <b>had </b>too strong an opinion on whether I should use Tatiana as a bargaining chip with Jack Moroni. No matter how many times I swore I had no intention of marrying her off to Jack’s son, he wouldn’t let it go. When did he grow a conscience<b>? </b>


    <b>Roger </b>sighs, smart enough to keep his mouth shut while aiming the tiny camera at Caterina’s slim bed.


    Telling me to talk to her. As if I haven’t tried. As if I haven’t spent the past two days crawling out of my fucking skin trying to get a hold of her. Calling, texting, making a horse’s ass out of myself by approaching my daughter and as her to check in, to at least find out whether Caterina is alright, and to tell her how desperate I am to talk.


    I <b>have </b>even stooped so low into making a fool of myself in front of my kid–anything, so long as Caterina <b>will </b>give me a chance


    <b>to </b>exin.


    How my ex–wife is a diseased cunt who will stop at nothing to destroy every good thing in my life. How she’s dragged her feet for years, refusing to give me a divorce until she gets what she believes ising to her. My money, as much of it as she <b>can </b>get her hands on. As far as I’m concerned, she might as well not exist. If it weren’t for the shit she’s put me through, I would have dly forgotten her name by now. She’s never been a mother to our daughter. There’s no reason for us to interact otherwise.


    In my <b>mind</b><b>, </b>I’m single. Unattached.


    Since when does it matter what it says in the eyes of thew? I’ve never exactly given a shit about that. A glimpse in the rearview mirror reveals my troubled gaze. The dark circles under my eyes, thanks to sleepless nights spent longing for Caterina’s warmth and sweetness in my otherwise cold bed. “What’s the big deal?”


    “What was that?” Roger quips.


    I didn’t realize I spoke out loud. Now I have to exin myself, something I <b>never </b><b>do</b><b>, </b>even in better circumstances<b>. </b><b>“</b><b>I </b>said I don’t see the big <b>deal</b>.”


    “About what?” Roger tweaks the camera’s position another few inches until the bed is centered in the frame. I can also see part of the bedroom door and the mirror <b>over </b>the dresser. It’s as detailed a view as I’m going to get


    TZU <b>DUNUS </b>


    “Any of this. You want me to talk to the girl? Fine. Then get her to answer her phone. I’ve been trying since she left. All because, what? My ex isn’t out of the picturepletely?”


    “That could be.” He’s speaking quietly, tension in his voice while he fixes the camera’s position. ording to what he told me, it’s mounted inside the top corner of her bookshelves<b>, </b>partly concealed by a stuffed animal. “She’s young. She’s already been pushed around.”


    “But Amalia doesn’t mean anything. She’s a pain in the ass and determined to ruin my life. How is that my fault?” I sound like a whiny little bitch. This is what she’s made of me. I’ve grown into a <b>whiny </b>little bitch, begging for a chance to be understood.


    “You never told her about the papers not being signed.”


    “Why would I?”


    ‘Did you ever think that keeping it quiet makes it look like a bigger deal than it is?”


    My anger rises. “Just do your job.”


    Either he forgets I can see him, or he doesn’t care. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes in in sight. “I’m done. On my way out


    <b>now </b>


    “Wait,” I whisper when a familiar car pulls up from the other direction. “I think she’sing ”


    “Son of a bitch.” Just like that, he disappears, the bedroom door opening and closing. The phone goes dead, too, leaving me with no idea whether he’s escaping I guess I’ll know soon enough


    My gaze darts back and forth between the footage on the tablet of the bedroom and the Coro, whose headlights shut off a moment before the driver’s door opens. At that moment, everything; else ceases to exist. I don’t care that Roger has to sneak out of the house <b>while </b>Caterina and Charles unload groceries at the curb.


    I don’t care that a detective would probably <b>have </b>a nose like a bloodhound and would be able to <b>sniff </b>out a stranger’s presence. Roger’s intelligent enough not to wear cologne or <b>anything </b>that <b>would </b>give him away, except Charles is a real pain in the ass, determined to fuck with my life. I wouldn’t be surprised if he picked up on something being off, no matter how good Roger is at his job.


    All of it falls away at the sight of her. How has it only been two days? I feast my eyes on her beauty, soaking it in the way parched earth soaks in the rain. My mouth goes dry, and I forget to breathe, too busy taking in every detail to worry about something like keeping myself alive.


    The <b>way </b>sheughs and how she grumbles <b>when </b>Charles takes one of the bags from her like he thinks it’s too heavy for her to manage. At least I know I’m not the only man whose opinion she brushes off.


    For one wild, breathless <b>moment</b>, I see myself getting out of the car. Facing her. Daring her to ignore me now. Demanding shee home, where she belongs. With me, in my arms, in my bed. Where I can <b>watch </b>over her, protect her, worship her.


    That’s all I want to do. Why can’t she see that? What do I have to do <b>to </b>open her eyes to the reality of us needing each other?


    Know I’m here. This is “Look at me,” I whisper as she and her father cross the sidewalk and approach the front porch. “Se what you’ve made me do. These are the lengths I have to go to if I want to look after you. Know that I haven’t given up. I would never give up on you, even if you think you’ve given up on me.”


    While Charles unlocks the front door, she does, in fact, look out over the street. Absently, though, her gaze drifting over houses and cars. She looks straight past me, through me, and 1 grit my teeth to hold back a roar of frustration. How can I sit here without her knowing I’m right here? Can’t she feel me the same way I still feel her? Did I make that little of an impression on her?


    With a blink of my eyes, she’s gone. The lights inside flicker on and I <b>wait</b>, holding my breath, staring at the house. Waiting for a scream, a gunshot, something, anything


    Instead, my heart leaps into my chest when the passenger door opens. I reach for my Glock out of sheer reflex. “It’s only me.” Roger ducks into the car and ms the door before leaning back in the seat, panting. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. I cut through two backyards and nearly broke my ankle on a swing set. I’m <b>not </b>as <b>good </b>at hopping fences as I was when I was a kid.”


    Considering nothing out of the <b>ordinary </b>ising from the <b>house</b>—no Charles darting out onto the porch, looking around, nothing out of ce–it seems like he made it out safely. “Good work.”


    “Thanks.” He turns his head to <b>look </b>at me, his brow furrowed. “Are we leaving or


    Right. We have to go. As much as it tears ine to pieces to leave, it’s my only option. It won’t be enough, watching her or listening to her soft voice thanks to the camera’s microphone. I <b>know </b>that now. Seeing her hasn’t lessened my craving—just the opposite. I need her more than I did before.


    I have to get her back beside me, by any means necessary. And when I do, it’s going to be different. No more secrets, no lies. I’ve learned my lesson.


    If it’s a choice between keeping things to myself and losing her, I force myself to open up. I’ll tell her everything there is to


    know about <b>me</b>.


    However, I will not jeopardize her safety. That, she can’t ask me to do.


    Deep down right now, it pains me to know she’s safer than she ever was with me.


    I push the doubt aside before pulling <b>away </b>from the curb, forcing myself to leave her.


    It’s not forever, I remind myself. We’ll be together again, and when that timees, I’ll make it so she can never escape me