You Were My Goodbye

"You hit him?" Chiara handed me a glass of warm water.

"Yeah. He tried to put me on a monthly allowance." I curled up on the couch, fighting waves of stomach pain, and drank slowly.

A few minutes later, I ran to the bathroom and threw up.

Chiara patted my back. "Bad stomach and you still drink."

I caught my breath, wiped my mouth. My throat was on fire.

"Was it worth it?" she asked. "Loving him all these years?"

I looked up at my reflection in the mirror—wet lashes, dark hair plastered to my forehead, pale face.

Chiara's voice came from far away, muffled. "If you hadn't been so ruthless back then, he wouldn't be where he is today…"

I thought of Nico's fiancée again. She had a brightness I'd lost. I used to be like that. A long time ago. Then I fell too hard. By the time I crawled out of the pit, everything had changed.

When Chiara finished her work in Brooklyn, we walked hand in hand back to our rental.

My phone rang. It was Nico's friend.

"Valentina, if you're in trouble, I can find you a job in the family."

I stayed quiet, waiting.

"They're getting married next month. Mira's a good person. Her family is solid. You—"

"I won't bother him again. Don't worry."

He paused, then offered weakly, "We just want Nico to be happy."

"Okay."

All our old friends had taken Nico's side. Every single one.

Chiara's eyes were red. "They don't understand anything."

"It's fine."

I had to stay in town a while longer, so I found a job not far from home.

At the interview, the manager asked, "Do you have depression?"

"In the past. It's under control now. I have a doctor's note."

Other jobs had turned me down because of it. But that night, I got the offer.

I thought the birthday party would be the last time I ever saw Nico.

Three days later, he stormed in with his men. I was sitting in a corner, reconciling accounts.

He stopped when he saw me. "What are you doing here?"

"Working."

He stared for a second, then said to his deputy, "We need a bookkeeper at the casino. Put her there."

"No."

"Fine." Nico didn't even look up. "Either you take the job, or you get out of my territory."

I laughed bitterly. "So if I say no, you'll kick me out?"

He finally raised his head. "I'm giving you a choice. You don't really think I want something from you, do you?"

I thought of Chiara arguing over pennies for rent the night before. I forced a smile. "The Barzan don is a gentleman. And he's about to get married. I have nothing to fear."

Nico nodded slightly. "Thank you. When you start, stay outside my private suite. I don't want to see your face."

The weeks passed. We barely crossed paths.

A week later, some high rollers came to the casino. I was new, so I got pulled into drinking with them.

"Valentina, you can't say no."

"Don't worry, someone will get you home."

My boss smiled and pushed a glass toward me. With everyone egging me on, I downed the last drink of the night and passed out at the table.

The next morning, I woke up in a huge bed. Bright sunlight flooded the room. I sat up. The blanket slipped, revealing a soft bathrobe.

I froze, then got up and walked out.

In the living room, Nico sat with his legs crossed, cleaning a gun. He was also in a hotel robe.

He glanced up when he saw me. "You're awake. Breakfast is on the table. Eat, then sleep more."

A chill ran down my spine. My face went white. "Did we…?"

He put the gun on the coffee table. He pulled his collar open slightly, showing a hickey. "Not my doing. You were the one who came onto me last night. You said, 'I still love you.'"

I was stunned. I had no memory of any of it. "That's impossible."

Nico slid a contract across the table. My fingerprint was on it. It said I would be his mistress, and he'd pay me ten thousand a month.

"I never signed that…"

"Really?" He chuckled. "Are you sure?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

He ignored my panic and pulled out a voice recorder. "I happened to record your little monologue last night. Want to hear how twisted you really are?"

I shook, frozen. Humiliation crashed over me. That kind of secret feeling—hidden because it's shameful—now exposed and used as evidence, like a crime.

"Either you stay and work at my casino, on call whenever I want. Or I make sure you can't survive in Boston. And that recording? It'll spread through the family."

"You're getting revenge."

"Yes." He said it lightly. "You made sure I suffered. Why should you have it easy?"

"Two choices. Stay or leave. But if you walk out, no one on the entire East Coast will hire you."

The clock ticked in the silence, each second pressing on my ears. My lips were dry and cracked. I looked up numbly. "I'm leaving."

Under his icy gaze, I whispered, "Nico, I won't be anyone's mistress."

He studied me, then smiled. "Valentina, who do you think you are? Do you really have a choice?"