Bed of Bones (A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Five) by Cheryl Bradshaw Page A

wanted to forget where I was, what was happening. The flakes of snow were bigger now, blowing across the front of the car like cotton spinning inside of a giant machine.
    “Lucio’s funeral is tomorrow,” he said.
    “In New York?”
    He nodded.
    “I’m sorry. I’m going to miss him.”
    He squeezed my arm. “Me too.”
    “How’s Daniela?”
    He frowned.
    “I spoke to her—”
    “I know,” he said.
    “Then you know what we talked about?”
    He was rubbing my arm again. “I’m sorry.”
    Sorry . That was new.
    “I should have told you,” he continued. “It should have come from me—not my sister. You had a right to know.”
    “So why didn’t you?”
    He sighed. “Before we met, I didn’t think about the way I was living. It’s easy not to when it’s all you know.”
    “And after?”
    “I wanted a different life.”
    “I thought you were getting out. If you are, why do you have to leave—why can’t you stay here?”
    “Is that what my sister told you—I was getting out?”
    Either he was still in charge of the family, or Daniela had lied.
    “Daniela seems to think she has everything under control.”
    “She doesn’t,” he said.
    “What do you mean?”
    He hesitated.
    “Even now, after everything I know, after coming here to say goodbye, you’re not going to tell me?”
    He took a long, drawn-out breath. “My father never planned on making my sister head of the family. This whole thing, the entire plan, was a ploy to get me back where he thought I needed to be.”
    “I don’t understand. She told me your father tested her. He was confident she could handle the responsibility.”
    “No. He used her to get to me. He knew I’d never allow it.”
    “You’d sacrifice the opportunity to change your life in order to save hers?”
    What was I saying? Of course he would.
    “For her, I would do anything. You’d do the same if it was your sister.”
    I had done the same.
    “I want to stay,” he said softly. “I want to be here—with you.”
    I could feel myself starting to crack, at that pivotal moment when the egg breaks and the liquid inside comes dripping out.
    When I didn’t respond, he said, “What would you have me do?”
    I wanted to get out of the car—my car—and run. “I would have you do exactly what you’re doing, but it doesn’t mean I…that I don’t…I want you to…”
    “If you ever need me, for anything—”
    “I know,” I whispered. “You’ll always be here.”
    Only he wouldn’t. I bit my lip, tried to silence my emotions. It was too late. He reached out, reeled me in, held me close. I could hear his heart pounding through his chest. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to ever move. I was sobbing now, creating a big, clear stain on his silk, button-up shirt. His fingers trailed through my hair, soothing me. I didn’t feel any better. I felt cold and hollow. Vulnerable and ashamed. And like so many times before, I felt alone. Sooner or later, no matter what they promised, all the men in my life had walked away.
    He bent down, his hot breath steaming my eyelids as he spoke. “I love you, cara mia.”
    The door opened, and he stepped out. I wiped the tears from my face and looked up. He didn’t turn back like he often did. I imagined it was too hard. I hoped that on the inside, he was crying too. He closed the car door. And in the drifting snow, I sat and watched the only man I’d ever truly loved walk away.

CHAPTER 23
    The Sundance Film Festival offices were inside of a two-story log building that looked more like the cabin a family lived in than a place of business. Had it not of been for the eight-foot-long canvas banners draped along the outside, displaying a variety of this year’s films, I would have driven by, thinking I was at the wrong location.
    I reapplied makeup to my tear-stained face, took several cleansing breaths, and entered. A blond-haired, blue-eyed kid sat behind a log desk. I say ‘kid’ because anyone ten years or more my