When news got to my mother that I called the wedding off with the intention to break up with Lorenzo, she looked at me and sighed. “It’s for the best. You aren’t right for each other.”
Fighting back the tears, I nodded. “That’s true, Mom. We are not a good fit.”
Once my mother was gone, my phone lit up.
Gianna sent me a brief video clip.
In the video, Lorenzo lay in a hospital bed, his right arm bandaged up and his face pale.
He pulled a smile, his voice raspy. “Why are you crying? When have I broken a promise about getting you anything?”
Then came a text from Gianna. “He’s awake. He said he’s going to figure something out about the penthouse. Don’t be mad at him. There’s nothing to worry about.”
She even attached a tongue-out emoji at the end of the message.
I didn’t respond to her text.
Half an hour later, I returned to the apartment I shared with Lorenzo.
I dug out a suitcase and started packing my things.
My hand paused when I pulled out the bottom drawer of the closet.
A blood-stained shirt was tucked away at the very bottom.
Lorenzo had taken off the shirt after coming back from a business trip last month. He hadn’t had time to toss it away, so I had kept it for him.
My mind wandered back to the incident two years ago.
That was when I discovered the dirty work he was doing for the family. I walked in on a phone call between Lorenzo and Matteo.
Matteo said, “Get rid of the cargo in Queens. Keep the made men out of this. Do it yourself. Make sure Dad doesn’t find out.”
At the time, I had no idea what that cargo would come to mean.
The next day, Lorenzo came home with scraped-up knuckles and blood splatters on his shirt.
I snapped and told him we were done.
It rained heavily that night.
He blocked my front door, and I couldn’t get him to leave.
Rain and blood ran together, dripping from his pant legs.
I told him that I would never forgive him.
Lorenzo, his eyes red with desperation, collapsed at my feet.
Shuddering in fear, I cradled his limp body and sobbed uncontrollably.
Gripped by the terror of losing him, I threw in the towel.
It came a cycle, happening the second, third, fourth, and fifth time.
“Buzz…”
My phone vibrated.
It was a call from Lorenzo.
“You must have gotten quite a scare, Naomi. I’m alright. It’s just a scratch. The doctor patched me up with a few stitches.
“I’m sorry about today. I didn’t get to see you in a wedding dress.”
I gave him a flat, hollow response.
Lorenzo sounded relieved. “I need to run something by you. Can we push back the wedding by two years?
“Gianna fell in love with this penthouse in Tribeca. We don’t get it now, it will be taken off the market next week. I went ahead and gave her our wedding funds.”
Met with my silence, he had been a great help to the family. Dad always said that we owed them. Now that her father is gone, I should help her in any way I can…”
Lorenzo rambled on.
In the past, I would have been hysterical to question what I meant to him.
Yet now, I lost the will to even fight.
“Do whatever you want.”
He could barely contain the joy in his voice. “You’re the best, Naomi. I thought you were going to break up with me since you went quiet earlier.”
I smiled. “I won’t. Never again.”
His tone turned serious. “Trust me, Naomi. This is the last time I’m doing this for Gianna. I swear. The wedding is postponed, but I promise to give you the wedding of the century. We’ll invite the family…”
I listened in silence.
It was the same story in the last five years.
I was moved to tears when he said it the first time.
Now, my chest felt like an empty void. Not even an echo bounced back.
Just then, the sound of a door opening came from his end, followed by Gianna’s voice, filled with thrill. “Lorenzo! Marco said that the seller for the Tribeca penthouse is going to give us two more weeks. Can we check out the place tomorrow?”
His heartfelt confession came to an abrupt stop, his voice dripping with doting affection. “I just got stitches, sweetheart. Alright, alright, don’t get upset. It’s my fault. I’ll go with you tomorrow.”
Not having any of it, I hung up on Lorenzo.
