Worship (Sinful Series Book 2)

by Trilina Pucci

  The others nod their approval, and Dom leans back in his chair, giving me a nod.

  “The only way I plan to fuck you over, brother, is to take your money.”

  He flips his cards to reveal four aces, and the entire table begins to swear and toss their cards down as I smile.

  The fellas stayed too long, like they always do, but it was a good night. I made out with two grand more of Antonio’s money and even managed to have a good time despite the bullshit that clutters my thoughts.

  I check on Ella and then head to my room down the hall. I’m worn-out, and all night I’ve been thinking about every angle, every move I can make to simplify the problem with Shelby. I need to find out what she wants because it’s hard to believe it’s just her freedom. And if that’s what she’s looking for, she’s in for a rude awakening, I hate her for what she’s done to me, but that’s not the only driving influence for Shelby’s suffering. No. It’s what she’s giving Ella.

  Ella will carry the burden of growing up knowing she was unwanted by her mother. And when my daughter wants to know what I did for her, how I tried to reason with her mother, stop Shelby from doing this to her, I’ll be able to tell Ella that I couldn’t stop Shelby but that I did punish her.

  Tuesday

  IT’S ONLY TUESDAY, BUT I need it to be Friday. This day will be the one that does me in. The only highlight is my text from Luca. He didn’t call me last night like he said he would, but I was pretty happy about that. I could use some time to sit in my thoughts without him clouding my judgment.

  Luca: Sorry I missed our call last night. I got hung up until late.

  Me: It’s not a big deal. I wasn’t waiting by the phone.

  Luca: Ouch.

  Me: Lol.

  Luca: I thought about some things. I sent you something. Trust me, you’ll need it. I just think enough’s enough. Get to work.

  I sit and reread it. What the hell does this mean?

  Me: What? If that’s supposed to make any sense, it doesn’t.

  Luca: You’ll see.

  Me: That’s foreboding…

  Luca: You’re costing me money, gorgeous. Call me tonight.

  I lean back into my office chair and mull over what he’s said. “Enough’s enough…I’ll need it.” What the hell did he get me? A knock at my door calls my attention.

  “Come in.”

  “Ms. Andrews, a package for you.”

  My assistant brings the rectangular-shaped box to my desk and sets it down.

  “Thank you,” I say, leaning in and pulling it toward me.

  The top has been scribbled on; it says Open me at home.

  I don’t even hesitate shooting off a text to him.

  Me: What’s in the box.

  Luca: Do you think I’m made of money and can afford these kinds of distractions?

  Me: Yes. Now answer me.

  Luca: Go home early and find out.

  I set my phone aside, snarling at it. I can’t go home early just to open a box. I open my drawer, looking for a pair of scissors so that I can open the box. Bingo! I grab the steel pair and start slicing open the tape, then stop. I set them down and hit the intercom.

  “Kate, what’s on my calendar today from three on?”

  “Nothing Ms. Andrews, you’re clear. Would you like me to schedule something for you?”

  “No, I think I’ll go home early. I’m not feeling well.” I answer still staring at the box.

  I’m not sure why I’m listening. Maybe I like the game; maybe I know that what’s inside the box is something I need. Whatever it is, I’m going to choose to trust him.

  Pushing the door open to my apartment, I’m excited. It’s felt like Christmas all day, and I couldn’t wait to get home and open this damn box. This better be good. If Luca gave me lingerie, I’ll burn it. I grab my phone out of my purse and send Luca a text.

  Me: Going in.

  My phone immediately rings.

  “Hey,” I answer, happy to hear his voice.

  “Hi, Angel. So, you listened and you’re home early. Is this a first for you?”

  His voice is so, so sexy, I could listen to him recite the weather.

  “Yes. Definitely a first.” I laugh.

  “Happy to have assisted in popping your cherry.”

  His mind lives in the damn gutter.

  I place the box on the coffee table and kick off my shoes, getting comfortable. “It’s the only one you’re getting because I was sluttaaay in high school.”

  His laugh booms through the room, and it makes me smile.

  “I can’t wait to hear all the stories. Now open your gift.”

  I do a little wiggle before sticking my finger where I’d sliced earlier and pull the top open, revealing a bottle of very expensive wine, which I pull out.

  “Ooh la la, fancy wine for me.”

  “There’s something else.” His voice is cautious.

  I push the paper inside the box around and pull out a silver box cutter. Understanding floods my body, and I let out a long breath as I relax back into the couch.

  This is unexpected, and yet, he always seems to know. He’s right. It’s time. Enough’s enough—if I don’t finish what I’ve emotionally started by making dinner the other night and beginning to live again, I’ll revert right back to panic over these goddamn boxes.

  I don’t say anything, and after a minute, Luca starts to speak.

  “Here’s the plan. You need to unpack, get it all out and done before we can move forward. We’re both getting our shit together so we can be in this thing for real. The way we should be, Angel. So, I canceled my day because you don’t want to be alone for this. I know. But I also know that you don’t want me there in person because it’s too tricky. So, I’m here, all night, on the phone with you for as long as needed, baby. But you have to stop pretending to live there—you need to actually move in, Angel.”

  “I need a drink first.” I say nervously.

  I grab the bottle of wine he provided and go to the kitchen, grabbing the wine opener and popping the cork. I reach for a wineglass, but instead snatch Dad’s favorite mug down and fill that. Seems fitting. I take a long gulp and set the mug down.

  “Okay, let’s do this thing.”

  My voice is filled with a confidence I don’t actually possess.

  “Perfect. Now tell me all the stories about how you had sleepovers and practiced kissing on your girlfriends.”

  He isn’t joking; it’s wishful thinking.

  I walk to my room and put him on speaker.

  “That only happened twice. Maybe three times.” I tease, changing out of my work clothes into my favorite black leggings and a T-shirt.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks enthusiastically.

  I have to stifle a laugh at his excitement.

  “Yes,” I answer, then pause as he laughs. “Well…maybe.”

  His groan on the other end of the phone is exactly the kind of humorous distraction I need to get me going.

  Standing in front of the first box, I take the box cutter and slice through the tape.

  “Luca, keep talking. Tell me something, anything. Keep me moving.”

  His voice immediately fills the room as I pull the top open on the first box and see it’s a bunch of books. My dad loved books, and he taught me to love them too. I pull each one out, ignoring the background noise while I remember the times he read them to me and the times I read them myself. I kept ten of my favorites; the rest I donated to the library.

  “Tell me what you’re looking at, Angel.” My silence has gone on for too long. He’s worried.

  I bring one of the hardcovers to my nose and inhale the smell of my memories.

  “Books. My favorite books from his library.”

  I hear Ella in the background, and it makes me smile.

  “Which one is your favorite?” he asks, and I picture him holding Ella while he talks to me.

  “The Secret Garden. Am I on speaker?” I ask a I reach into the box, pul
ling that particular book out.

  “Yes. Why?” he questions.

  “Can Ella hear me?” I open the old book and smooth my hand over the page.

  “She can.”

  I don’t know what possesses me to want to read the words on the page, the ones my dad read to me as a child, but I begin to read the first few lines aloud.

  As I read, I can hear Luca asking Ella if she likes what she’s hearing. I only read a few pages, but my heart is so incredibly full. There’s something about being able to share this memory with someone that made opening the box worth the initial sadness.

  For the next few hours, we sit on the phone as I unpack each box, some harder than others. We’ve been doing this for so long that I’ve unpacked through Luca feeding Ella dinner and putting her down for the night.

  At times, I was completely silent, and he filled the space with jokes and stories about how stupid his brothers are, and other times, I told him happy memories about something I’d found. And then there’s this moment. This moment I didn’t see coming. It’s closure.

  I open the last box I have left and freeze.

  Shit.

  I’d forgotten about this one. When I moved in, I’d started unpacking, getting my closet done and most of my personal boxes opened, but the ones left were all the boxes I knew had my dad’s things mixed in.

  Unpacking started as something to keep my mind off of my grief, then it became something that left me panicked. When I thought about what I would find and how I would feel, I couldn’t handle it, so I buried my head in the sand.

  The whole night’s been bumpy sifting through old pictures and books, but it’s also felt cathartic. Every empty box has been a weight off my shoulders.

  But right now, looking at what’s in front of me, all the dread, all the deep, crippling agonizing grief hits me all at once, and a sob escapes my mouth.

  He’s really gone. My Dad is really gone.

  I look around as the anguish rises inside my body.

  The boxes are done. There aren’t anymore. I don’t have any more of him.

  I’ll never know any more of him. He’ll never like anything new or have some dad opinion about what color I choose to dye my hair.

  I’ll never sit through any torturous conversations about golf and take for granted that if I don’t call him back today, I can do it tomorrow. I’ll never have anyone remind me that I am not alone, when I can’t see past that my mom didn’t want me.

  “Gretchen?” I hear Luca, but I can’t say anything. “Angel, are you crying?”

  Another sob and I try and stop it by covering my mouth. My body shakes as the cries start and don’t stop. I grip my mouth harder, wishing, pleading inside for the hurt to stop, but it doesn’t relent. It won’t stop. I bring my other hand up to cover my mouth as my feet bring me closer to the phone.

  “Gretchen. Answer me.” Luca’s voice booms through the phone.

  I reach to pick it up, the sound of my grief escaping from my lips, but I drop the phone to the floor, unable to hold on due to my shaking hands.

  The floodgates open, and I drop to my knees, weeping, reaching into the box and pulling out my dad’s sweater—the one he always wore, the one I cuddled up to and shed so many tears on when my mom left us, and the one he wore when we celebrated my acceptance to Columbia. And the one he was wearing the last day I made us family dinner.

  That was the last night I saw him alive.

  I pull the familiar fabric to my face and weep into it, rocking back and forth.

  ALL I HEAR ARE HER tears.

  The goddamn phone is still on, after what sounded like she dropped it. She’s sobbing. Fuck. I didn’t want this for her—this wasn’t how I wanted her to feel. I knew it would be hard, but I’ve cast her deep into her own personal hell, and I have to bring her back.

  I stand from the couch and walk quickly to the intercom on the wall in the kitchen. I push the button for Rose’s room.

  “I apologize, Rose, but I have to go out.” I don’t explain further.

  “Not a problem, Mr. King, I’ll go sit with Ella.”

  “Thank you, Rose.”

  I grab the keys from my office and burst through my garage, running to the car. Once I’m in my car, I barely wait for the garage to open enough before backing out and shooting onto the empty street.

  The car picked up the call the moment I turned it on, and no matter how many times I call her name, she doesn’t answer me. So I stop and concentrate on weaving through traffic. I’m driving at speeds way too fast to be legal. But I’m driven by the need to get to her. I know it’s not what she wants, but it’s what she needs.

  Her sobs are like daggers to my heart, and I force myself to hear every single damn one. This is my fault, and I should suffer next to her.

  The minute I’m in front of her building, I throw the car into park and jump out, uncaring if I parked illegally or not. I race through her lobby doors and forgo the elevator for the stairs, taking two at a time. The minute I get to her floor, I push through, not breaking my stride, and get to her door.

  My breath is ragged, and my adrenaline is shooting through the roof, but I try and calm myself, rapping my knuckles against the door softly.

  “Gretchen, I’m here.”

  Nothing. I pull the phone to my ear and the line is dead. What the fuck.

  “Baby, open the door.” I coax.

  I knock again.

  “Angel, open the door. I’m here, let me in.” I plead.

  I can’t hear anything. I push back off the frame and size the door up. I’ll kick it in. Fuck it. My hands pull into fists, gathering the strength I’ll need, when her lock sounds and the door cracks open, held back by the chain.

  I rush to the opening, “Angel, open the door.”

  I put my hand around the door through the opening. Her fingers brush mine on the other side.

  “I can’t.”

  Her voice sounds destroyed, she sounds so fucking sad. I grip the door harder, wishing I could push it open. But I don’t. I stand as close as I can, resting my head against it.

  “Angel.” I feel her wet cheek against my fingers, and it kills me. “I need to know you’re okay. I’m so sorry I did this.”

  Her face peeks through the opening, and my head tips back, eyes closing at the agony of her tear-stained cheeks.

  Her voice is so determined. “If I let you in, I’ll fall into you and never make it back out. I love you for making me do this. It’s just really fucking sad. But it’s important to feel it. I’m not okay, but I will be, and I owe that to you.”

  She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever met. My heart aches at her words, and I make a fist on the door and pull back.

  “I’m here. You know that.” The strain in my voice gives away guilt for causing this.

  “I do. But I don’t want to dirty my hurt with regret. You know?”

  I do know, and even if I didn’t, I would move heaven and earth for this woman.

  I hate that I can’t be there for her the way I want to be. I’m starting to wonder how long my hate and my need for retribution will rule over what I’m feeling for Gretchen.

  The door shuts slowly, and I look down the hall to the right and then the left. It feels wrong to walk away.

  The only direction my mind will even comprehend leads directly to Gretchen. I can’t leave her. It’s not a choice; I feel tied to her.

  She’s become a part of me, so deep that my breath is hers because she’s what gives me life. I put my hand against the door and lower myself to the floor, leaning my back against it and resting my forearms on my knees. My head hangs, and I listen to her quiet cries through the door. I won’t leave my girl alone. She’ll never be alone again.

  I sit against the door, quietly listening to her until her tears finally stop.

  “Luca?” Her voice comes from behind the door. She must be sitting next to it too.

  “I’m here, Angel.”

  Her voice is hoarse but sweet.

 
“Thank you.”

  “Quando saremo vecchi e grigi, ti dirò che oggi è quando ho aputo che ti amavo.” When we’re old and gray, I’ll tell you that today is when I knew I loved you.

  “English?” she sweetly requests.

  “Not today, Angel. Go. Sleep.”

  I hear her get up, and her footsteps move farther away. I stand from where I’ve been posted and look at the door for a moment, finally turning to walk away down the hall.

  It’s not what I want, but it’s what she needs.

  Thursday

  LIFE IS THE MOST BIZARRE adventure. One minute I’m crying on my floor and wishing I was sitting in Luca’s lap. The next minute, I’m awake in my bed feeling slightly guilty that I’m relieved. It’s been a couple of days since I felt all the damn feelings, and I finally feel…good. Awake from the fog I was in.

  I pull myself out of bed and stand to stretch, walking out of my bedroom and into my kitchen without weaving around anything. It’s like my life just got a clean slate.

  My grief doesn’t feel like a burden anymore, because I started dealing with it. Or I was pushed into dealing with it by Luca. I’ll love him forever for this.

  Whoa, did I just say love?

  I push the thought out of my mind and go about making coffee and getting ready for work. I grab my phone off the counter where I left it charging last night and see a waiting text from Luca.

  I grin into my warm coffee cup, the steam rising over my lip.

  Luca: Good morning. I hope you had dirty, filthy dreams about me.

  This has become our weird routine. He calls me every night, and we talk about everything and nothing all at once. And with every start of my day, he leaves me a good-morning text.

  Me: I did dream about you. You were single and ready to mingle, and I let you touch my…

  Luca: Monster. I won’t forget that, Angel.

  Me: I’m not a monster. I’m so much smarter than that…I’m the villain.

  Luca: All right, Cruella. 7 tonight.