Carl was sitting at their usual table, behind the glass-paneled wine showcase at the center of the restaurant. He had been there for some time, judging from the wine that had already been opened and the glass that was almost empty. It was a usual sight, a picture she had seen a hundred times maybe. This was one of their most favorite restaurants and Carl had always been early. He had never been late with her.

It felt too familiar for her liking. It felt...like she could just walk over, take that seat, and everything would get back to normal.

Normal. She shook that word out of her mind. Like there's anything wrong with your life without him in it, Gia.

He saw her the moment she walked in. He had been watching the entrance, waiting, she supposed. She never replied to that message, after all, but Carl was Carl, he would come and wait anyway, every time.

"Hi," he said as she reached the table, his face lit up, as always, like a boy seeing a favorite candy he could never have enough of.

She took her seat without a word, watching him pour her a glass of wine. Her favorite label, of course. He remembered everything, from the way she liked her steak cooked to where she usually left her keys—or lost them. Little things she hadn't even noticed she was doing. Carl paid attention, always.

Had he also noticed, she wondered, that she liked to tuck her hair behind her ear when something got under her skin?

"I ordered the usual for you," he said then pressed his lips together, like he'd just chewed on something bitter. "Is that okay?"

It's something you've always done. Now you have to ask. Appropriate, yes, painful nonetheless. He tips toes around me now.

"It's fine." She picked up the glass for a sip, aware that he was watching her every move, trying to read her thoughts. She never thought she'd find Eros' ability to read her mind to be useful. Comes in handy when you don't want to talk about something.

"How are you?" There was something genuine in the way he said those words, one she did not welcome.

"I'm not here to talk about me," she said. That came out more bitter than she wanted to show.

He nodded, the smile fading. "I figured you'd have questions."

"What do they have on you?" She asked, looking straight at him.

He stumbled at that. Refused to answer the question. "Can we have some lunch together? Gia? For a moment at least?"

She leaned back on her chair, swirling her wine on the table. "Let me make something clear to you, Carl," she said, an anger, a rage building in her chest. "My time is valuable. I spend it on two things: making money or hanging out with people who put me first. Since you're not paying me and you've failed the latter, you don't get to have more of my time than I need to find out something I want to know. You know me. You know I'm not here to get you back or reminisce on old times. Answer my question. What do they have on you?"

He drew a breath, sighed heavily and looked away for a moment before returning to catch her gaze. He did that every time she backed him into a corner. "My family, Gia," he said. "My mother, my sister, my brother. Their lives are on the line if I don't agree to this. It's you or them, and I chose them. Are you happy now?"

"Why?" She knew they were mafias. It still didn't answer her question. "Why you? There are other men in the hotel business to catch. Why go so far as to threaten them over this?"

A resentful smile played about his lips as he spoke. "Because Olivia happens to want me, and she happens to have a very doting brother, among other things."

"She happens to want you?"

"I didn't fuck her, if that's what you mean," he said harshly. Carl wasn't the kind of man who swears a lot. When he did, it usually meant someone had pushed him beyond his limits. "Not when we were together."

"Only afterward?"

A sneer. "Along with maybe an entire pageant. Just for the sake of it."

She remembered then, that Carl could be vicious when he was angry. "To hurt Olivia."

"She took something from me," he said, catching her gaze, not smiling now. "Something I planned to live with for the rest of my life."

A finger to the heart, that. Creatures invading her stomach she didn't welcome. "You speak as if you were about to propose to me. Don't give me that crap, Carl."

He looked at her from across the table, took something out of his jacket as he did, and tossed it in front of her. "I was going to propose to you. The fucking ring came late. It arrived this morning. I thought you might as well have it. That's why I'm here."

She stared at the black and gold box, not sure how she was supposed to feel. "You've been engaged for a month."

"I'm not going to give you something that takes less than two months to craft, Gia. You can believe me or you don't have to. It doesn't matter now. I just thought you should have it. Sell it, if you want." He took a sip of the wine, finished it, and poured himself another glass. "It was made for you, in any case."

She let the ring sit between them, untouched. An evident of something lost she didn't want to open, to see. She might get burned from it. She wasn't sure she hadn't already.

"You should have told me. I would have helped you."

"I'm a man, Gianna," said Carl. "Leave me that much pride at least."

"Your pride? What about mine?"

"Gia. This is my problem."

"It concerns me."

"It's dangerous."

"It's my life, Carl," she realized she was raising her voice. Didn't care. "My lost opportunity. I invested two years on you. I expect to have a say in it. You never gave me a chance to fight. You cast me out like I'm some invalid, dumb damsel in distress who can't handle problems if it's bigger than domestic chores. You had no right to decide this on your own and you know it. "

"I'm not going to put you in danger," he said firmly, immovably. The concept, somehow, was unimaginable to him.

"I can take care of myself," she said, trembling now for everything that had happened. "And if you think I can't handle Antonio Bellucci, then you don't know or respect me enough to marry me. Get off the table. I will have this lunch alone and if you touch the bill I will make sure you suffer for it worse than what Antonio can do. Leave."

He sat there for a while, looking at her, his chest heaving from a mixture of hurt and rage but not regret. Carl regretted nothing. He never had. "For what it's worth, Gia," he said, rising from the table, "I loved us. I still do."

There was a lump in her throat as he walked away, one large enough to bring tears to her eye if she'd allowed it to linger. But tears were going to have to wait. She had something more important to do.

She picked up her phone and called her assistance. Rubbing her thumb on the stem of the wine glass impatiently. "Emily," she drew a breath, calmed herself for a second. "Find out where Olivia Bellucci is. I want to talk to her. In two hours."

***

The girl looked like she'd seen a ghost when she walked out of the treatment room to see her. Girl was the right word. Olivia was just fresh out of college and looked it. In Gia's world, it was going to take Olivia fifty more scars and at least five years of scraping human remains off her heels to become a woman she could call a fair fight. She didn't come here to fight, really. She just came to find out something.

"I'd like to talk to you for a moment," she told Olivia. "It won't take longer than fifteen minutes. I have a meeting at two. I've booked a private room for half an hour." She turned to the spa manager and gave her a nod. "You can take us there, now."

Olivia followed quietly without objections, of course. There were ways you could make people obey without doing much. First skill you had to learn to manage a business and its employees, and hers was a multi-billion one with hundreds of arrogant, ambitious, blood-sucking, high-salary executive animals she had to be in direct contact with and whip into shape. And from the looks of it, the girl had been under her brother's command for so long she'd crack at a raised voice. Poor girl, yes, but there must be charities for rich girls abused by own family somewhere she could attend. She didn't run one.

The private treatment room had a view of a mini courtyard, not too different from Eros' bathroom, actually, only Eros' was better designed, and the garden larger. A pair of leather armchair had been placed on the small porch outside and Gia took a seat in one, gesturing for Olivia to take the other. "Sit," she told her, turning to the spa manager. "Tea. Peppermint. For two."

The spa manager excused herself to get the drinks, leaving the two of them in the privacy of the garden for a few minutes before she returned with the tea. Gia waited for her to leave again before beginning the conversation. All the while, Olivia sat back in her chair rigidly, terrified, of course, to the point of trembling. Gia knew she had that effect on people sometimes when she wanted to intimidate, but that day she was simply pissed enough to make a room full of executives consider calling in sick if they sensed such a mood before a meeting.

She sipped the tea, placed it down on the table. The clang of the bone China made Olivia jolt. "Do you know who I am?" They had been introduced, of course, but the question was more than that, if the girl wasn't a total idiot.

She swallowed. Nodded. "Yes."

Not a total idiot, apparently. "Do you know my relationship with Carl?"

Another swallow, whatever was in her throat was a larger chunk this time. "I do."

"Did you?" She asked. "When you decided to go after him?"

She closed her hands around the folds of her skirt, stared at the engagement ring on her finger, and made a decision. "I did. He made it clear."

At the very least, he didn't lie to her. "And that didn't stop you?"

She drew her breath, pulled her shoulders back, sat taller. That surprised Gia a little. "No. I'm in love with him."

There was a lot of conviction in that statement, in the way she said it, in how she held herself. Somehow, somewhere, the girl in that chair disappeared, replaced by someone Gia would consider a competition. She had to admit she didn't see it coming. "He doesn't love you."

A touch of vulnerability came back, a stumble in her breathing, but not enough to push her back into the seat. "I know," Olivia Bellucci said, looking up, this time, catching Gia's eyes and held them.

The atmosphere changed. She felt something slipping from her hand. Anger, control, maybe power. Strange. "It doesn't matter to you?"

"No." The answer came readily, steadily. Gia realized then, that Olivia must have asked herself that question more than once, and had decided on the answer long ago.

How was it, that she could say such things with so much confidence? Without shame? "You are content with marrying a man who doesn't love you."

Olivia drew herself up straight, hands still clenched on her knees, but she didn't flinch, not even a little when she said, "I will have him any way he comes. At any cost. Will you? Miss Moretti? Will you have him, at any cost?"

Would she? It was a question that aimed to wound, to strike at her heart. She wouldn't do that for him, for anyone, and she knew it. She wouldn't go that far. "Not for a man who doesn't love me."

Olivia smiled then. She smiled, like someone who had just won a hand at poker. That little girl was somehow transformed into this confident, decisive woman, someone who knew better. Did love do that? Or was it something else? "If you will only love something that loves you back," said Olivia calmly, almost in pity, "if you only love to succeed, Miss Moretti, then you don't know love at all."

It stunned her for a moment, like having water thrown in her face, like a slap she hadn't seen coming. An image of Eros came back to her mind, the way he'd looked when he talked about his past lovers.

"For loving something that will die before me? Or for still welcoming it?"

He had the same look on his face then, the exact same expression Olivia was wearing. Something of strength, of unwavering dedication, of courage to take whatever comes and savor whatever life offers with gratitude. She wondered then if she'd ever had that look on her face. Have I ever loved something that much?

Have I ever loved at all?

Olivia rose from the chair, smiling, the fear on her face was gone, so was the pain. "I've always envied you," she said. "I've seen how much he loves you. I still see it now. I may or may never get what you have, but I want to try. I think that it's worth fighting for, which is a lot more than you're willing to do for him. I don't know why you came or what you want from me, but I know what I'm doing and whether or not you will fight to have him back, you won't get rid of me. Neither will he, with or without my brother having a hand in it."

Olivia turned to walk out the door, leaving her with what felt like a concept she could never understand. "For how long?" Gia heard herself ask almost absentmindedly. "How long have you been in love with him?"

"He didn't tell you?" She asked, innocently.

"Tell me what?"

"We were childhood friends," she told her. "It was you who took him from me, not the other way around."

***