King of Stars (The Next Generation #2)

40. Stella

Chapter 40

Stella

N o foul play had been suspected in Damon Carter’s death, but that didn’t stop two detectives from coming to the hotel, the same room we’d met with Carter in, to question Matteo and his men. I was just glad I’d decided not to wear the necklace he’d given me. I’d been wearing the shark’s tooth and starfish necklace practically nonstop.

Matteo didn’t seem bothered by it in the least. He was as cool, collected, and formidable as he ever was. Same with Rocco, who had met us there for the questioning.

It seemed like a big waste of time. One of the detectives had an Italian last name, and it seemed like a reunion more than an inquiry. Though I did get some details. Off the record, the detective said that it seemed like Carter had been fed to the sharks. The coroner found a hook inside of his neck when his head washed ashore. His heart and other organs had not been found.

“Sharks,” Rocco said, sitting back, fixing his suit after the detectives left. “How creative.”

Matteo didn’t grin or give any indication that the remark was made for him, but it was something about the glance of their eyes that told me Matteo probably took it as a compliment. He handed Rocco a glass of whiskey, and they toasted.

I had to start watching those glances and touches.

Shit.

Matteo would run this family with glances and touches. No words even had to be spoken for him to rule.

He seemed to tap into my train of thought, because he nodded at me, like he was answering my thoughts.

The truth, he seemed to say.

It took me a while to process just how powerful he was. Especially when he stepped out of Italy, out of the shadow of his family, and into his own shoes. One day, though, Italy would be his, and my husband could order a man’s murder with just a blink and squeeze of a shoulder.

AH! Was that why Oscar was…more content after Noemi left? Oscar wanted Carter gone because he was an ass to Noemi, and more than that, he knew the competition for her love would soon be sleeping with the fishes?

Did she know? Is that why she left?

I honestly would have chosen to think about all that stuff instead of the sorrow continually screaming inside of me, like an old ghost crying to be free. It would take us mere hours to get to Louisiana, and whenever I thought about it, both excitement and dread kept flipping my emotional state upside down and right side up.

I’d looked forward to the day I made it back home to my mom since the day she left me in Paris. Looked forward to was a meek way of even describing it. I lived for it. And as the patchwork state of Louisiana passed underneath the plane, it felt like we had left California only seconds ago.

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through the panic, but it kept happening—that feeling that, at any second, the plane’s bottom would fall out and me with it.

Though Matteo was mighty, he didn’t have wings, and I wasn’t sure if even he could save me this time. He seemed to know that I would change after this. And maybe that scared me too.

What if he couldn’t accept the new me?

What if I couldn’t accept the new me?

The plane touched down, and Matteo stood, giving me his hand. He lifted me to my feet, but he didn’t move.

He looked down at me and touched my chin. “A butterfly is always a butterfly,” he said, his voice rough. “No matter how many color changes her wings go through, ah?”

“Does that mean…you’ll still love me even if I’m not myself? Even if I change?”

“Despite it and because of it.” He gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and I shivered.

He took my hand and led me off the plane, and my first step onto home soil brought back saturated memories. The day was thick with humidity, and I remembered it. I remembered the smell of the air and the feel of it against my skin. I remembered leaving it behind.

I was welcoming it in my lungs, but the disappointment of not going straight to my mom hit me like a tidal wave and almost brought me down. Matteo picked me up and carried me to the waiting car. He kept my hand in his as he drove.

I recognized New Orleans, but not the other roads, which was kind of a relief. I’d never been to Natchitoches. Strange streets were a reprieve from the constant barrage of memories.

Still.

It wouldn’t stop. The pain of wanting.

Wanting to take the roads to my mom.

Wanting to hug her.

Wanting to cry into her shoulder and smell her hair, wrapping a strand of it around my finger like I did when I was a kid.

Wanting to feel her kiss on my tear-soaked cheeks and hear her saying, “Whatcha crying for, bestie boo? We’re together now, so there’s nothing to cry about.” Even though she’d be crying too.

That awful, clawing thing ripping me apart on the inside had grown even sharper claws, and it felt like it had found its way to my heart.

Matteo parked in his parents’ driveway, and when he got out to open my door, a whimper-sob erupted from my mouth. I was able to hold it down as he gave me his hand. It was Sunday, so his entire family had gotten together for dinner, and they were waiting outside, watching as we got out of the car. But one pair of eyes were on me, and they were heavy, reflecting the sadness that was stirring a scary storm inside of me.

Scarlett.

When our eyes met, she held her arms out and whispered, “ Bebe .” I fell into them, and even though I wasn’t crying, on the inside, I felt like I was sobbing my blood out. It got hot in her arms, fast, and I wasn’t sure why. But when I broke away a little, I realized the entire family had huddled around us, and just like she had done, they brought me in and protected me with their arms.