Reckless Games (Reckless Mafia #1)

Chapter 27

Lorenzo

5 months later

Five months, eight days, eleven hours, and still counting…

That’s how long it had been since I lost everything. Since I lost her . Since the world around me became barren, like a desolate wasteland. Each day bled into the next, giving me an endless cycle of grief and despair. Time became meaningless, a cruel reminder of the moments slipping by without her.

I had lost my will to live and my reason to breathe. Every morning, I woke to the unbearable weight of her absence, my heart aching with a void that could never be filled. Her smile, her voice, the way she looked at me–all gone in an instant, leaving behind a broken shell of the man I once was.

I tried to end it, to escape the relentless pain that clawed at my soul. But Declan, Emir, Leo and Giovanni always seemed to catch me in the act. They'd knock me out of it, quite literally, dragging me back from the brink time and time again. Thankfully, Declan, Emir, and Leo left Sicily last month when I begged them to leave me alone. I hated them for it. Hated them for keeping me in this hellish existence. Hated them for not understanding the depth of my anguish. They’d tell me to stay strong, to move on. But how could I? How could I when the only person who ever made life worth living was gone? They couldn’t comprehend the darkness that had consumed me, the black hole that my heart had become.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, but the pain never lessened. If anything, it grew sharper, more insidious. I wandered through life like a ghost—disconnected and hollow. Food lost its taste, sleep brought no relief, and every waking moment was a reminder of my failure. The once vibrant colors of the world had dulled to a grayscale monotony.

I found myself sitting by the river often, staring into its depths, haunted by that night. I’d replay the scene over and over, wishing for a different outcome, wishing I hadn’t pressed the trigger. Some nights, I’d scream her name into the darkness with my voice raw and broken. I’d cry, hoping, against the odds, that she’d somehow hear me, that she’d come back. But the silence that followed was always deafening.

Every breath I took was a struggle, every heartbeat a painful reminder that I was still here while she was not. The weight of her loss crushed me, making it hard to stand, to move, to exist. And through it all, the only thought that kept me tethered to this wretched world was the hope that one day I’d find her again, wherever she was. One day, this torment would end, and I’d be with her once more.

They all tried to convince me every day that she was gone for good. But my heart screamed otherwise. It hasn't lost hope. It clings to the desperate belief that she is just hiding from me momentarily, that she’s out there somewhere, angry and hurt, but alive.

They call me every day to repeat the same thing over and over again. ‘To forget her.’ But they don’t understand. They don’t know that she was my oxygen. She was the air I breathed, the pulse in my veins, and the beat of my heart. And how can one ever forget to breathe? It’s the answer in itself. It’s involuntary. I have no control over it.

I replay our last moments together over and over, searching for a sign, a clue, anything that might suggest she survived. Every waking moment is consumed by the thought of her, by the hope that she’s just beyond my reach, waiting to be found.

But deep down, a small voice whispers that I’m a fool—that I’m clinging to a ghost. My friends see it too. They watch me with pity in their eyes, their patience wearing thin. They’ve tried everything to pull me back to reality, to make me see that she’s gone. But my heart refuses to listen. It beats to the rhythm of her name.

I sat in front of the fireplace, watching the flames dance and flicker, their warmth mocking the cold emptiness inside me. My mind was a cruel tormentor, replaying the scene in slow motion. The bullet leaving my gun, Angela's smile, her final words echoing in my ears.

I never miss Lorenzo.

The memory was a loop I couldn't escape. I shut my eyes painfully, trying to block out the image, but it was burned into my soul. The guilt gnawed at me like a relentless beast that wouldn't let go. My hand, the one that had pulled the trigger, felt heavy with the weight of my actions. I deserved punishment for what I had done. Leaning closer to the fireplace, I stretched out my hand, letting the heat begin to sear my skin. The pain was sharp, a momentary distraction. But honestly, it was nothing compared to the inferno raging in my heart. And she was both the cause and cure for it.

The heat grew more intense, the pain more acute, but I welcomed it. I needed it. I needed to feel something—anything other than the crushing weight of my remorse.

But suddenly, I was yanked back by a forceful grip, pulling me away from the flames. I gasped, disoriented, as Giovanni's face came into focus. His eyes were wide with alarm and fury.

"Capo, what the hell are you doing?" He shouted. He gripped my shoulders, shaking me as if to jolt me back to reality.

I looked down at my hand. The skin was reddened and beginning to blister. The physical pain paled in comparison to the torment in my heart. "You can't keep doing this to yourself," Giovanni said, his voice softer now. "Angela wouldn't want this. She wouldn't want you to destroy yourself."

His words sliced through me when he mentioned the woman I had loved. The woman I had betrayed.

"I deserve this," I muttered in my voice broken. "I deserve to suffer for what I did to her."

Giovanni's grip tightened on my shoulders, his eyes boring into mine. "No, Capo. You need to live. You need to find a way to move forward. For her. For yourself." I shook my head, unable to see a way out of the darkness. "Please," he said, his voice cracking. "Don't let her death be the end of you. Fight for her memory. Fight for your own redemption." His words hung in the air as a lifeline I wasn't sure I had the strength to grasp. But then I realised the word he used.

Death.

Instant rage found its way into my nerves, electrifying my entire body. I grabbed a vase and hurled it across the room, watching it shatter into countless pieces against the wall. "She’s not dead! I know she isn’t!" I shouted, my voice echoing in the empty room. "I will find her. None of you understand. She cannot leave me, not like this. I won’t allow it! She was mine, and forever will be. I will not let her go."

They think I’m going mad, that I’m delusional, and that I need a psychiatrist? But who will tell them that I’m not mad! They don't know it, but my heart knows that she is alive. I just need to find her. And then I will beg her to forgive me for my actions. Beg her on my knees until she forgives.