Fate Want Something Else

He was the only person who stood by my side when I screwed up. He protected me, and while every man in my life protects me, Ricardo did it without being overbearing. I spoke to him on the phone just a month ago.

“H-how did this happen?” I ask tremblingly, my eyes filling with tears.

“I’ll explain everything later. It’s a complete mess, Elena,” my brother says, not at all like his usual cheerful self.

“I know, I know. I’ll be home tomorrow,” I say hastily.

“What about Dad? Is he okay?”

No matter how much I have to worry about in New York, I need to be there for my family.

“Dad is fine. Look, I have to go. Text me when you land, I’ll have someone come and see you off from the airport.”

“That’s not…”

“Don’t tell me you need to do something right now, Elena.”

I bite my tongue and grit my teeth.

“I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He hangs up, and I let out a shaky breath. It takes me a few more seconds to get my nerves under control and my emotions under control before I turn to Cal, who’s leaning against the wall.

“I’m sorry. I have to go.”

I have so many things to do before I leave Boston. First of all, I need to talk to my boss and ask for time off. The conversation probably won’t go well, but I’ll explain that it’s a family emergency. Luckily, she likes me.

“It’s okay. Need a ride?”

I shake my head and smile at him. Cal is a prime example of how looks can be deceiving. Most other guys would be very unhappy about the abrupt end to a potential hookup. He’s acting pretty calm.

“No, it’s okay. Go back there. Maybe you'll have even better luck and find someone hotter than me,”  I tease.

He laughs.

"I doubt it. Goodbye, Elena."

He walks back to the club as I order a cab. My mind is racing as I try to imagine what everyone back home is going through.

……

When I get to New York, I'm taken to my family's house first. My dad and brother aren't around, which is typical. They don't spend much time here. I leave all my luggage behind before asking to be driven to where I hope they are.

I'm surprised at how empty it is when I arrive at De Luca's compound. Usually, a few men are milling about, patrolling, talking, and scheming.

They're not usually allowed into the main house, but they're always around. Today, however, it's empty. Aside from a few men standing guard, there's no one here, no cars, and almost no noise.

The guards don't stop me when I approach the front door; they know who I am. I haven't been here in over a year, choosing to limit my short visits to the city to my family home. But I once considered this place my second home.

The house is fairly simple. Creamy, smooth walls and modern furniture. There are many works of art here, mostly sculptures and clay figures made or bought by Rosario De Luca. The youngest De Luca is one of my friends and an art prodigy. I am always amazed by what she can create with her hands.

I walk up the stairs and down the hall, deciding to start in Rosa's bedroom, looking for someone to talk to. I stop in front of the door when I realize she is inside. I can hear her voice, soft and lyrical, but now she sounds terrified.

She speaks in a low, muffled voice, trying her best to comfort her mother. The door is ajar, and I see Rosa on the bed next to my mother, her head resting on the headboard. Tears are streaming down Matriarch De Luca's face. My chest cracks a little at the sight.

Maria never really liked me. She always said I was too much. Too wild, too loud. I talked too much and did things carelessly. I was the opposite of a good Italian girl. She hated my recklessness. There was a time, after my mother had left, that Maria came over, trying to fill her space.

She wanted us to see her as a mother, too. Although Tony was only too happy about it, I couldn't bear the thought and pushed her away. I may have said something hurtful along the way.

I was thirteen years old and grieving over being abandoned. But Maria was listening; she backed away, and we spent the last decade tiptoeing around each other.

Still, I want to move forward and comfort her. I have no idea what to do in these situations. What do I say to a woman who has just lost her husband?

Fortunately, Rosa looks up and notices me. She gives me a shaky smile and motions for me to give her a minute. I move away from the door and lean against the wall across the hall.

Two minutes later, Rose comes out. She’s two years younger than me, with long, shiny black hair. She has gorgeous blue eyes and a sweet, doll-like face. She’s tall and slender.

I’ve never seen Rose look less than put together. But right now, she’s a mess. Her eyes are smeared with mascara, her cheeks are clammy, and I can tell she’s barely holding herself together.

Without hesitation, I step forward and pull her into my arms.

“Oh, God, Rose. I’m so sorry,” I breathe, even though I don’t think it’s enough. It will never be enough.

She hugs me back for a few seconds before pulling away.

“Who told you? Tony?”

I nod.

“He was really upset. How are you holding up?”

“Well, I’m still in denial. I keep thinking this is a joke and my dad’s going to come up the stairs and hug me, you know?”

“I know, honey,” I say quietly.

She has no idea. I spent the first two months after my mother disappeared believing that she’d come home and we’d be a family again. Even though the situations are incomparable. My mother left me. Rose’s father died.

“Come on, let’s go downstairs. Mom asked for peace,” she says, taking my hand.

“Are you sure you should leave her alone?” I say hesitantly.

Rose nods.