Worn by Love and Hate
Seven years ago, my mafia husband, Sergio Wexler, had me committed to a psychiatric ward.
On the day I was released, I changed my name, cut my hair short, and vanished like a ghost.
Seven years later, we meet again at the grave of my brother, Luca Lorusso.
The bouquet in his hand falls with a soft thud.
Sergio clenches his fists tightly, barely holding back emotions that threaten to break through his usual calm.
"Janella, why the short hair? I almost didn't recognize you. Where have you been all these years? After that fire at the psych ward, I pulled every string I had, but I never got any leads on you. I've been looking for you for seven years. I even thought you were… dead."
When I stay silent, he rubs his red-rimmed eyes. "You're avoiding me, aren't you? Do you still hate me for having you locked up? Believe me, I had no choice."
I let out a bitter laugh.
Sergio killed Luca to become the Don. He slept with Luca's woman and locked me in that dark, windowless "special ward", nearly erasing me from existence.
And now, here he is at Luca's grave, playing the victim.
To me, any love and hate I had for Sergio died long ago in that tiny, suffocating ward.
Now, he's just a stranger to me.