Too Late: The Don's Regretful Pursuit

The next morning, the house was submerged in silence.

It wasn't a peaceful quiet; it was heavy and oppressive, like the static in the air before a tornado touches down.

I walked into the kitchen, my footsteps echoing on the tile.

Jax was already there, leaning against the granite island with his usual imposing grace, nursing a black coffee.

Catalina was sitting on the counter-my counter-swinging her legs back and forth.

She was wearing one of his oversized t-shirts.

My t-shirt.

The vintage band tee I had stolen from him in college, back when we were something else entirely.

Jax looked up as I entered.

He didn't look guilty.

He looked annoyed, as if my presence were static interrupting a scheduled broadcast of his happiness.

"You left early last night," he said.

It wasn't a question.

It was an accusation.

"I had a headache," I lied again.

It was becoming a habit, a shield I raised automatically.

He pushed a ceramic mug across the island toward me.

"I poured you one."

It was a peace offering.

A pathetic, lukewarm gesture intended to wash away the humiliation of the night before.

He actually thought he could buy my compliance with caffeine.

"No, thank you," I said softly.

I walked past him to the fridge, angling my body to ensure my arm didn't graze his.

I treated him like he was radioactive.

Jax frowned, his brow furrowing.

"Don't start, Eliana. Cat was just having fun. You don't have to be so stiff all the time."

Stiff.

That was his word for dignity.

"I'm going to the studio," I said, grabbing a bottle of water and turning away.

"About that," Jax said, scratching the back of his neck.

I paused.

"Cat needed a place to store her things," he continued, his voice casual. "Her apartment isn't safe right now. I had the boys move some boxes into the studio."

I froze, the cold water bottle biting into my palm.

The dance studio was my sanctuary.

It was the only place in this fortress of testosterone and violence that belonged solely to me.

"You did what?"

"It's temporary," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Just until the heat dies down on her family's side. You weren't using it much anyway."

I used it every day.

He just never noticed.

I walked out of the kitchen without another word.

I went straight to the studio.

It was ruined.

Cardboard boxes were stacked floor to ceiling, walling off the mirrors.

A rolling rack of Catalina's designer coats stood in the center of the floor, the metal wheels scratching the specialized wood I had imported from Italy.

My ballet barre was being used to hang a wet towel.

I stared at it.

I expected anger.

I expected to want to scream, to throw her cheap coats out into the rain.

But I felt nothing.

Just a quiet, terrifying calm that settled over me like a shroud.

I turned around and walked back to my room.

I pulled a suitcase from the top shelf of the closet.

I didn't pack everything.

That would raise alarms.

Jax had guards stationed at every gate.

If I looked like I was running, I'd be locked in the basement before I reached the driveway.

I packed only the essentials.

My passport.

The cash I had been squirreling away from the household budget for months.

A few plain clothes that wouldn't draw attention.

Then, I opened the jewelry box Jax had filled over the years.

Diamonds, rubies, sapphires.

Blood money turned into pretty, cold rocks.

I took them all out and slid them into a velvet bag.

I walked downstairs and found the head housekeeper, Maria.

She had raised Jax.

She loved him, but she looked at me with sad, knowing eyes.

"Maria," I said, pressing the bag into her hands. "Take these. Sell them. Keep the money for your retirement."

Her eyes widened in panic. "Miss Eliana, I can't. The Don..."

"The Don doesn't know what he has," I said softly.

"And he won't notice they're gone. He never looks at me closely enough to notice what I'm wearing anymore."

Later that afternoon, there was a gathering in the main lounge.

The Capos were reporting on the week's earnings.

Catalina was there, of course.

She was recounting Jax's schedule for the next week to one of the Lieutenants, acting as if she were his secretary and his wife rolled into one.

"He likes his coffee at eight, not seven," she chirped, her voice grating against my nerves. "And he hates the blue ties. Only black."

The Lieutenant looked uncomfortable.

He glanced at me.

I sat in the corner, staring at a book I wasn't actually reading.

"She really knows the Boss inside out," a Capo's wife whispered loudly to her neighbor.

"Maybe she's the better fit. More... spirited."

I turned the page without seeing the words.

Jax walked in then.

He went straight to Catalina, placing a possessive hand on her shoulder.

Then, he looked at me, sitting alone in the periphery.

For a second, his face softened.

He took a step toward me.

I stood up immediately.

"I need to rest."

I walked away before he could speak.

From the corner of my eye, I saw his hand drop to his side.

He looked confused.

He looked like a man who was used to the sun always rising at his command, suddenly baffled by an eclipse.

He went back to Catalina.

And I went back to planning my escape.