Life Before Damaged Vol. 10 (The Ferro Family)

T
his book is
a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by H.M. Ward

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.

LAREE BAILEY PRESS

First Edition: November 2015

I
haven’t written
in my journal in almost a month. It’s crazy how time slips away when I’m joyful. Lately, my life has been more than happy—it’s been blissfully perfect. It's hard to believe that in ten days Pete will officially be my fiancé and, in just a few short months after that, I’ll be his wife!

Mrs. Peter Ferro has a nice ring to it.

Constance has every detail of our engagement planned—all the way down to the super-sized Ferro ring I’ll wear. It’s gigantic, and it’s not really me. I don't want a big extravagant ring, but I know how important heirlooms can be to old money families. As long as Pete and I get engaged by the end of the night, that’s all that matters.

Pete has been amazing. He keeps saying he's changed, that I changed him. I know what he means, but I don’t think it was all me. The man I've been with this past month has always been inside of him—Pete simply chose not to let him out. People don’t change, not really. They evolve and learn from their mistakes, but what defines them as a person, never really leaves. I’m still the good girl, the dreamer I’ve always been, and Pete is still the intense lover and fighter. But together, we bring out the best in each other. He makes me feel powerful, confident, and bold, whereas I seem to channel Pete’s passion in ways that help him, rather than hinder him.

We have a date tonight, a public one. Constance is purposefully leaking our whereabouts to make sure the paparazzi get good pictures of us finally acting the happy couple. Philip Gambino told the press what I told him when I first broke up with him, the part about the business merger and how Pete and I didn't love each other. When articles about our fabricated relationship began to appear in the gossip rags, Constance was intensely scary.

Tonight’s charity event for a downtown orphanage will provide lots of positive press. A hot billionaire giving money to lonely kids at Christmas will make ovaries explode all over the world—and that will make Connie very happy.

God knows I need to make her happy somehow. These days, I’m solidly on her shitlist. She wasn’t thrilled about my encounter with Philip and his friends. It was messy and a lot of people needed to be silenced. I don’t know which sleazy character she paid off, but it worked. I’m no longer in their crosshairs. Although I know I should stop looking over my shoulder and jumping at every unexpected sound, I’m still on edge. Pissing off that family was like putting a bullseye on my back. It comes down to which family has more power because a move against me will be a strike at the entire Ferro clan.

For all the help Constance has been over the past month with this whole Gambino scandal, I’m still wary of her. Since Pete destroyed my police file, I figured I’d return the favor. It was stupid and reckless, but I snuck into her office yesterday while Pete was out on an errand and stole his file. In it, I discovered new information I need Pete to see for himself. If these reports are correct, I have proof Constance lied to us. I still don’t know how or when I’ll show him the file, but now is not the right time. His reaction could go either way, but he needs to know what I found. Regardless of how he takes it and what he decides to do with this information, I’ll stand by him.

I better start getting ready for our date. Pete’s been acting overly enthusiastic about tonight, and I want to look my best. Maybe he's discovered his inner Christmas spirit, or maybe it’s just the thought of being around kids and helping them out? You never know.

Life with Pete is always full of surprises.

T
he binding creaks
as I carefully close the last book and set it down on the bed with the others. Based on the date I know there aren't more. This entry is the last time she wrote before her death. A shiver shoots down my spine at the thought.

Peter's old boxes are still at the other end of the bedroom. I know I shouldn't look through them without his consent. I know Peter is dying to hear from me, to hear my decision. Playing nervously with my ring, I get up and walk toward the boxes.

Now that I've read Gina's journals, I've made my decision regarding Peter and our future, but I still have questions. Before I can talk to him, I need to find that file.

The boxes hold varying objects, all from Peter's past, from when he lived in his family's mansion. I find the one that contains Gina's old things, the box in which Peter found her journals. I sift through the mementos, feeling like I'm stirring up her ghost, but I need that file. I don't know if she got the chance to show it to Peter, but she seemed convinced he needed to see it, and I feel compelled to fulfill this last unfinished task for her. In some weird way, I feel connected to her. I owe her so much.

My heart aches as I rummage through her belongings. When Peter first opened the boxes, they seemed filled with random crap. That's no longer the case—stories and emotions come to mind with each item I touch. I find a dried rose encased in glass, a love letter Peter wrote to Gina, an empty bottle of custom body wash. It makes me smile imagining Gina sneaking into Peter's rooms to steal one of his precious bottles. I find a pair of ballet shoes, a bright red bandana, a pair of black and white Oxfords, a volume of W.B. Yeats' poems, and a worn leather jacket.

I stop rummaging when I find a picture frame. I pull it from the box to study it. A beautiful young woman smiles back at me with delicate features, her long brown hair perfectly curled and styled, a simple pearl necklace around her neck. She's dressed in dark jeans and a plain white blouse. Her arms rest comfortably around the shoulders of the two older people standing on either side of her. Mr. and Mrs. Granz, maybe? They look happy. This photo must have been taken before the rave, before she met Peter.

"So, this is you. I owe you so much." I smile, talking to her picture as if she can see and hear me.

Her beauty is elegant, not contrived. How in the world she saw herself as plain is beyond me. I've never seen pictures of Gina before, save the few newspaper photos I noticed while she and Peter were dating. Trashy socialite gossip isn't my thing, and Pete Ferro the player was repulsive to me then, so I paid little attention to his fake fiancé-to-be. I had more pressing things going on in my life at the time. My fingers brush the scar at my throat—a permanent reminder of my own past.

On rare occasions, when Peter opens up to me about his former life, he's barely able to mention Gina, let alone show me her picture. I've never pushed because forcing someone to relive old memories only opens up old wounds. I felt the best way to help him heal was to leave that scar alone.

If not for Gina, I would never have met my Peter. If he remained the philandering Ferro that he was, he wouldn’t have been able to save me from my past. Peter was in self-destruct mode before Gina came into his life. I met him long after the deafening silence of the blast receded. She stopped him from going down the same path as his father, but the night she died shattered him.

Since then, Peter has tried to move on, but I understand why he couldn’t. He feels guilty because of what happened to her. He made the last few months of her life hellish and barely said an, “I love you,” before she was taken from him.

It’s not fair, and I have no idea how to heal this kind of pain. I rely heavily on time as a balm for wounds I can’t patch myself. Like Peter, I hide those scars until they can bear being touched again. Maybe I’ve been wrong about that. Maybe the best way to desensitize a scar is to hold it out in the open.

As I gently tuck the picture back into the box, I find what I'm looking for—a plain-looking brown file organizer. I pull it out of the box and remove its elastic band. It contains various papers such as course registrations and schedules, school transcripts, class notes, Gina's engagement contract with Peter. That’s when I see it—the file she stole from Mrs. Ferro and Peter's police record. With trembling fingers, I flip through the pages, reading as I go. My fingers trail down each page, scanning line after line of misdemeanors and minor assault charges until I finally come across the report for the rave. My eyes widen, and I quickly roll up the file. Oh, my God! Gina was right. Peter needs to see this and, based on his earlier reaction, I'm certain she never got the chance to show him. My stomach twists. Sharing this is going to suck. It’s going to be like stabbing an open wound with a hot poker.

I look out the window to the backyard. While I've been up here reading, Peter's been rocking on our swing under the gazebo, his head in his hands. I can’t wait anymore. He thinks I won’t forgive him for this.

I rise, dust my jeans off, pad downstairs, and head outside.

Peter doesn't hear me coming and jumps as I sit next to him. He looks up at me, his face weary with worry. "Hey.”

“Hey.” I inhale deeply, squeezing the rolled up papers in my hands. My stomach is in my throat, and fear strangles me. I can’t do this to him, but I have to—he has to know. I press my lips together looking for the right words.

Peter lets out a shaky rush of air and pushes himself off of the swing. "I'll pack my things then."

"That’s not it." Peter hesitates. “Please, sit.” I pat the spot next to me and meet his gaze.

He looks like he’s going to be sick. The curve of those broad shoulders and the way his brows pinch together makes him look utterly defeated. He does what I ask, and we slowly swing back and forth while I gather my thoughts.

"You asked me to read Gina’s diaries to show me the truth about who I am marrying. I've read them and made my choice, but before I tell you, I have some questions." I look back down at the papers in my hands.

Peter's voice sounds just as exhausted as his face appears. "You just read about every horrible thing I ever did to her. Is that really who you want to spend the rest of your life with?"

I try to be gentle with him because he’s been through so much already. I feel like I'm dousing him with lighter fluid and shoving him back into the fire. It’s cruel, but I have to do it. He has to know. I touch the top of his hand softly and rest my palm there. "Did you read them cover to cover?"

He won’t look at me. His voice is tight and growing more faint by the minute. "Only the first couple of pages. I didn't have to read more after that. I was there. I know what I did, who I was, and who I still am. That’s me, that’s the guy I’ve tried to leave behind so many times, but he’s still there Sidney. You deserve to know."

I nod slowly, before leaning forward trying to catch his eye. "Maybe, but pieces are missing. In her last journal entry, she mentioned an orphanage fundraiser then there are no more entries. What happened between that entry and the night she died? I know this is difficult, but it's important, Peter. I need to know."

I watch Peter’s skin turn green, as if he were about to hurl, then he clenches his hands together and turns away from me, considering. I know what I’m asking is painful. I know thinking of that time, of the night she died—it must be the last memory he wants to relive.

But, to my surprise, he turns back to face me, the story spilling from his lips like water, a slow trickle at first, but quickly turning into a torrent. His eyes are distant, unseeing. Peter’s body is still with me, but his mind is no longer in the present.