Sweet Hope (Sweet Home #4)(18)
“I don’t f*cking deserve all this. I deserve none of this shit… Believe me… I never f*cking wanted it… but I got it all the damn same.”
I inhaled a ragged breath as his large body towered over me. I fluttered my eyes to meet his. His almost-ebony eyes flared with heat.
“That’s not true,” I whispered. His work, more than anyone’s, deserved to be on display. People should see his works of art.
“You don’t know me, girl,” he disagreed through gritted teeth.
“I know your work,” I countered, my heart breaking into a sprint at his surge of aggression and his condescending use of the word ‘girl.’ “More than anyone else, I know your work…”
Elpidio watched me so intently that I thought I might collapse under the weight of his stare. Then, to my utter surprise, he dropped his scowl and his eyes dulled with defeat. His hand reached up and took a strand of my long hair between his finger and thumb, rubbing them together, before his gaze locked on to mine.
The air seemed as thick as the densest fog around us, until Elpidio dropped my hair as though it were a naked flame. A startled, disbelieving expression set clearly on his face, like he was shocked he’d just touched me.
He quickly turned on his heel.
This time I knew he was leaving, regardless of my protest. As he threw open the heavy curtains, I asked, “The titles…?”
Elpidio’s fist wrapped around the black material and his head dropped. “Do you really need them that much?” he asked shortly.
A flicker of hope sparked in my chest. “They would help me… immensely. People like to put a name to a sculpture, and they love it if there’s some explanation behind its creation. The press like it too, so they can reference their favorite piece in their reviews. I’ve already had requests for that from some major industry heavy hitters.”
“Fuck sake,” he hissed under his breath, but I heard it. I waited on tenterhooks for his answer, every part of me trembling from our strange encounter, when he finally dropped his shoulders. “Fine, whatever.”
“Thank you,” I replied, my stomach swirling with butterflies.
Elpidio drew the curtains. “I’ll come by ‘round the same time tomorrow night.”
“Okay,” I replied, heat infusing my blood at the thought of working with him again.
Just as he turned to leave, I quickly asked, “Elpidio?”
He stopped but didn’t turn.
“Any chance you’re from Bama?” His shoulders stiffened. “I only ask because I’m from Birmingham, and I picked up on your accent too.”
He hesitated. “Mobile,” he reluctantly replied, quietly. A small smile spread on my lips at the thought we were from the same state, when he added, “It’s Elpi. Elpi,” he emphasized.
“Okay,” I whispered, wanting to say more. But then Elpi pounded through the parted curtains, leaving me next to the sculpture we’d just discussed. As it sat in the glare of the silver moonlight, I gave a long drawn-out exhale, as a cold shiver of realization engulfed me.
Elpidio, Elpi, is this pained, wounded man laying on the floor, the man bleeding guilt…
Chapter Seven
Axel
“You don’t know me, girl,”
“I know your work.” Aliyana’s Spanish eyes flared with conviction. “More than anyone else, I know your work…”
As I circled the untouched slab of marble before me, my chest bare and sweaty from my recent workout, the curator’s words kept circling around my head. “I know your work… More than anyone else, I know your work…”
Aliyana. Damn Aliyana Lucia for getting in my f*cking head.
From the minute I’d seen her two nights ago in the gallery, catching me by the marble angel, I’d been shocked f*cking speechless.
I’d never seen any chick look like her. I’d never seen anyone with eyes that bright, hair that dark, or a smile that f*cking blinding. In the past, I’d gotten * whenever I’d wanted. Plenty of Italiano trash whores around the trailer park to sink into for a quick wet f*ck. But never had a chick of her standing paid me one bit of attention. Fuck, I’d barely even seen a woman in five years, let alone got laid… Then she’s the first one to pay me any attention, tripping over her words as though I was the greatest thing on Earth.
Then last night, Aliyana waited for me to show up. Me. I could barely f*cking wrap my head round that fact. I should’ve stayed away. I never wanted anyone involved with this shitty exhibition to ever know what I looked like. But morbid curiosity of what my show could look like drew me back to that damn gallery night after night… curious to see the sculptures I’d spent months creating, sculptures I hadn’t seen in so long... and there she was, looking at me with her stunning f*cking face, all excited to meet f*cking Elpidio.
Elpidio, a fictional artist. Elpidio, the sculptor that the prissy f*cking art world had fallen in love with. But no one, no one—but Vin—knew Elpidio was actually Axel Carillo. Some f*cked-up ex-con from a trailer park. And no f*cker had time for him.
Axel Carillo, the thirty-year-old ex con who got a reduced sentence for selling out a drug supplier to the feds. Axel Carillo, the once famed second-in-command to the Heighters, the hardest and most brutal gang member to own that piece of turf. And Axel Carillo, the f*ck-up of a man that broke his dying mamma’s heart and led the two best brothers a guy could ask for to ruin.