Page 76 of Control
He looks at me, his gray-blue eyes darkening. “No,” he says simply, as though it’s that easy to erase everything that’s happened. But we both know it’s not.
The last few months have been…complicated. But we’ve decided to leave it all behind. His past, my past, whatever life we lived before this. The mafia, the guns, the blood, the fear. It’s over. Or at least, that’s the plan. We’ve taken steps, small ones. We disappeared into the chaos of a new country—a new place where no one knows our names. But the ghosts don’t fade so easily. I see it on his face every night. He’s still haunted byhis choices, by the violence he’s been a part of. And me? I carry my own demons. The ones that don’t let me sleep, the ones that never really leave.
“Come on,” he says, breaking through the fog of my thoughts. His hand is already reaching for mine, pulling me toward the kayak we rented for the day. “We’ve still got time.”
I hesitate for a second, then nod. Whatever’s haunting me can wait. For once, I want to be in the moment. I want to feel something that doesn’t tear me apart.
We push off from the dock, the boat rocking slightly as I get settled beside him. The oars cut through the water, smooth and rhythmic; our movements synchronized without needing words. It’s almost peaceful. Almost.
I think about the life we’re trying to build here. It doesn’t feel real, not yet. It’s like we’re living on borrowed time, waiting for the moment someone finds us and drags us back to our old lives. The feds are still out there, circling. And Remo? He’s a walking target. There’s no way we’ll ever truly outrun the past.
“Remo,” I say in a low voice, more to myself than him, “we can’t run forever.”
He doesn’t stop paddling. “I know,” he mutters.
I turn to look at him and watch as he moves with the water, his expression set, hard like stone. It’s the same look he gets when he’s not ready to face the truth. “We can try,” I whisper. “But I can’t do it alone.”
For the first time in weeks, his eyes soften just a little. He looks at me, really looks at me, and for a moment, the weight of everything doesn’t feel so crushing. “You won’t have to,” he says, his voice low, steady. “Not now. Not ever.”
“Remo,” I say, my voice becoming even softer, “I don’t want to run anymore. Not from you.”
He doesn’t stop paddling, but his jaw tightens like he’s waiting for me to say more.
“I didn’t mean what I said before,” I continue, looking at him now and finally saying the words I’ve kept locked inside. “I don’t hate you, Remo. I never did.”
This time, when he glances at me, his gaze is a little softer than usual. “I know. I was scared too,” he says.
“I love being here with you,” I tell him, feeling the weight of it sink in. “I love this. With you.”
His hand finds mine, his touch steady, grounding. “I won’t do anything to ever hurt you again,” he says. “Not now. Not ever.”
And for the first time in a long while, I believe him.
Soon, we reach a small cove. The water here is quieter and calmer. The sun is beginning to dip low in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of orange and pink. It feels like the world is holding its breath. Like we’re the only ones who matter in this moment.
He stops paddling and looks at me with a flicker of something in his eyes that makes my heart skip a beat. “I have something to ask you.”
I raise an eyebrow, the teasing edge in my voice too sharp to ignore. “Are you sure you want to do this in a kayak? You know, the whole ‘romantic gesture’ thing might get a little soggy.”
He smirks that half grin that never fails to get under my skin. “It’s not like that,” he replies.
I study him, watching the way his fingers grip the paddle tightly like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “Then what is it?”
He looks down for a second, and when he meets my stare again, there’s something different there. Something that’s impossible to ignore. “Daniela,” he starts, his voice rougher now, as if saying the words is harder than he expected, “I want this. With you. All of it.”
For a moment, I think I heard him wrong. “What?” I gasp, my breath catching in my throat.
He’s staring at me now, his eyes steady. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
I blink, trying to process the weight of his words. He’s serious. I can tell by the way his jaw tightens and the way he’s holding his breath like he’s afraid I’ll say no. “But…” I start, unsure of how to respond.
He doesn’t give me a chance to finish. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small box—its edges are worn from being carried around—and opens it. Inside is a simple silver ring, nothing flashy, nothing grand. Just…real. Just us.
I can’t stop the laugh that slips from my lips, a mix of disbelief and relief. “You’re really doing this now, huh?”
He doesn’t smile. Instead, his voice is raw, his words a promise. “Yes.”
I stare at him, at the ring, and at the wild ocean stretching out behind us. “You’re out of your mind.”
