Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Anya sits in the rocking chair with Claire on her breast, a blanket wrapped around the tiny bundle. Claire makes greedy little noises as she sucks. She’s grown a cute layer of strawberry-blond hair. Her minuscule hand is wrapped around Anya’s finger. Anya chuckles as she stares at her daughter with a soft smile on her lips.
I stand stock still, afraid to breathe lest I disturb the image. It’s the most beautiful picture I’ve seen, and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t rip my heart from my chest.
“She’s just gone four hours between feeds,” Anya says with pride, not looking at me.
It’s a good thing too, because I can’t stop the emotions churning in my gut from showing on my face. Knowing I’ll never be a part of the picture damn well nearly kills me. But it will be unfair to terrorize a baby with the face of a monster when that face is only temporary. It will be cruel to let Anya love me when I can’t be here for her forever. Because the only way of slaying Raphael and keeping my girls safe is by setting a trap, and the only bait he’ll go for is me.
I won’t walk out of the carnage alive a second time. It’s a small price to pay if the prize is this—this perfect scene, the girls who mean the most to me. I can’t give Anya what she wants, but I can give her a safer world in which to raise Claire.
Anya lifts her head. Our gazes connect.
“Would you like to hold her?” she asks, hopeful, soft, and her voice already vulnerable with the fear of the rejection.
“She seems hungry. You better let her finish.”
More hope. More fruitless wishing. “You can try the bottle.”
“I’m going to get a glass of milk. Do you want anything?”
And there it is, the hurt I’m doing my damnedest best to avoid, layered under a smile designed to hide her humiliation, disappointment, and pain. “I’m good, thanks.”
I nod, walking away to do what I should’ve started from the day I got discharged from the hospital—preparing to leave them.
Chapter
Eighteen
Anya
* * *
Saverio’s withdrawal from me and Claire hurts. It’s like a blunt pair of scissors cutting me open, exposing my heart and leaving me to bleed out slowly. He acts like a living dead man, not like a man who should embrace the incredibly lucky second chance he was given. If only I knew how to get through to him. He locks himself in his study day after day while Livy and I work at After Dark and Claire steadily grows with the miraculous strength of a wildflower that beats all odds in cracks and concrete with no rain.
Worried about Elena, I keep tabs on her via Rachele. In the meantime, I trace the guy who made the fake passports, which isn’t difficult once I follow the money trail to his account. Doing the books requires access to all information and payments, even the cash that changes hands under the table. There’s nothing concerning the business that Saverio can hide from me.
I send the forger Elena’s photos and tell him I’m acting on my husband’s behalf. The man accepts the explanation readily. It’s no secret that Saverio doesn’t put a foot outside the house. The men accepted me as Saverio’s mouthpiece. Most of the orders come via Dante, but in the day-to-day operations, I make the calls.
I’m checking the fake document proofs on my laptop in the office when a bouncer tells me Detective Jordan would like to see me.
I swallow, glancing at Claire, who’s sleeping in her stroller next to my desk.
“Want me to kick him out?” the bouncer asks.
“No.” I sit up straighter. “You can send him in.”
A moment later, the detective saunters through the door with a cocky smile. A memory of Saverio telling me to call him if the cops want to speak to me flashes through my mind. The old Saverio wouldn’t have hesitated to bend me over and punish me for disobeying his order, and perversely, I miss that man.
“Mrs. De Luca,” Detective Jordan says. “I expected to find your husband here.”
“He has an appointment,” I lie.
“Pity.”
“What can I do for you? Did you find anything helpful with regard to the investigation?”
“Not on the attack during your wedding. I was wondering if you remembered anything, maybe something you forgot while you were in shock.”
My smile is polite. “I’m afraid not.”
Smirking, he nods. “There’s word going around that you’re running the show now.”
I raise a brow. “Am I?”
“Here.” He motions around. “At the club.”
“I’m just a paper pusher. Saverio is in charge.”
Silence stretches.
“Was there anything else?” I ask pointedly.
“The investigation into the murder of Justice Kearney was closed.” He glances at Claire. “I thought you’d like to know.”
“What happened?” I ask, my heart beating in my throat. “Did you find the perpetrator?”