“No,” I said quickly. “He’s got to take care of business.” Of Antonio. A new wave of sickness crashed down on me. I stepped forward, out of Taft’s hold, my head high and back stiff. Barely breathing, I made my way into the house and, clutching the banister in a death grip, I dragged myself upstairs. I stumbled into the master bedroom and straight into the bathroom where I emptied my stomach into the toilet. My abdomen constricted painfully and for a moment I froze in fear, but then the sensation was gone.
I stood and slowly, shakily began undressing, letting my clothes lay strewn about on the floor. I turned the shower on and stepped under the hot water stream, closing my eyes and finally letting sobs wrack my body. I leaned against the shower stall and slowly glided down until I sat on the cold marble floor. I pulled my legs tightly against my chest, and cried. Cried for Antonio, for the boy I’d grown up with, for the man I’d once loved, for someone I’d betrayed the Outfit for once before. But today I’d made a decision and it had been against Antonio. I’d known what it would mean for him, had known I’d signed his death warrant the moment I told Dante about the plan. And yet I hadn’t even hesitated. I’d chosen Dante and I’d choose him again. He was my husband, he was the father of my unborn child, he was the man I loved even if he’d never given me reason to. I buried my face against my legs, hurting, hurting so much I couldn’t stand it. There was blood on my hands now. I cried even harder.
***
That’s how Dante found me. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, how long he’d been gone. I was shivering, skin shriveled and red from the hot water. Dante stood in the doorway for a couple of moments, watching me, before he strode toward the shower. He wasn’t wearing the same clothes he’d worn when I’d last seen him. He’d changed. Had to change. My throat closed up. I stared up at him, shaking and crying silently. He reached into the shower, still fully dressed and shut the water off. His cool blue eyes settled on me as I cowered on the ground. There was concern and sympathy, riddled with something raw and dark in his face. I didn’t move, couldn’t.
He bent down, slid his arms under me and slowly straightened with me pressed against his chest, soaking his expensive shirt. My fingers clawed at his shoulders almost desperately. He set me carefully down, but didn’t let go of me. I wasn’t sure I could have stood on my own. He grabbed a towel and started drying me unhurriedly, his eyes following his hands as they rubbed the fluffy fabric over my skin. I pressed my face into the crook of his neck, soaking in his familiar scent, now mixed with gunpowder and blood. Blood. Sweet and metallic. Blood, so much blood.
“Oh God,” I gasped, and gasped, and gasped but couldn’t breathe. Dante lifted me into his arms again and carried me into the bedroom where he lowered me on our bed. He took off his shoes and lay down beside me, cradling my face until my frantic gaze settled on his intense eyes. “Shh, Val. It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t, couldn’t be. “I killed him.” I squeezed my eyes shut against the images my mind created, but they were even more colorful against the black canvas of my closed eyelids. “I killed him,” I repeated over and over again, until I wasn’t sure if the words still left my lips or if it was an echo in my ears.
“Val,” Dante said firmly, his fingers on my face tightening. “Look at me.”
I peeled my eyes open, staring at the beautiful face of my husband. Beautifully cold. Not a flicker of regret.
“You did what was right.”
Did I? Sometimes it was hard to see the line between right and wrong from all the death and blood plastering the mob’s paths.
“You did what you had to do to protect me.” His fingers stroked my chin. “I won’t ever forget it. Never.”
“I told you that you could trust me,” I whispered.
“I know, and I do.”
I wanted to believe him, but he still hadn’t said anything about our child, still hadn’t admitted that it was his, that he’d been wrong to accuse me of cheating. Too proud, too stubborn. He must have known he was wrong all along, because if he’d ever really thought I had cheated on him he would have moved heaven and earth to find the man who touched me. I didn’t want to think about it, but as my mind shied away from one hurtful topic, it latched onto the next. “Did you get the names of the other traitors?”
Dante nodded grimly. “Yes. I’m fairly sure. Enzo and a few others are taking care of the less important rats right now.”
“What…what did you do to Antonio?” I knew I shouldn’t ask. It wouldn’t make things better. It would only add fuel to the fire that was my guilt.
Dante shook his head. “He’s dead, Val.”
“I know but what did you do to him.”
“If it’s any consolation for you, I focused my main attention on Raffaele. Antonio got a quicker death than any other traitor.”
Tears pooled in my eyes. “Thank you.” What kind of twisted world did we live in that I thanked my husband for killing my first husband quickly, for keeping the torture to a minimum. A world of blood and death. A world our child would be born into and grow up in, and maybe one day if he was a boy, he’d follow in Dante’s footsteps and kill and torture others to stay in power. An endless circle of blood and death.