“One of his long-lost daughters.” She smiled sadly at me. “May he rot in Hell.”
“Amen.” Everyone said in unison while Nikolai stood and walked over to Chase. He was sitting in the corner, his expression blank, his posture like he was trying to hold himself together when all he wanted to do was break.
Nikolai crossed his arms. “I offer you the same I would any brother. Do you want me to kill you?”
I sucked in a breath. Dante locked eyes with me like this was a first.
I waited.
The room was tense.
Trace made a move to Chase but Nixon held her back.
Chase stared down into his glass and said. “Yes.”
I covered my mouth with my hands.
“But I’m drunk.” He spoke slowly. “Ask when I’m sober.”
“That’s fair.” He patted Chase on the shoulder and reached for a wine bottle, “All right, who do I need to fix up? I see blood on every boss and only one person slightly capable of doing sutures that won’t leave scarring.”
Sergio flipped him off.
And slowly, the guys sat down, and let him poke them with needles.
Conversation flowed just like wine — and the entire time, I swear, I never saw Chase even blink.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Dante
MY BODY ACHED.
My heart hurt.
My eyes burned.
I walked El to what used to be our shared bathroom, and pulled her in to the shower, stripping her blood-soaked clothes off of her while she numbly watched me.
Mil’s blood.
It was Mil’s blood that ran down the drain.
And I was a bastard for not being sorry. I would do it again. I would pull the trigger. That sort of betrayal put everything these guys had ever worked for — in jeopardy.
And for what?
Money?
I know Chase knew this, I know the guys knew this — but it didn’t make it easier. I think it would be easier if it was an accident.
Instead, it was planned.
A planned betrayal.
Against those you love.
It’s like sleeping with a gun pointed at someone’s heart knowing that you have plans to pull the trigger and watch them bleed.
Plans to enjoy it.
“Look at me,” I gripped her chin between my hands. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” I kissed her cheeks, kissed her tears. “Tell me what to do.”
She shuddered out a breath. “Exactly what you’re doing.”
I washed her body, angry that I saw bruises that sure as hell weren’t there the day before. Terrified of what I was capable of when it came to the woman I was touching.
I would destroy the world for her.
And I would demand she let me.
“I was supposed to die,” She admitted.
I paused. “What?”
“Chris and I were supposed to get in an accident.” Tears filled her eyes. “I was her out.”
“You for her freedom,” I corrected her.
She nodded. “And the sick part? I don’t know anything! They want me to finish a damn job! They want me for my blood! It’s a death bent on pride and revenge!”
“It’s the Russians.” I finally answered before finishing with her arms and moving down her thighs, my hands danced across her lips as I gripped her hips between my fingers and kissed her belly button, resting my head against her stomach before looking up.
Water cascaded down her hair, across her stomach, onto my face.
“I would do anything for you,” I whispered reverently. “Tell me you’d do the same for me. Tell me no amount of money, no amount of power—”
“Nothing,” She fell to her knees in front of me. “Nothing could separate me from you.”
I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear her say that until a giant weight lifted from my shoulders. Until I gripped her body, my kisses frantic as I lifted her against the tiled wall and thrust into her again and again.
Until she screamed out my name on her lips.
And I caught it with my tongue while I plunged into her one last time, painfully aware of how much I would destroy — if she ever betrayed me.
If she ever betrayed us.
“Thank you,” She said between soft kisses after I let her slide back down to her feet. “For saving me.”
I sighed, our heads touched. “I think you have that backward.”
She frowned.
“You were never the one that needed saving, El. I on the other hand…” I gripped her wrist and pressed her palm against my heart. “I did.”
Our mouths met softly.
We kissed until the shower went cold.
And when I picked up her shivering body and laid her across my bed like a feast, I tried to make her forget about the blood.
The death.
I tried to thank her for saving me.
When I never even realized I needed saving.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Chase
I WASN’T SUPPOSED to be planning my wife’s funeral.
I stared down into the bottle of whiskey in one hand and the stain of her blood in my other.
“Hey, can I come in?” Phoenix was already walking in. I didn’t have the energy to point a gun at him or even respond. Instead, I lifted the bottle to my lips and winced as more tears gathered in my eyes.
Fuck I smelled her everywhere.
I pressed a palm to my eye.
I needed to burn the room.
Torch it.
And everything in it.
My jumbled mind couldn’t get past the betrayal. My heart refused to stop cracking, and with each crack it felt like my last breath.
“Chase,” Phoenix licked his lips. “She was your wife, she was my sister.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“I don’t know why she did this — but I do know what this life does to good people. I just talked with Dante — she was going to kill Chris and El in a car accident, that was the plan, and they would let her out.”
“Shit.” How much more could the human heart take? I felt like I had a knife in my back and one stuck in between my ribs. “But since she married Dante…” My voice trailed off.
“I have something for you, I don’t know… I don’t know if you want it. I don’t know if it’s going to make things better or worse.”
“A gunshot to the head would make things better, Phoenix, just do it already.”
He smiled sadly. “I’m not shooting you.”
“Then get out and find Nikolai,” I spat, truly feeling suicidal, like I didn’t want the privilege of breathing.
He held out a black envelope. “This was delivered by one of the De Lange associates a half hour ago.”
With shaking hands. I took it and frowned. “You know what it is?”
“I have an idea.” Phoenix shoved his hands in his pockets. “Burn it, read it, I don’t care.”
He walked out of the room and shut the door quietly behind him.
I chucked the envelope across the room and stared it down while I downed another gulp of whiskey.
I wanted to burn it.
I wanted to pretend it was her so I could yell at it. So I could get answers, so I could ask.
Why.
Just. Why.
Why I wasn’t enough.
Why we weren’t enough.
Why she broke us.
Why she shattered my heart.
I wanted to ask her if it was worth it. All of it.
“Is this what you fucking wanted?” I shouted at the envelope. “To destroy me?” I fell to my knees in front of it and picked it up again.
I jerked the paper out and stared at her perfect penmanship.
Of her speaking to me from her grave.
A grave that would be dug too soon.
For a wife I wanted to grow old with.