Manacled Hearts: an Age Gap Mafia Romance (The Sanctum Syndicate Book 3)

CHAPTER 29

Am I really that different from the bimbos he’s usually with? After all, I lusted for him, wore him down until he slept with me. Surely I don’t stand out in that sea of faceless, nameless women.

Yet here I am, listening to his violent words and promises of death like the man is making some sweet, grand gesture I should be swooning over. Who am I kidding? I am swooning over them.

“They’ve done so much more to so many others. Why take revenge for me?” I blurt out without thinking as he releases my chin.

He frowns, cocking his head. “Because it’s you here, standing in my kitchen after sleeping in my bed. It’s your taste on my tongue, it’s the memory of my cock in your pretty pussy.”

“There were countless others before me. Here. In this kitchen.”

His hand is on my throat in a flash, the tips of his fingers reaching the back of my neck, he uses his thumb to tilt my head up so I can meet his eyes. The touch is gentle, but so possessive.

“The women who have crossed this threshold, in the last few years, haven’t stayed past a few hours. Most have never seen this kitchen. None have slept here. You, Evie darling, are the one and only.”

He lets those words linger in the air, their soundless echo licking my skin and penetrating my soul with devastating effect.

The one and only…

I want to ask him why. Demand an explanation. Beg him to make sense of this, because… why? Why, damn it? Tension builds between my brows, threatening to turn into a headache. Maybe that pain can make sense of this man, because he’s certainly not explaining himself. I don’t care why other women haven’t been here, I want to know why I am.

But, how can I ask him such a question when the answer might influence my decision about Queenscove and my future? I cannot base my decision on this man. Asking him about it could break us both.

That question, though, lingers on the tip of my tongue and makes my lips tremble. Finnigan notices, too. He waits. And waits, watching my parted lips with a soft frown between his dark blonde brows. But those bright blue eyes of his carry so much danger, because I swear there’s a tinge of hope sparkling in their depths.

“Ask me.”

I gasp at his words, but don’t speak.

I can’t.

“Ask me, Evelyn,” he demands, tone darker.

I press my lips together instead, attempting to shake my head, but his grip allows only slight movement.

Finnigan sighs and drops his hand. “Remember when you accused me of being a coward?”

“It’s not the same,” I snap back.

“Isn’t it?”

“This is not just about me.”

“You came after me, Evelyn. You insisted even as I kept repeating that crossing this line is a mistake. You pushed. What the fuck did you think would happen once we got here?”

“I…” I don’t know.

Maybe I didn’t think this far. Because I had it in my mind that Finnigan was different. The perpetual playboy who doesn’t get attached.

You lie, Evelyn.

Maybe I thought that at first, but it’s not what kept me here, still interested. It was hope that he was the exact opposite of that beneath his charmingly slutty exterior.

“You what? Was this all just a game to you?” he asks with both anger and a tinge of disappointment in his tone, and the sound cracks a part of me, making me feel like a terrible person.

“No, it wasn’t a game.” There’s little confidence in my voice.

“Then? What did you expect to find once we came together? What do you want from me, Evelyn? And don’t you dare tell me you just wanted to fuck me, because I refuse to believe you are the type.”

“Maybe you overestimated me,” I fight back because there is no way I can get into this now.

I have no answer for him. There is one, weighing my soul deep down, but I can’t even acknowledge it for myself.

“Maybe I did.”

His words crash down on me, and I swallow the bitter emotions they bring, but I can’t hide away from the impact. It’s right here, staring at me with sharp eyes, challenging me, and what scares me more is the trace of desire to retreat that gazes back. I’m doing this, I’m responsible for pulling him out of his shell, just to push him back down again.

But this is not all on me. It can’t be. He wanted me gone not that long ago, so I’m just giving him what he wanted.

“Staying in Queenscove was never a permanent arrangement, I just needed time. You know this. After all, you wanted to help me leave.” There’s a clear bite in my tone. It wasn’t help he was offering—he was paying me off.

Finnigan narrows his brows, crossing his arms against his chest, and takes a step back. “So that’s it then? You decided?”

I stand by the kitchen island, suppressing the need to wrap my arms around myself. “Not yet. There are still things I need to sort first.”

“Well, hopefully you’ll decide to share with me when you make a fucking decision.”

“Why are you acting like you tell me everything, and I’m the bad one who hides stuff from you, Finnigan?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know I can’t be the only one who spent the night. I know that the revenge on Bartiste is not just about what they’ve done to me! Annika’s friend, right? That’s all she was…” Though I’m sure of the words, they don’t taste as good as I thought they would when I speak them. Now, they feel like a low blow.

His arms drop to the sides, his gaze filling with something akin to dismay.

“Since then, Evelyn. Since then there has been no one else. And even then…” He trails off, but those words turn my stomach into a flutter of wings.

“Even then… what?” I ask in a whisper.

He shakes his head and looks away, sighing. “I’m gonna go dress. Be ready in forty minutes.” And just like that, he turns to leave.

“No!” I snap back loud enough that his steps stall.

One by one the thick muscles of his back flex and seem to expand, his stance menacingly stern and somehow wider. I urge myself to continue, because if I don’t speak now, I might not be able to once he turns around.

“Maybe I’ve been insisting exactly because of this! I know you want me, I know you like me. You’ve constantly pushed me away for no rational reason!” That came out much louder than I thought it would, but damn it, I’m pissed.

“Morality, Evelyn!” he shouts as he whips around, drawing his fingers through his hair, his gaze a stormy inner-battle. “You were—are too young, and I still have some fucking morals, you know!”

“Don’t give me that self-righteous crap again. I thought we passed it. No matter my age, I am the same person I was a month ago, or three, or bloody six. The same one who had to grow up two years ago and learn to both survive and raise a child. Do not dare insult my maturity again, or my ability to make a decision about a man, or my body for that matter.” Taking in a deep inhale, I continue, “There’s more to your push-back and you know it! Stop blaming it on our age difference.”

“Goddamn it, Evelyn, stop it! You don’t know anything.”

“I know about her.”

“You know nothing about Hanna. Nothing!” with clenched fists to the point his knuckles turn white, he storms off, out onto the terrace.

“Then tell me!” I follow him into the humid day, the sun far too cheerful for this conversation.

“What do you want from me? Are you so desperate for me to admit what a fuck up I am? What an utter failure?” The rage in his voice splinters and the pain in it scares me just a little.

“Finn, you’re not—”

“But I am! You don’t understand.” He whips around and startles me when his broken gaze finds mine. “She’s dead because of me!”

No, that can’t be right.

Annika already told me he’s blaming himself for Hanna’s death, but this is much more than that.

“That doesn’t sound right—”

“No, no, Evie darling, it sounds perfectly right. Because it’s true. You wanted to hear it all, so here it fucking is! If my stupid, naive, young ass wouldn’t have become infatuated with the older, enticing woman, she would have been far, far away, on the same island my brother and Annika live on. Alive and well even today. She fucking stayed because of me! Bartiste found her here in Queenscove because of me! When he did, I wanted to keep the girls with us, to keep them safe and in our sights, but I let myself be convinced by everyone, including them, that we should separate. Some bullshit about the girls not being a distraction while we went for Bartiste. God, what a fucking stupid mistake that was.” He’s pacing now, raking his fingers through his hair, his features marred with too much self-hate. “Bartiste was smarter than us back then, he got one of our guys, and found out exactly where the girls were. I had to sit, Evelyn, sit in the back of a car and listen to Hanna’s voice pleading with me to get to her in time, unable to do anything about it, as men pounded on her door to get to her. I could hear every single tear fall as shots were fired into that room, and with each word she spoke, I sat there listening to the slithers of hope leaving her. She was strong, but even she couldn’t hide the fear from her voice. And I listened to it all.”

He stops pacing, gripping the railing and bracing himself as he looks toward the rumbling sea. My heart is caught in my throat, heat simmering behind my eyes as I wrap my arms around my middle.

“I failed,” he continues. “Her, myself, Annika… We got there too late. They were gone, and all that was left was a sea of bodies who died because of the same failure. I should have been the one there, protecting her, not our men. So many souls ripped out of this world because I didn’t stand firm in front of Hanna, Annika… my brother. By the time we found them, when Bartiste was done with Hanna… she was an empty, bloody shell. They didn’t just break her, they fucking decimated her. So much damage, so much blood, cuts and burns… Bartiste used her to punish Annika. Made her watch her best friend get raped and broken, because he was creative in his torture. He knew emotional pain, guilt, can inflict just as much damage. Annika said she begged and begged to take her instead, even as she was pregnant… I can’t imagine being restrained and forced to watch a loved one like that.”

Finnigan takes a deep staggering breath, as silent tears slide over my cheeks, adding to the ones that have been flowing since he said his men died because of him too.

“She took her last breath seconds before I found them,” he continues. “I didn’t even get to say I’m sorry. All I could do was carry her empty body out of there.”

So much blame… so much sorrow… he can’t see past his guilt, and my tears aren’t for Hanna, but for him. He didn’t fail, he tried so hard, but—

“You couldn’t control everything that happened, Finnigan.” My voice is soft as I step toward him. “We blame ourselves for things out of our reach, but there are too many battles to fight, and we can’t take them all on. She didn’t die because of your decision, because you didn’t protect her. She died because of a bastard with no soul.”

I stop when he shakes his head.

“That’s not even my only shame.” He takes a deep inhale and breathes it out like fire, “I don’t remember what she looks like anymore.”

His hands flex around the railing, the confession heavy. He pauses for a long time, but I don’t dare interrupt his process.

“I couldn’t bear to look at any photos of her, of us, in the last few years. I thought what I did, or failed to do, would keep her imprinted in my mind, but it didn’t. The color of her eyes, her general shape, those are still there, but there are no details… only a blur and shadows. She wasn’t the love of my life, but I couldn’t even give her the courtesy of my memories. How fucked up is that?”

His head drops and I just want to scream. This is exactly what happens when you refuse to talk about how you feel. You hold onto guilt, pain, and turn it into something so deeply ugly.

“Finn… I’m forgetting too.”

His shoulders stiffen, head straightening.

“I have nothing of my mother. No photos, no videos, there’s nothing left. It’s only been two years and yet… I already forgot the shape of her nose, the sweep of her brows. You’ve kept it all in, and there was no one here to tell you that what you feel, as valid as it is, is normal. Your guilt…” I shake my head, pushing back the rest of the tears. “Your guilt can be healed.”

I don’t miss the slight sag in his shoulders now. Did I take a weight off of them with my own guilt? Memories are fickle… and they’re just another one of those things out of our control.

He looks over his shoulder for a brief moment, the sunshine behind him turning him into a tragic god with his features marred with sorrow. “If I couldn’t protect her, how can I protect you? How can I keep you safe if I couldn’t before?”

Oh God, this is what he was afraid of?

I’m rushing to him, even if I wasn’t that far, and throw my arms around his waist, clutching him tight.

“You are! You’re doing so much. You’re enough!” I whisper into his bare back I’m staining with my teary cheeks.

Only when he tries to turn do I loosen my grip, and he wraps me in his arms, pressing his lips to the top of my head. “I’ll never be enough.”

There’s so much trauma carried in this salty breeze, too much pain, and unfathomable guilt.

Denying ourselves is only adding it to it all.