Epilogue
I t was hollow. A vast emptiness. I had edged closer toward it. Stepped farther than I vowed I would allow myself to go at this point. It was too soon. Way too soon. But if I gave in—if I gave up, what would happen? If I succumbed and let it swallow me whole, where would I be? If I let the darkness seep under my skin and live inside my lungs, what would happen next? Each breath was hard enough. A struggle at best. A fight of will and stubbornness over illness. How many more breaths could I muster? How many more before the door opened and a cloaked figure beckoned me? I knew he was close. Hovering outside my door. I thought I saw his shadow this morning. He was neither patient nor kind. I didn’t deserve either comfort. The choices I’d made in my life had brought me preciously to this moment. My fate was decided the day I stepped behind my father’s desk. So was hers. It has always been that way in the family, it would always be that way, whether I was here to see the power transfer or not.
I thought of all the times she looked at me with bitterness. Fear. Distrust. I didn’t think about it then. Not when I left in the middle of a ballet recital for a meeting. Not when she won a prize at the science fair, and I wasn’t there to see her receive it. I had told myself she was only a child. I dismissed the tears as immature weakness. I didn’t understand years of disappointments could pile on top of each other. I underestimated that it would create impenetrable resentment.
Would I change it now if I could? Would I die regretting the choices I made as a father?
When she was very young, she would climb into my lap. I thought she was too small. Too fragile for me to hold. I’d place her back on the floor and we would examine each other before I moved to another room. Those are the moments a dying man takes the hardest. I destroyed the affection she had for me. I poured cold water on her excitement when she waited by the door for me to come home. I walked into the study, closing the door behind me and locking her out. I didn’t want sticky gooey hands on my bank statements. I didn’t want to answer questions about butterflies or frogs. I didn’t want her to know I could barely tolerate myself, much less a child I helped create.
I closed my eyes as another coughing fit shook my entire body and rattled any hope that I’d survive another night. The nurse hurried through the door. I felt her attempt to push me forward as she offered a glass of water. My neck barely moved. Water dribbled along my chin. I clutched at her, gasping.
“Cir…ooo.”
“Mr. Amato, shh, shh,” she soothed. “He hasn’t called. I’ll let you know when he does. I keep my phone right here.” My eyes opened enough to see the nurse patted the pocket on her blue scrubs.
“Amara?” I whispered next. She shook her head.
“Not yet,” she answered. She straightened my pillow and tapped something on the machine adjacent to the bed.
“No,” I croaked, but the drip had begun. I didn’t think it had ever stopped. “No more.”
I had a minute, maybe less before I sank back into the fog of restless dreams and endless demons that stalked my sleep. I wanted to stay awake, even if the pain was unbearable. My sins would be waiting for me on the other side of the curtain. In what few hours I had remaining I needed to focus on what was left. Who was left.
I motioned to the nurse. “He has to find my daughter.” I didn’t know if the statement made it outside of my head.
“Your daughter will be back,” she assured me. “I believe she’s in one of your meetings for you. Try not to worry and focus on getting sleep so you can see Amara when she comes home.”
“No,” I hissed, clawing at her hand.
The nurse shrieked, trying to yank her fingers away, but I pinned them into the quilt against my hip with what strength I had left.
“Not Amara.” My tongue felt heavy and thick. I had to say it. If I didn’t wake up tomorrow. If Amara never returned in time. If Ciro had already been compromised. If the only person who heard my deathbed confession was this nurse, so be it. I had been a horrible father. I was willing to face that now. I didn’t have to die taking the secrets with me. Amara should know the truth.
“You’re too agitated. Just try to?—”
“Listen,” I cut her off. I hated how weak my voice sounded. I’d never been a weak man until this illness attacked my body. The fog was starting to settle, making my limbs feel like weights, pressing my body into the mattress. “Tell Amara…” I fought for air. I sucked hard, searching for enough oxygen to form the words.
“Yes?” She leaned closer.
“Amara needs to…” The room had disappeared. My eyes closed, but I continued to struggle to make my mouth move.
“Needs to what, Mr. Amato? Take your time. Don’t overdo it. Please.” She patted my hand. “Easy breaths. There you go. Easy. Much better.” Her hand slipped away.
“Her sis—” My tongue began to fail me. “Sis—” I tried again.
“Mr. Amato. You can tell me after your nap. This is too much. Rest. Rest. I’ll just up your morphine a little more. This should take care of it.”
“No-no.” The tiniest word took the greatest effort. Why wouldn’t she listen to me? I didn’t want any more morphine.
“It’s going to feel better any second. You’re straining too much. I don’t like what’s happening with your blood pressure.” She was no longer paying attention to me and focused on pushing the button for that damn drip. The one that stole what time I had left. It ripped away seconds I couldn’t afford to spend.
This would be the last act of my life. The last time I summoned my body to obey me. I had forced people to listen before. Wielded my power as a weapon to get what I wanted. Only, it had been easier then. It wasn’t strength I relied upon but my ability to cast fear. To look in a man’s eyes while he was on his knees and demand his loyalty. They all had listened. The organizations. The most hated heads of the families. They listened because I was Lorenzo Amato. But this nurse? She could go to hell for treating me like my last breath had already been taken. There was one more in this body. One that had to be expelled. One breath that would change my family’s destiny.
I repeated it in my head. Organized the words before I launched them off my tongue. “Tell Amara to find her sister.”
“Mr. Amato? Mr. Amato? Can you hear me? Sir?” I heard a long high-pitched beeping noise before a cold hand clamped over my mouth.
Are you ready for Book III?
Cruel Redemption
The organizations in New Orleans are about to learn a hard lesson
Touch the queen
Pay the price.
We were meant to rule an empire together.
We’ll take down anyone who stands in our way.
There’s no one I love more.
And nothing I won’t do to protect her.
I am the one who will save her, even if I’m the devil.
Cruel Redemption is a full-length mafia romance with no cheating. This is the third book in the Novikov Bratva World Series. Start with book one, Cruel Existence, to follow Amara and Luka’s story.