Chapter 41
forty-one
I feel my eyes go wide while I will the rest of my body to remain motionless, hoping my stillness might help him continue.
He turns his head, flinging his gaze out of the windows around us. His body relaxes a bit as he stares. I’ve noticed that he seems to find the same comfort in horizons that I do—even when they’re dark ones.
“I was a rookie cop,” he husks, speaking quietly while he continues to focus on the starless sky.
“After I finished my Army stint, I came home and decided I’d be an NYPD officer like my father.
It seemed honorable, and I like a challenge.
I figured nothing would ever shock me, after what I witnessed overseas. ”
Marco swallows, the sound thick. “I did my training and did well enough to have my pick of departments. I wanted homicide.” A distinct note of derision enters his voice. Aimed at himself, as always. “Of course. Thought I was tough shit.”
He shakes his head. “Stupid. My mom wanted me to do something somewhat safer, like Organized Crime or Internal Affairs, because my father was in Internal Affairs. Organized Crime was overwhelmed. Both departments needed more men.
“But my father argued with her.” I hear his remembered surprise—clearly, his dad did not argue with his mom very often.
“He got angry. He told her I would be better off dealing with serial killers in homicide. I was insulted, and I signed on for Internal Affairs against his wishes, to spite whatever notion made him think I couldn’t handle it. ”
Marco suddenly pauses, his eyes falling to the mess of broken dishware around us.
With a solemn scowl, he whisks me off the floor, moving us a safe distance from the shattered mugs.
“It didn’t take long for me to realize why my father didn’t want me in that division,” he grunts, arranging me in his lap.
He bows his head, as if the next part of his story somehow shames him.
“Once I was on the force, I found out that my dad had been hiding things from my mom. He was deep into an investigation—closer than anyone else in the division to determining which of the men on our force were really working for a big organized crime family. So close that he was getting death threats. Daily.”
I try to imagine the scope of the evil he describes, but it boggles my mind.
Marco sighs. “My father hadn’t told me or my mom anything because the information was classified, and he didn’t want to scare us.
When I saw what he was up against, I couldn’t believe it.
They were threatening to come after us from every angle.
They had his address, sent him pictures of his car parked around town, and had copies of his schedule.
I couldn’t believe he hadn’t even told my mother when he could have been abducted or killed at any moment.
“It was the only real fight we ever had. I thought he should tell her, and he said he wouldn’t.
Couldn’t. That he’d made a vow to keep classified information a secret.
That it wouldn’t matter anyway; if someone killed him, he would rather my mom feel safe and happy until the day he died, instead of living in fear. ”
I see the weight of grief sink into his gaze. “That’s what happened, isn’t it?” I whisper, my nose stinging. “They killed him, and your mom didn’t know why.”
“Yes,” he agrees softly, his focus shifting between my watering eyes. Shame darkens his visage. “She’s the only person who knows what happened that night.”
“Because… it’s classified?”
A self-loathing mockery of a smile touches his lips. “It was, here I am, telling you.”
His head bows as he looks into the space between our chests and roughs out a breath. “The truth is, even she doesn’t know everything. And I almost didn’t tell her at all, because I was—am—ashamed.”
He lifts his face back to mine. “Because I was there that night. With him.”
My heart leaps and starts to race. Turbulence roils in Marco’s bottomless depths, but he doesn’t drop his gaze again. Noble and honest as ever, even when admitting to something he clearly hates.
“I was worried. One of his prime suspects for the double agent was a man he frequently partnered with. They were both on duty that night and got a tip about a small human trafficking deal going down across the river. I was just coming off shift when the call came in. And it just felt wrong. I had an instinct about it. So I clocked out… and then I followed them.”
His teeth grind while a sheen glosses his eyes. I can barely move my chest to keep breathing.
“It was a trap,” he bites out. “The other cop, his partner, was the one working with the organized criminal network. He knew my father suspected him and had to dispose of him before anyone else found out. That piece of shit drew his gun, and so did my dad. Dad fired first, but the gun didn’t go off.
Someone had tampered with it. The other guy fired back less than a second later.
One shot, straight to the head. My dad died instantly. ”
No, please, not him.
So fervent. So angry. His tone makes sense, now. I flinch toward him, my hands automatically flying up to his tense jaw. My whispered reply sounds as wet as my cheeks feel.
“Marco, I’m so sorry.”
He winces while I stroke over the planes of his face. “Alice—” He swallows hard, his throat working while his eyes widen. “There’s more to this, but—”
The words die as his molars clench. A flare of anger burns through his expression before fresh shame crowds in. “If I tell you,” he finally grinds out. “You might hate me. Or be afraid of me. Which would be worse, somehow.”
I try to hide the frisson of fear that goes through me at his words. Smoothing my palms over his skin, leaning closer.
“There isn’t…” I pause to make sure I say exactly what I mean. “You can tell me. I don’t think much could change how I think of you.”
“That isn’t true,” he says, the words a pained, quiet hush. “I wish more than anything that it was, Alice. But it isn’t. I’ve done things. I—”
The intense guilt that sometimes settles over his eyes completely covers his features now. He’s drowning in it, choking on it while he tries to keep speaking.
I’m scared. Terrified he’s about to tell me this has all been some big scheme. But I have to know what’s under that look, or I’ll never be able to move past it. “You can tell me,” I assure him. “I’ll listen.”
Marco’s entire body slumps toward me as he exhales harshly. Our foreheads brush while his eyelids drift shut.
“I… I killed him,” he murmurs. “After the man shot my father. I shot him, and I killed him. On purpose. That’s the part I never told my mother—or anyone. I didn’t do it in self-defense. Not really.”
I feel myself gasp, but no air hits my lungs. He stares into me, patiently waiting for condemnation. Or disapproval.
Maybe I should feel both. But I only experience overwhelming, heartrending grief. Grief and… shock. It’s hard to imagine the calm, principled man before me being driven to such lengths.
Then again, I know how much he adored his father. And who wouldn’t react violently after watching their parent being murdered in cold blood? A shiver moves through me when I imagine what might have happened to Marco if he hadn’t disposed of the double agent on the spot.
Would he have been the next victim? That horrible organized crime family could have caught wind of everything and come after him and his loved ones, just for good measure. By acting so decisively—for better or for worse—Marco probably saved numerous lives.
By taking one.
His confession clearly costs him. Every hard slab of muscle on his body tweaks tight, but his face almost looks vulnerable. Open. Defenseless. Still waiting, I realize, for me to judge him.
He was so brave. To follow his father that night. To take on that crooked cop. To shoulder the blame. To carry it all these years. Even to tell me, now.
It doesn’t make any sense.
“W-why?” I finally manage. “If you haven’t even told your mother… why did you tell me?”
It takes him a second to absorb what I just said.
A shaky breath hisses out of him. “I don’t know, sweet girl,” he admits.
“Maybe because I want you to trust me. And you deserve to know the facts, if you’re willing to keep sleeping next to me.
You should understand why I am the way I am, so you can decide how to keep yourself safe. ”
Because he’s a good man.
And, for him, I’m starting to believe this is as real as anything ever could be.
I run my hands over his shoulders and his arms, wanting to comfort him.
“You did the right thing, Marco. I know it probably doesn’t feel like it, but you did what you would have done for any officer who was shot in cold blood, right in front of you.
That man was a violent criminal. And he threatened you and your family. It was self-defense.”
“I wanted him to die,” he whispers back, shaking his head. “I wanted his blood. And then, back at the precinct, I found out he had kids. Kids, Alice. They came in—without a mother or any other guardian— and I… I couldn’t even look at them.”
I press my fingertips to his lips again, silencing his spiral. “It’s awful. So awful for everyone. I’m so sorry you had to go through that, but what that man did isn’t your fault. He was dangerous, Marco. I won’t tell you not to blame yourself, but I don’t blame you.”
He flexes his arms, tucking me into him and holding fast. For a long time, neither of us speaks. I feel the way his breathing stutters and know he can’t say any more without breaking. I’m content to let him hold me and stroke my hands over his shoulders while he slowly winds down.
When his posture loosens, I stand and draw him to his feet. Silently, I lead him to his room and push him onto his bed. He goes willingly, watching me with wary eyes. Like he’s sure I won’t stay. Or maybe like he’s worried I never existed to start with.
I look down at him, weighing everything he told me. All the horrors he’s endured. And the burning, fanatical need he has to protect me.
Neither of us says a word as I slide into his bed. And despite the mess we left in the living room, I’ve never felt safer.