35. Vian
VIAN
She left, abandoning me to the cruelest fate—longing for her until my dying breath. My life force bleeds out of me. She ripped my chest open, exposing a heart beating a hollow rhythm, echoing with the ghosts of a shattered dream.
I stare at the elevator doors closing in on me, locking me in pitch darkness, and sink to my knees—a fallen king who has lost everything.
The fucker must laugh at me from hell. He won.
I stretch out my hand as if urging her back, needing her to return. But if freedom is what she longs for most, I’ll gift it to her. I was always destined to give her anything she desired.
My sins have piled up, spread between us like a poisoned buffet we overindulged in.
I’ve lost her for a second time. That’s the price I must pay, ending this curse by setting her free.
Trapped in purgatory, the demons cackle at my pitiful existence until the elevator doors open, yanking me back. My heart revs up to welcome her, hope flooding my chest, only to be butchered at my feet.
The asshole, Paolo, steps inside, eyeing me with a smirk, enjoying my misery.
“I didn’t invite you,” I grit out.
He walks toward me, unbothered by the dark energy swirling in my head, demanding violence to appease the side of me that can’t cope with her absence.
Just like the first time. The only difference is that I lack the energy.
I am done.
“You missed two meetings. I was wondering if you’re still the Boss.”
I gnash my teeth. “There’s no wondering.”
This rat has been hard for my position, but men like him fail to understand that it takes more than cunning or viciousness to secure it. He wouldn’t survive one day in my place.
I should prove it to him just on principle, but nothing drags me out of the funk.
I just want to be alone.
Curse in peace.
Cry my agony away.
Surrender to my demons.
“Your behavior is not fit for a boss.”
I cock my head, eyeing him intently, and under my scrutiny he shrugs into himself.
“Have you tried to stage a coup in my absence?” I click my tongue, tsking, aware the asshole tried his best.
A muscle ticks in his jaw, revealing he tried and failed. Loyalty has been hard-won. I’ve always treaded a fine line between being liked and feared. You can’t give your men too much leeway. Leading is an art, one I’ve perfected.
It became secondary when Zara and I reconnected, both of us wishing to catch up after years of misery. Duty versus heart. And the heart always wins. That’s why men ultimately fall.
“That wife of yours surely did a number on you,” he says, sounding pleased.
I prowl toward him, wrap my hand around his throat, and squeeze hard. “Don’t talk about her.”
His face turns purple, his eyes bulging out, and I release my hold, shoving him back.
He stumbles but catches his balance, sputtering. “The best-kept secret in Chicago. Not anymore.”
He is indeed stupid. I guess he’s tired of living.
I shove my hands into my pockets, striking a casual pose just to belittle him. This asshole wouldn’t intimidate me even if he tried. He doesn’t prove a challenge. I’d squash him under my sole like the cockroach he is.
“Maybe you should give up the position. If you care so much about your marriage and your secret.”
I throw my head back, bursting into laughter. That he thinks he can blackmail me is the funniest fucking shit. I needed a good laugh.
His face contorts into a pissed grimace. A weak man who has spent his life in his father’s shadow, desperate to prove him wrong.
The only reason I tolerated him for so long was as a favor to his father.
It’s incredible how his own son lacks basic intelligence. No wonder his family business struggles. But it’s easier to blame others than take accountability.
“Who should take my place?” I ask, continuing this asinine conversation just to focus on something other than my heartbreak.
He squares his shoulders, straightening up to bolster himself. “Me.”
“Of course, because you’re so capable of ruling.” I shake my head, pointing a dismissive hand to his groin. “You can’t even control your dick.”
I always tell my men to find women they can build a legacy with, but I won’t interfere. Affairs are kept hidden, like the dirty secrets they are.
He flaunts them.
I will do his wife a solid by taking him out.
He has gotten on my last nerve for a long time, and my patience has reached its end. I endured him to keep myself and everyone else in check. A bit of competition keeps you focused, making you thrive.
“Says the man who made the bitch responsible for killing the Boss into your wife. You’re a disgrace.”
It’s not the blatant disrespect that enrages me, but him calling my woman a bitch.
“What the fuck did you say?” I cut the distance between us, ready to claw his jugular out, when something stabs my side, pain slicing through my flesh.
For a moment, I don’t understand what happened. I look down to see a knife embedded in my side and blink, my brain refusing to compute that this asshole tricked me and managed to injure me.
If it weren’t for the shock paralyzing me, I would have laughed.
Red drenches my shirt, the blood spreading like vines, turning it into a grotesque Pollock painting. Blood. So much fucking blood pours out of the open wound as he removes the knife.
He stabbed me. It shows how frayed I am.
My chest rocks with a cough, a coppery taste coating my mouth.
I grunt, ready to pounce on him, but my vision dots with the heavy blood loss. I stumble forward, dropping to my knees. Fuck, he hit something important.
“Too arrogant to even imagine I could take you down,” he spits, sliding the blade up his sleeve before rushing to the elevator and leaving me to bleed to death.
Quite ironic.
I never imagined my end because I was too busy living. Living meant I could get another chance with her, but that chance dwindles, just like my life essence.
My sole wish is seeing her one last time.
Kiss her lips.
Tell her I love her. Confess that I could regret everything, apologize for anything, but not for loving her so much that I needed to gift her something pure—something of mine she can love even if it’s not me.
My hands fall to the floor, where they lie in the pool of my blood.
I hear a ping, the sound distant, like my soul is traveling somewhere else, slowly freeing itself from my body. It’s followed by a piercing cry choked of despair as I crumple forward. I must be dead, and she is calling for me.
I am coming, mi sol.
I open my eyes when her palms cup my face, and warmth spreads through my icy insides. “Stay with me. Please stay with me.”
“I’ll always be with you,” I whisper, needing her to believe me.
“Don’t you leave me. Please, baby. Please,” she sobs, pressing down on my wound.
“I could never leave you.” I splatter more blood, the jerky movement causing my wound to leak more red. Strangely, I don’t feel pain.
She crushes her sweet mouth to mine. “I love you, Vian.”
I smile, thinking I can die in peace.
My eyelids flutter closed. I know she does. That was the only thing I didn’t question.
She doesn’t leave my side, her wails, the only thing reaching me, blaring with a demand not to leave her.
I want to open my mouth to assure her, to tell her I am hers and that her wish is my command. I call on strength that evades me so I can hunt the asshole down for causing her this misery, but she will avenge me. If there’s an afterlife, I will wait for her.
Then everything turns black.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The constant sound grates on my nerves, yanking me from the sweetest dream. She was there, her hand outstretched, and I grabbed it.
I groan and pry one eye open to see hers swimming in gratitude. She sobs, and I don’t understand what has upset her this badly.
“I thought I’d lost you. I––”
“Don’t cry, mi sol. It’s killing me,” I say, my voice groggy.
Instead of calming down, she cries even harder. “Don’t joke about that. Never.”
“Okay,” I say, anything to make her stop crying.
My brain is still a jumbled mess, everything distorted, so I sweep my gaze around. I am lying in a hospital bed, and I lick my lips to wet my parched mouth.
She rushes to offer me a glass of water, the liquid sloshing as her hand trembles. “Slow sips,” she says in a meek voice. “You lost a lot of blood, and they had to remove part of your spleen. I thought I’d lost you.”
“Never.”
Her face drops, and she fidgets with her ring before she sees my palm up, waiting for hers.
“You’re not allowed to get stabbed again. One time was enough.”
I chuckle, causing pain to ricochet through me, and I hiss. Right then, the doctor enters and walks me through the surgery. He tells me it went well despite the blood loss and that I should take it easy until I recover.
Lucky.
I never imagined myself to be that until I woke up. Determination shoots a high dose of vitality through me, driving me forward. I will make the asshole pay for every tear my wife shed.
She returned to me, but the timeline doesn’t add up.
“Why did you come back?” I ask, ignoring the doctor who furrows his brows as if he’s here for me, not the other way around. “You can leave,” I dismiss him.
He turns around, mumbling under his breath. I don’t care. My woman is my sole concern.
“That was rude. He saved your life. I’m thinking of building a damn hospital in his honor.”
“You’d do that?” I ask, overcome by emotions.
“I did a shitty job as your wife. But never doubt my love,” she says, looking down at our hands intertwined.
I raise them and kiss her knuckles. “You’re a queen, my queen. Don’t bow your head.”
She cries softly, twisting my insides. I can’t stand her tears.
I cup her cheek and she leans into my touch.
“I thought I’d lost you. Again.” Then she slaps my arm, her voice turning gravelly.
“Don’t you ever dare to scare me like that.
You married me, put a child in me. You wanted this family, so you better stay alive.
I won’t let you off the hook. I’ll curse you back to life if I must.”
I grin, happiness welling inside me. “You came back.”
It’s not a question, but a statement. The reason doesn’t matter.
She leans over and peppers my face with kisses. “I wasn’t leaving. I meant it literally: I needed a moment. After being holed up for so long, I sought fresh air to process everything.” She inhales deeply and continues, “I went to our house. We’re moving there.”
My grin stretches; it might as well become a permanent fixture on my face.
“And since we’re in the hospital, we could see our baby’s first sonogram.”
Baby. Wife. Love.
My second near-death experience was totally worth it, but I think this is one of those things I should keep to myself.
“Thank you for erasing the evidence of my attempt to destroy our home.”
I stretch out my hand to her face, brushing my knuckles along her cheek. “It’s yours to do with as you please.”
“Then I wish to grow a family there.”
“Come here,” I say, patting the spot next to me.
A cute little frown digs between her brows. “No, I won’t risk your healing.”
“Always such a good girl.”
“Vian,” she tries for a chastising tone but fails.
“Did I stutter? I need you.”
That does the trick, and she slips next to me, extra careful not to hurt me. She leans against my uninjured side, and as she brings her palm to my chest, I see it bears a reddish hue.
I stare, entranced, and a deep sigh wrenches from her throat.
“I will wash them. I just didn’t find the time.
You were in surgery, and I was too busy praying.
I guess God listens even if you’re a sinner.
I don’t want your blood on my hands, Vian, but it gave me hope, reminded me you were still here. ”
“I’m sorry I put you through this.”
She shakes her head, closing her eyes. “It’s not your fault. I sensed something was off. I…”
“Look at me,” I urge, and grip her chin, placing a sweet kiss on her lips that let out a tiny sound of pleasure. “You’re my life.”
“No one is leaving the other,” she says, her tone laced with determination, and we intertwine our fingers, sealing the promise.
My hand moves lower to her belly, and she sucks in a breath, smiling. “I like that.”
“Thank you, Zara.”
Her eyes water. “No, thank you for loving me like you do. I am sorry, baby, so sorry.”
“I don’t need your apology. I just need you. And right now, I need you to sleep for me.”
Even for my strong woman, everything that has transpired has taken a toll on her—and she’s pregnant.
“No, I…” She bites her lip in protest. Even though her eyelids threaten to close at any moment, my wife is stubborn.
“I won’t go anywhere. I promise. You two go to sleep. It’s my turn to keep you safe.”
“I’m going to kill him,” she says, fury echoing in her tone. “No one stabs my husband, and anyone who tries to harm you will wish they never thought of that.”
Fuck, her fiery heart makes me hard, but I am sure my wife wouldn’t condone that. I’ll have a word with the doctor to be on my side.
I kiss her temple. “That can wait.”
It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep, and I watch her for a long time—my entire life lies in this woman, my pregnant wife.
The doctor enters, but I am too busy contemplating the wonder of my life to care about his pesky presence.
“Your vitals are good, indicating positive progress. No infection. No fever.”
“When can I leave then?”
He eyes me over his clipboard, regarding me with a hard stare. “I would suggest at least a few days.”
I wave him off, and he says in a no-nonsense voice, “You need to take it easy.”
It’s surprising the fine doctor shows such boldness. I wouldn’t have thought it, which makes me respect him.
“Finally found your voice,” I smirk, and it emboldens him.
“I spent hours saving your life. I would appreciate it if you listened to what I say.”
His dedication will be rewarded. I guess we’ll build him that hospital after all.
“I will, Doc. Now, when can I fuck my wife?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “In a month.”
“A fucking month?”
He shrugs, checking on me. “Nothing to jeopardize your recovery.”
My jaw sets in a hard line, and I gnash my teeth. “My wife won’t hear about this nonsense.”
“That was your wife’s first question when we brought you from the ICU.”
Fuck, she knows me too well.
My frustration washes away, a warm feeling taking its place.
“Why are you worried? I survived. If a bullet didn’t take me out, you bet I can endure some stabbing.”
I return my attention to my wife, who sleeps soundly and safe, tucked in the crook of my arm.
Time passes and I can’t stop it, but I will make the best of it.
Brushing some strands from her face, I kiss the tip of her nose, not wanting to wake her up.
She whispers my name, instinctively knowing to whom she belongs.
“You always knew you were mine,” I say, my voice dipped in reverent amazement.
Her face lights up with a radiant smile. “Does my husband need reassurance?”
“It wouldn’t hurt.” I wiggle my brows. “Especially since I can’t have you for two weeks.”
“A month. Nice try, though.”