CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
J ULIAN
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P LEASE BE SAFE.
Her voice echoed in my head. I couldn’t let her down. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. I staggered forward, each step sending pain radiating over my body. Ahead, Scott limped, his silhouette barely visible through the downpour.
But when the lightning flashed, I was able to see him, and I knew he was able to see me. He glanced back, eyes wide with terror as lightning lit up the dark sky. He tried to quicken his pace, but the knife still lodged in his foot hindered him.
I pushed through the pain, my body screaming with every step. The wind howled through the trees, branches swaying violently as the storm intensified. Rain pelted my face, mixing with the blood that dripped from my brow.
I kept my eyes locked on Scott, barely blinking, refusing to lose sight of him. Soon, I would pass out. But not before I’d taken his life.
"I'll leave you alone," he shouted over the roar of the storm. "I can't get the company anyway. Killing you has no benefits for me now. We don’t have to be enemies.”
We weren’t enemies. Not true enemies. He was merely a problem I needed to be rid of.
“Why are you still stalking me?” he yelled. “Why?”
I didn't respond. I had nothing to say to this bitch. Scott glanced back, his eyes wide with fear. He tripped over a tree root, falling hard onto the muddy ground. I moved faster as he tried to scramble to his feet. He was almost standing when I kicked him in the chest, knocking him against the tree.
"Please, Julian," he begged, his voice cracking. "We can work something out. I can disappear. You'll never see me again."
His words fell on deaf ears. I didn’t want his words. I only wanted his life. There was no room for mercy. I didn’t have much strength left, but I would use it to finish him. I grabbed him by the collar, yanking him to his feet, and pressed him against the tree.
“Please...” he started.
I sank my knife into his stomach. His eyes widened, and he struggled against me. But I didn’t let go. I kept him pinned against the tree as I sank my blade into him over and over again, gaze on his, wanting to see the life fade from his eyes.
The wind blew harder, gusting now as lightning brightened the sky above us. I could see the fear in his eyes. I was thankful that I’d be the last person this bastard saw before he went to hell.
"Please," he gasped, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.
I withdrew the blade and stabbed again, and again, each thrust fueled by the pain and rage that had been building inside me. Scott's body convulsed with each blow. I kept stabbing, planning to stab him for every day I’d been away from Stefanie.
For every time Aubrey’s guard reported that someone in the same vehicle Scott drove, rode past the school or a shop that my sister and India visited. For every time a camera picked him up near a Cattaneo business.
For him hiring a big wrestler type motherfucker to guard him. I stabbed him for each of those offenses. I kept going until my hand was slick with his blood, and the wound I’d created was a gaping hole.
Finally, I stopped, my chest heaving. Scott's eyes were vacant, his body limp. I stood over him, the storm raging around me. He was gone. Dead. It was over. I wish I could’ve caused him more pain. But this would have to do.
I released him and let his body slump to the ground. I stumbled backward. Struggling to breathe, energy depleted, I, too, fell to the ground. Rain pelted my body as I stared up at the sky. The first hint of morning was finally shining through the dark clouds.
As my eyes drifted shut, my thoughts turned to her. Soon, I’d be able to go to her. Soon, I’d be by her side. Soon, she’d be mine. And that was my last thought before darkness claimed me. The next time I opened my eyes, the rain had stopped.
The sun beamed down on me, a sign that I’d made it through the storm. Groaning, I tried to sit up. Not happening. I lay there, staring up at the sky, body aching. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself onto my side and stared around me.
One body was slumped against the tree. Another body was lying in the middle of the clearing. Both had to be disposed of, and I didn’t have the strength to do it. I was pretty sure I didn’t have the strength to drive.
I lay there for a moment, hoping the pain would lessen. It didn’t. It wouldn’t. Not without some meds, which I didn’t have on me. I had no choice but to fight through it. Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself into a sitting position.
“Fuck,” I hissed, head pounding.
My body screamed for me to lie back down. But I couldn’t. I had to find my phone. I had to call a cleaning crew. And I was pretty sure I needed a doctor. I sat there for a second, gathering my strength.
Then I pushed myself to my feet. I repeated the same few words over and over again as I worked. Heal and then go to her. Heal and then go to her. Heal and then go to her. It was those words that got me through the next hour of making phone calls and waiting for help to arrive.
At some point, I passed out. I didn’t know how long I was out for. What I did know was that waking up felt like dragging myself out of a fog. Every inch of my body ached. My joints, my ribs, my jaw, even.
But I wasn’t in the woods anymore. I knew that without opening my eyes. The mattress was familiar, the linen soft. The air in the room was cooler, crisper. I blinked, my lashes sticking together before finally prying apart.
My bedroom. I was in my own damn bed. Safe. Alive. And out of the storm. The door creaked open. My gaze slid in that direction just as my father entered. Guiliano Cattaneo . Memories hit me all at once.
Me crawling across the forest floor to find my phone. Dialing the cleaners. Then calling my dad and telling him the job was done.
He’d shown up minutes before the cleaners had. And he hadn’t spared a glance at the bodies on the ground. His concern had been for me. Only me. I remembered him helping me into his car. After that, everything was a blur.
All I remembered was the pain and the exhaustion. Oh, I remembered telling him not to tell Mom I was hurt. Beyond that, I couldn’t remember anything, not how long I’d been out. Nothing. My dad came over and sat on the edge of the bed.
“You’re awake. Finally,” he murmured, voice low, but with an edge of relief.
“How long was I out?” My voice was hoarse, thick like I’d swallowed gravel.
“Three days. On and off.”
Three days? Fuck . I hadn’t sent Stefanie a letter in three days. Was she worried? Was she wondering if I’d given up on her? Had she given up on me?
“Look at me,” Dad insisted.
I looked up. His dark eyes locked on mine.
“You look more focused now. I think the fever finally broke. That first day, you were out of it. You kept talking nonsense.”
“What kind of nonsense?” I asked.
He reached over to the nightstand, grabbed the pill bottle, uncapped it, and shook a couple of tablets into his hand.
“Something about needing to be awake to write a letter,” he muttered, almost like he was trying not to laugh. “You kept talking about letters. You said you had to pay off the postman to deliver them. I couldn’t make out half of what you were saying.”
He didn’t understand it, but I did. Even when feverish, I’d been thinking about her.
“Take these,” he insisted, offering me the pills.
I lifted my hand, slow and shaky, palm up. “I can put them in my mouth myself.”
“Good. Because I’ve had to force you to take them these past days,” he told me.
Lifting my arm hurt like hell, but I refused to fail. I popped the pills into my mouth and swallowed.
“Water,” Dad said. “Drink water, Julian.”
Oh, right. He brought the water to my mouth. I let him help me drink it, though I felt weak as hell for needing such help.
“Stop frowning,” he said. “This isn’t the first time I’ve taken care of you like this. When you were younger, you got into fights all the damn time. Always trying to hang with your older cousins.”
I cracked a smile. When they fought, I fought. That was the Cattaneo way. I couldn’t back down just because the boys were older and bigger than me. If Raz, Cas, Bryce, and Rome fought, I fought. End of story.
We’re blood, so we bleed together ... that’s what Rome used to say all the time.
“You should’ve asked for help,” Dad said, his voice dipping lower. “You should’ve had someone go with you, son.”
“I handled it.”
“Yeah, but look at you. That big motherfucker put a whooping on you.”
I chuckled and immediately regretted it. Pain flared through my ribs.
“He was big as hell,” I groaned. “He was like two men. I was fighting three men, technically.”
Dad smirked, shaking his head. “I’ve fought more back in my day.”
“Yeah, right,” I said, still grinning even though it hurt to do so. “Back in your day, y’all were slapping each other with gloves and challenging each other to duels.”
He laughed so hard, he made the bed shake. “I’m not that old, boy.” My dad placed his hand against my forehead. “You’re no longer hot. But you still need to rest for a while. I’ll handle things at the company. You just focus on getting better.”
I nodded. “You didn’t tell Mom, did you?” I asked.
“Of course I did. She’s in your kitchen making soup right now.”
My eyes widened. “Dad! I told you not to.”
“Son, I was not about to keep this from your mother. Plus, she was with me when you called. She heard the conversation.”
“Still...” I whispered, gaze drifting to the door, wanting to see her walk through it, but dreading it also.
“Since you can’t hang up on me or walk away, now is the best time to talk to you about this. Why have you been avoiding coming home? Why have you been avoiding me and your mom? Are you hiding something? Is it because of the blind dates I suggested?”
“No, Dad. And I’m not avoiding you. I just didn’t want Mom having to come all this way to...”
“All what way? She didn’t drive here. I did. She’s a passenger princess. Stop dancing around the answer.”
I swallowed. I couldn’t tell him the truth. Couldn’t tell him that I’d found out his truth.
“Son, just...”
“Stop pestering my baby, Guiliano,” my mom said as she entered the room, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup on it, some crackers on the side, and a stack of napkins.
My dad quickly rose to his feet and approached her to take the tray, placing it on the nightstand. The way he smiled at her hadn’t changed since I was a boy. When Guiliano Cattaneo looked at his wife, it was like he was seeing the only thing in the world that made sense to him.
It was like he was staring at the woman of his dreams. All my life, I’d believed they were the best match in our entire Cattaneo family. Solid. Real. The kind of love people wrote about. All my life, I’d believed they were happy.
That changed last year when I learned the truth. They hadn’t fallen in love at first sight like they told my sister and me. They’d been forced into a relationship. My grandfather owed hers a debt, and my father was the payment.
The bride was forced to be with a man she’d never met before and eventually had to give up her nursing job, a job she’d loved, to raise a family. And my dad was torn from the woman he’d truly loved. Though, in true Cattaneo fashion, he’d kept seeing the other woman long after he was married.
It was my grandfather who put an end to that by paying the other woman off and buying her a one-way ticket out of the country. She’d accepted the money and had agreed to leave. But not before she left something behind.
Me .
Nine months later, she dropped a baby off at his doorstep and then left the country in true soap opera fashion. But I was proof that this was no daytime drama. I was proof that the other woman existed.
I was proof of my father’s first love and of his infidelity. And my mom, the one who raised me, had been forced to raise another woman’s child. Learning that had damn near broken me. For a while, I’d hated my father.
Guilt hummed through me whenever I was around my mother. I wasn’t even sure if I should continue calling her that. Every time I looked at the woman who raised me, the woman who took care of me, the woman who loved me all these years, all I saw was my father’s betrayal.
And I was proof of that betrayal. And she had to stare at me every day. That’s why I didn’t come around. That’s why I was avoiding them. I was trying to give her some space, some peace. Something my father damn sure hadn’t been able to give her.
My mother walked around to the other side of the bed and pressed a kiss to my forehead. That only increased my guilt. How could she look at me and not feel hatred? How could she sit on the same bed as him and not think of what he’d done to her, to this family?
“You didn’t have to come all this way,” I whispered and didn’t miss the flash of hurt in her eyes. Guilt on top of guilt ate away at me.
“Nonsense,” she whispered. “When my baby is hurt, I have to be there.”
Her baby. I closed my eyes to hold back the tears. I felt her hand against my cheek.
“What’s wrong? Tell me,” she insisted when I didn’t speak.
“If something is wrong, you better tell her,” Dad chimed in. “You know she’ll tear the city apart trying to figure it out.”
My lips lifted in a small smile. My mother was indeed fierce. She’d always been protective of me. And her side of the family was almost as ruthless as my dad’s side.
“I think it’s me,” my dad said with a sigh. “I think he’s mad at me for playing matchmaker.”
My mom glared at him. “I told you to leave him alone. My son is handsome, charming, and a hard worker. He doesn’t need help finding a woman.”
“I know,” my dad said from his side of the bed. “But he doesn’t date. I’ve had him watched. He’s never with a woman long enough to do anything other than scre...”
“Guiliano!” My mom hissed.
“It’s the truth.” My dad shrugged. “I just want him to settle down.”
“He will,” Mom told him. “When he’s ready. We’re not going to force him, and we’re not going to choose for him. And we’ll accept his choice no matter what. We’ve already agreed on this.”
My father nodded. “I just wish he’d hurry up and make a choice.”
My gaze drifted from one side of the bed to the next as the two of them argued over me. Then I chuckled so hard my side ached. They faced me, concern etched into their features as they reached for me.
“All that talking is distressing him,” Mom said, with her hand on my shoulder.
“I know. I know. Sorry, son.”
I laughed again. “Thanks,” I whispered.
“Thanks for what?” my dad asked.
“Thanks for coming for me, Dad.”
He scoffed. “Son, I will always come for you. You’re my boy. I’d die for you.”
Tears filled my eyes. “And thank you, too, Mom.”
“You better not say for making soup and watching over you,” she told me. “I do that because I love you. You don’t have to thank me.”
A tear trailed down my cheek.
“Thanks for loving me, Mom.” Even though I’m not your biological child.
Tears filled her eyes also. “You don’t have to thank me for that, either. You’re my son. One-third of my heart. It’s me who should thank you for protecting us and for surviving. Thank you, my son.”
I closed my eyes, trying to hold the tears back. But they came anyway. Both of my parents hugged me. And it hurt like hell. But I didn’t complain. How could I, when I needed that hug so damn much.
I was a fool for avoiding them. I couldn’t change the past. But I could recognize a blessing when I saw one. My mom was my blessing. And despite the betrayal, she loved me. And she didn’t want me to know that I wasn’t hers.
So, I’d let it go. I was hers in the ways that mattered the most. Family didn’t always mean blood-related. Sometimes it meant those who loved us and whom we loved back. It meant those who showed up for us and whose backs we always had.
It meant those we’d give our lives for and who’d give their lives for us. I didn’t need to find my biological mom. I didn’t need to know why she’d dropped me off on my dad’s porch and hadn’t contacted me all these years. I honestly had no desire to know her.
The only reason I’d gone to a friend who worked at the local hospital and had them send my hair strands, along with my mom’s, for DNA testing was because I’d found it hard to believe that the woman who’d loved me all these years wasn’t related to me by blood.
I hadn’t done it because I wanted to start some important journey to find out who my real mom was. My real mom was the one hugging me right now. She was the one who never left me when I needed her.
Plus, going to the hospital that day to drop off those strands of hair was the day I saw Stefanie Adams. I’d seen her and had been struck by her beauty. Like a fucking idiot, I’d found myself following her.
Unable to stop watching her, I’d even sat a few seats behind her in a waiting room I hadn’t needed to be in. I’d listened in on her phone conversation and realized that I wasn’t the only one who had family problems.
I wasn’t the only one hurting because of something someone else did. Her words had helped me come to grips with what I was facing even before I got the DNA results back. So, in a way, my mom had led me to the woman I craved.
I guess that was just one more thing I had to thank her for. For loving me. For raising me to be a man who wasn’t ashamed to love wholeheartedly and properly. And for leading me to the woman I love.
Thank you, Mom.