Chapter 4 #2
“I’ll give him some antibiotics to be on the safe side,” I confirm, while setting up some bowls for the soup she’s made.
“It always goes straight to his chest.” I can sense her guilt in how she speaks and her scent, but it’s unnecessary. “I know you’ve already said your goodbyes.”
“You did the right thing, calling me when you did. I’m glad you called, and there’s nothing wrong with me squeezing in another visit. The damage done to his lungs by the fire is always going to be a worry. I promise he’s okay. He definitely doesn’t have pneumonia.”
Her hand shakes as she focuses on stirring our dinner. Reaching over for a glass, I pour her out a Scotch, knowing she wouldn’t have had one yet. She wouldn’t have done anything but look after Marco all day.
Now that I’m here, I get to care for him, and her.
“I’m going to lie down with him until he falls asleep.”
Deena twists, her eyes rolling. “He’ll be out like a light now you’re here. Something in him knows how safe he is with you. He’s…” She drops her eyes and looks away, a sudden wave of anxiety bunching up her shoulders.
I push the glass in front of where she’s looking, rubbing a hand over her shoulders. “There’s no other way to do this.”
She snatches the glass and swallows the liquid in one gulp. Seeing her upset makes my emotions threaten to spill in the same way hers are.
I know it’s not Marco being sick that’s caused this reaction.
Deena has very similar fears to mine. Tonight isn’t the first time, nor will it be the last, when one or both of us struggles with what has to happen, but that doesn’t mean those things won’t happen.
My father’s drive knows no bounds and is still growing.
His objectifying me as an offering to a powerful friend is completely in line with his fucked-up character.
But I’d go over my sister any day of the week.
I simply will not let her be drawn into this or let Marco be discovered.
It’s strange, but that staunch, hard limit, that I’m the one who will be going, is also what brings me a little comfort in the situation.
My mother was the heart of our family, until he crushed her spirit with his greed. My sister was born years after me, but by then my mother was a shattered woman, ruined by Victor’s narcissism and cruel ego.
My mother withdrew deep inside herself, while my father continued his fraternizations and obsession with power, all carefully hidden behind his cultured facade and respected position as Ambassador.
When he goes up in flames, I plan to make him burn so bright everyone sees, so they all know what a con man he was, but how conned they were too.
The arrangement Victor had agreed to, when I was still—like he said—“a child” was with a Russian Bratva.
In exchange for open ports, clear border crossings and trade agreements, I was going to be married.
Getting out of the promise he made was never going to happen.
In truth, after years of getting used to the idea and planning for it, I wanted it to go ahead.
It was me or my sister, but more so, it was another nail in Victor’s coffin.
I left our negotiation that night with an assurance that my sister was safe.
Not only did Victor agree to pay for my education in the finest schools—because he wanted a worthy opponent—but I also left with the evidence I needed to keep my father, figuratively, ass up over a barrel until I could deal with him once and for all.
In his fucked-up “we’re family” reasoning, I knew he wouldn’t kill me; it would ruin his long game. But I had provisions in place, regardless. The incriminating evidence wasn't one or two things—it was many—and like I promised and pledged, one day I would find someone to listen.
He clearly saw our arrangement similar to how I did.
The overly generous monthly stipend he offered was a surprise, as were the regular calls I could make to my sister to check on her welfare.
There were the obligatory promises of violence against anyone connected with me—aka my sister and my mother—if I stepped a toe out of line, but I wanted my revenge against him so bad, I did everything I said I would and more.
I attended the best private university to finish my degree before working my ass off at medical school.
And living on my own at the age of eighteen forced me to grow up in ways you couldn’t imagine unless you’d done it yourself.
All of a sudden, I was responsible for my own safety and welfare.
Each thing I did, from where I lived to what I ate to who I befriended, served a purpose.
Similarly, becoming more comfortable with who I was as an Omega was something that came with experiencing heats and dealing with softer emotions and needs.
I didn’t shy away from my tears or my slick; I found a way to harness the strength in the gentle nature of who I am.
Mostly. Kade was proof I was still a prisoner to my softer nature.
Deena clears her throat, no doubt aware of my quick-but-poignant rush of reminders of what happened and why we’re in this exact place.
Deena is a major player in all this, which means her concern is valid.
“I’ll be fine.”
“I know, Quinn. I’m still allowed to worry.”
“All you need to do is love this boy, like you already do. In twelve months, we get new names before we ride off into the sunset, where we will enjoy the rest of our lives, happily and safely.”
“That’s the plan,” she says softly before her voice drops even lower. “I’ll protect him with my life.”
“I know that.”
“I’ll put the bread in the oven, don’t be too long,” she says, dismissing me in a sense, but we’ve got the next few days to talk over our plans. Tonight is about Marco.
I stop by the bathroom, changing into some loose pants and a long T-shirt I stole from Kade.
Marco is sitting up, waiting, his quilt wrapped around him making him look like a burrito. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glazed, and as soon as he sees me, he flops backward, feigning sleep.
I wait until he checks to see why it’s taking me so long to get to him, signing, “you’re a cheeky monkey” as I run over the distance to wrap him up in a cuddle.
His smile is the only confirmation I need that I’ve made the right decision in leaving him for twelve months.
I know I won’t be able to rush what I have to do, but at the same time, one year is too long in my opinion.
Marco knows I’m going away. Every time I see him, we talk about it.
He doesn’t like it, but he understands. I’ve never hidden from Marco the truth about his heritage and his family.
What I have done, though, is hide him. Once Marco is of age and capable of making his own decisions, he’ll be given everything he will need to understand why I made the decisions I did, including the one to leave.
If he wants to return then, I won’t stop him.
The safety-deposit box is a just-in-case box, because I’m mostly confident I can pull off one year married to the head of the Petrov Bratva, though there is a saying about best-laid plans.
Marco pulls my hand out from around him and turns to lie on his back.
“What happened?” He points to my face, where only a white patch remains, then at the bandage on my hand.
I knew he wouldn’t miss it. Even sick as a dog, he’s still very perceptive. And I’m still in denial, hence the bandage, which is well and truly unnecessary now.
He watches my face as I mouth back, my hands in his periphery for him to read. “I was fighting off a monster, he bit me, then took a swipe with his giant claws.”
He throws his hands around aggressively, baring his teeth. “Tell the truth.” Displaying the hallmarks of an Alpha.
He’s way too young to designate, but Marco continues to have pretty clear signs, nonetheless. Very early on, I knew he’d be a strong Alpha. I will do whatever I can to make sure he becomes whoever he wants to be, but I won’t let him be an asshole in his strength.
I stare him down, and he catches himself. After steadying himself, he tries again, even giving me a slightly cheesy, apologetic grin. “Please.”
Not waiting for me to explain, he traces the faint mark on my face, quickly moving on to the more gruesome injury. Despite his outburst only a second ago, he holds my hand carefully as he pulls off the plaster.
The constant throbbing I’ve been experiencing for weeks, and staunchly ignoring, beats hard like a bongo drum.
After it happened, I checked it religiously for infection.
It’s actually healed well. I suspect the sensation I sometimes feel from it is nothing more than my brain reading way more into the situation.
“It looks deep. Will it go away?” he asks after twisting my hand in the light to see it from all angles.
“Hopefully.”
He shuffles again on his side. “How did it happen, though?” He keeps inspecting it. I’d like to pull it away and pretend it’s not there, but Marco presses it against his cheek in his attempt to comfort me.
He reads my lips. “An accident at work. An Alpha was in trouble, and I tried to help him and got hurt in the process.”
His mouth tightens, and his eyes flash dark with emotion. “When I get bigger, I’ll kill him for hurting you.”
“Marco, you and I are not like that. We are good. We treat people with love. It was an accident; there is no wrong to right.”
His eyes flash with challenge, but before I can pull him up on being a dominant shit, he shuts his eyes. I run my fingers through his hair until I feel the tension in his body drain out. He coughs a few times before his breathing deepens and stays like that.
I lay with him for a long time, memorizing his features and his sweet scent.
It’s times like these that are going to be my motivation not to give up.