Chapter 42
FORTY-TWO
RAVEN
Iwas unraveling, bit by bit, with each day that slipped by. Every hour felt like a thread pulled loose, and I could feel myself fraying at the edges.
Aiden and his brothers were planning how to infiltrate Duncan’s estate and extract my mother from whatever nightmare she was trapped in. But they didn’t share the details, and that gnawed at me.
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust them; I did. But a dread, deep in my bones, wouldn’t let me be.
I asked questions and they answered, but their private, knowing glances only added to my unease and fear.
I was terrified of what could go wrong, of someone getting hurt, but also of what we might discover. My mother had been in Duncan’s grip for five years. Five freaking years!
She hadn’t spoken much about him during the first nineteen years of my life, but what little she had shared was enough to haunt me.
What if Duncan had completely broken her? What if Aiden and his brothers got hurt because of me?
Aiden and I had grown closer. We talked often, spent even more time tangled in the sheets, but there were places we didn’t go. Conversations we avoided. Like our feelings or what we might face once we reached Glasgow.
The days were growing colder and shorter. Aiden and his brothers had left after lunch, and the apartment felt emptier than ever. After sharing an apartment with my best friends for so long, I was used to constant commotion. Now, the isolation somehow felt even lonelier.
Dusk had settled over the city, casting long shadows across the bedroom walls. I sat curled up on the windowsill, Athena’s latest book open on my Kindle.
Reading had never come easily to me, although I always made a point of reading Athena’s books. How could I not? Friends support friends. But right now, I couldn’t focus and was still stuck on page two, even after an hour. Eventually, I gave up and let my gaze drift to the streets below.
Beneath me, Paris pulsed with adrenaline and people rushed home, into a bar, or whatever else they had going on. The girls and I used to be those people, but over the last few months, we’d one by one been swept into completely different lives.
I considered calling Athena or Isla to ask if there was any news about Phoenix and Reina, but I stopped myself. They’d ask too many questions, and I wasn’t ready to answer them. I didn’t want to risk shifting their focus to me.
Wherever Phoenix and Reina were, I prayed they were safe. They were fierce and could endure a storm. As if on cue, that fateful night with Angelo Leone came to my mind.
The keys jangled, sharp against the hush of the hallway. Our breaths fogged the air while Isla struggled with the lock. The New Year’s celebration had gone well enough, but the laughter still rang empty, because it wasn’t the same without Reina.
We giggled as Isla finally managed to open the door and we made our way to the kitchen, only to come abruptly to a stop at the scene in front of us.
The kitchen looked like a battlefield. Reina sat on the blood-smeared tile floor, her face a canvas of bruises while in front of her a body sprawled in the pool of blood.
Silence—foreboding and ominous—stretched until Isla broke it. “What… the fuck…”
Reina’s deathly pale expression lifted and she whispered, “I killed him.” Then her eyes found her sister’s. “I’m not sorry.”
“Who the fuck is this?” I rasped, my eyes glued to the lump on the floor while images of another dead body played in my mind. I didn’t get to see my mom’s dead body. Did it look as terrifying and horrific as this one?
“Did he—” Phoenix swallowed with an audible gulp while her hands trembled as she signed. “Did he touch you?”
Reina shook her head.
“How did he get in?” Athena croaked, looking like a deer in headlights.
“I answered the door. Before I could shut it, he pushed in,” Reina answered. She seemed oddly calm, or maybe she was in a state of shock.
Isla stared at the body with a horrified expression before turning to look at me. “Who is he?” Isla asked, repeating my earlier question.
“Angelo Leone,” Phoenix answered. “Dante and Amon’s father.”
The name hung there, the apartment seeming smaller by the second. Dante and Amon’s father represented the Leone family in the Omertà. My mom had told me to hide in plain sight, but this… Oh my God, this wouldn’t constitute hiding.
I shook my head as a tremor zipped down my spine.
There was no time for panic. My roommates had been there for me when I needed them, and now they needed me. Reina needed us. If we acted smart, we’d remove ourselves from this situation, and I’d remain invisible to the underworld.
I zoned out their exchange while I tried to come up with a plan to keep us all safe.
“First things first,” I started in a calm, collected tone while turmoil raged inside me. I pointed a finger at Reina. “You need a shower. Then we need to brainstorm ideas about what to do with this body.”
“Why aren’t you freaking out?” Athena muttered.
“Have you killed before?” Isla mumbled, half joking and half serious.
I shook my head.
“Remember how I told you that I saw a mobster kill and dispose of a body before?” They all stared at me, and I waved my hand, now not even sure if I said that to them or maybe I thought about telling them.
“It’s a long story, and we don’t have time for it right now. Let’s all change into something black.”
“Why black?” Isla whispered.
“It’s easier to blend into the night,” I answered. “I think so, anyhow.”
“You’re scaring me right now,” Athena grumbled.
“Shouldn’t we be scared of the dead body in the middle of our kitchen?” Phoenix cut through their nonsense.
“Before the police find themselves at our door,” I supplied.
“I’m legit freaked out,” Isla chimed in. “And why is Reina just staring at him?”
Reina murmured that we should cut him up, and the dark part of me, maybe the small ounce that belonged to my father, relished in the idea of making this dead criminal pay—even in death. Angelo Leone—much like my own father—deserved to be decimated.
“Okay, so we have the first part figured out,” I stated matter-of-factly. “We’ll cut him up.”
I moved, slow and methodical, and everyone followed suit.
We shifted the body, lifted it, dragged it, our small apartment filling with low grunts and the thin soundtrack of retching and whispered orders.
I kept my hands steady. My gloves went on like armor.
My mind compartmentalized. And my lips chanted things to be done: slice, dice, shower, bury the body parts in the catacombs.
That night, justice smelled of bleach. That night, we were judge, jury, and executioner. My mom didn’t deserve it, but this man sure as hell did, and I couldn’t help but wish the same destiny for my own father and Jack Callahan.
But even then, I couldn’t wish the same fate on my husband.
Aiden’s voice cut through the memories of that night. “Mo cuishle, what are you still doing awake?”
I looked up, finding his tall frame filling the doorway of the bedroom. His broad shoulders were drawn tight beneath the black three-piece suit he still hadn’t changed out of.
“Is everything okay?” I asked softly, noticing his appearance and tense jaw.
“Just a long day,” he murmured. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I couldn’t sleep without you,” I admitted.
“What were you thinking about just now?”
“I was just thinking about the Romero sisters and…” I trailed off, still holding back certain parts of myself.
The video Aiden had shown me didn’t capture the actual murder, just the aftermath: the five of us, hacking into Angelo Leone’s body like something out of a horror movie. What must he think of me?
Without a word, he crossed the room, lifted me effortlessly from the sill, and sank into it himself with me in his lap. The heat of his body melted into mine.
Being in his arms… It felt like home.
“I got rid of it.”
“What?” I twisted to look at him, confusion clouding my thoughts. “Got rid of what?”
“The video with you and the girls slicing and dicing,” he said wryly.
“But… why?”
He shrugged, his expression unreadable. “I want you to stay with me willingly. Plus, I’m not taking any chances with that video getting out and jeopardizing the mother of my child and our unborn baby.”
My hand instinctively reached forward, cupping his cheek. The roughness of his stubble scraped against my palm, and a lump formed in my throat.
“Thank you,” I whispered, leaning in to kiss the side of his neck as tears welled in my eyes. “Thank you so much. I won’t betray your trust.”
It was my sacred vow to him.
Pressing a kiss just below his pulse, my hands slid under his suit jacket, grazing the cold metal of his gun. He hadn’t taken it off yet.
“Fuck, you make me greedy,” he murmured, his hand moving to cradle my nape. He angled my face, then crashed his lips onto mine, his hunger matching my own.
I parted my lips, letting him in, his tongue dancing with mine and the ache between my thighs intensifying.
“You and I… We would have found each other in every life,” he murmured against my lips.
My heart flipped at his words as his lips took mine for another kiss: soft, sweet, and heartbreaking.
I fumbled to undo his tie, kissing him gently. We took it slow, savoring each second. I darted my tongue across his lower lip, then nibbled gently. His tongue took over, engaging in a feverish duel with mine. He sucked, his erection making itself known against my abdomen.
Arousal pooled between my legs, soaking my panties. Discarding his tie, I worked on getting rid of his jacket and then fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, eager to feel his skin. Our slow kissing worked up and became a starving need. We kissed like it was our first time, our last time.
I love you.
The words shattered through my mind and burned on my lips, wanting out. I had no idea where they came from. Was it even possible? Maybe I was mistaking lust for love.