Chapter 11
ELEVEN
LYKOS
The hinges hadn’t even finished rattling before I was on my best friend.
“What the fuck did you do?” My tone carried a low, deadly quality. Usually, people shit themselves when they were the recipients of it; Salvatore didn’t even flinch.
If anything, the bastard looked entertained.
He adjusted his cuffs like we were about to discuss business over whiskey instead of the fact that he’d just brought the one woman who could break me directly to my front door.
“I arranged help,” he said lightly, glancing around my office as if admiring it. He’d been here hundreds of times and knew every inch of it almost as well as I did. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
My fist slammed onto the mahogany desk. Papers jumped. A glass tipped and shattered on the floor.
“Don’t play games with me.”
He rolled his eyes, his expression sharp despite his casual posture.
“Violet Freud,” I continued, each syllable cut from steel, “is in my house.” I stepped closer, crowding his space. “Around my children. Around Aria.”
Salvatore tilted his head, studying me seriously.
“Aria needs her,” he murmured. “So do you. Again, you’re welcome, buddy.”
My jaw clenched so tight it hurt. “It’s my fucking life. I’m not your experiment, and neither is my family.”
He exhaled slowly, then leaned casually against my desk, crossing his arms.
“You’ve been living like a ghost for a decade, Lykos.” I opened my mouth to object, but he added, “Actually, no, make that seventeen years, because it started before Dimitros was born.”
“I’ve been running a business,” I protested. “Unlike you, I don’t have a lot of time on my hands. My parents are dead. There aren’t too many people I trust to leave my children with.”
“First, you don’t make time for yourself.” He lifted his hand and extended one finger. “Second, I offer to watch your children constantly. Aria and my Renzo get along great.” Another digit raised. “Thirdly, a decade-long bout of abstinence is not healthy. You’re going to explode, my friend.”
I gritted my teeth. “You know, Salvatore, you’re right, and that explosion might happen right about now.”
“Well, I was thinking more along the lines of you exploding inside Violet. It’ll probably make your night. Hell, it’ll be the highlight of your decade. But hey, if you’re not up for it, I’ll be glad to take your pla—”
I moved before I could think, my hands grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the wall.
The frame behind him tilted sideways, but Salvatore just smiled and said, “And I rest my case.”
“Watch yourself.”
“Or what?” he challenged. “Nothing you do will change the facts. You need this woman, and even more importantly, your daughter needs her. Did you know Aria is terrified of going mad like Amara?”
My grip tightened. “She said that to you?”
“No, she admitted it to Renzo,” he grumbled. “But that’s not the point. Your kids need more than you have to offer. You can’t pour from an empty cup, Lykos.” He tipped his chin at my disheveled appearance. “They need Dr. Freud.”
I let out a sigh. Aria and Dimitros typically came to me with their problems, but lately, I suspected they tried to solve them on their own instead. Salvatore’s words only confirmed my suspicion, and while they both made me proud, it made me feel like shit.
“I drove my wife insane, and now I’m failing my children,” I muttered.
“Bullshit.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Is it though?”
“Undoubtedly. Amara had issues before she married you. Her parents shouldn’t have hidden that.” Something dark flickered behind his eyes. “You’ve tried everything, and it’s time you let her rest in peace.”
My mind immediately traveled back to when I first realized something was wrong with my wife.
She had been four—maybe five—months pregnant then. Far enough along that there should have been a softness to her, a warmth, something maternal beginning to settle in. Instead, there had been… nothing.
I had business to attend to that night and returned late, the house quiet in that suffocating way that comes just before dawn. The moment I stepped inside, something felt off. Too still. Too silent.
I found her in the kitchen.
Amara stood at the counter, sleeves rolled to her elbows, her frame thinner than it should have been for a woman carrying a child.
The light above cast a pale glow over her skin, making her look almost hollow.
Her focus was locked on the cutting board in front of her, slicing figs in a precise, mechanical rhythm.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound was too even. Too perfect.
I stayed in the doorway, jacket still on, watching her longer than I should have. Waiting for something—anything—to break the pattern. A shift. A pause. A sign that she knew I was there.
Nothing came.
“Amara,” I called out, careful not to startle her.
The blade didn’t stop.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I moved into the room, slower now, something uneasy settling low in my chest. With each step closer, the feeling grew—sharp, insistent.
And then I saw it.
Blood.
It was subtle at first. Just a thin red line slipping from her fingertip, trailing lazily down her wrist before dripping onto the counter. It blended too easily with the dark flesh of the figs, almost indistinguishable—like it belonged there.
“You’re bleeding,” I said, the words sharper than I intended as I reached for her.
The knife stilled midair.
For a second, she didn’t react at all. Then, slowly—too slowly—she turned her hand, studying the cut as if it didn’t belong to her.
“It doesn’t hurt,” she murmured, her voice distant, like she was speaking from somewhere far away.
A chill crawled up my spine.
I grabbed a cloth, wrapping it around her finger, my movements controlled even as something darker twisted beneath the surface. “It could get infected,” I said. “You’ve got to be careful.”
She watched me the entire time.
Unblinking.
Her gaze didn’t follow my hands. It didn’t drop to the wound. It stayed fixed on my face—too still, too empty, like she was trying to remember what I was to her.
“You didn’t feel that?” I asked.
A faint smile touched her lips. Not warm. Not reassuring. Something quieter. Stranger.
“Should I have?”
The question sat wrong.
I held her eyes, unease tightening in my chest. “Yes.”
Her head tilted slightly, as if considering it. As if the answer wasn’t obvious.
“I don’t feel pregnant,” she said after a moment. “Why would I feel this?”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because she was pregnant.
Five months along. There should have been something—instinct, awareness, connection—but there was nothing behind her eyes. No recognition. No concern.
Just… absence.
Before I could respond, she pulled her hand from mine. The cloth slipped, already staining through.
Then she picked the knife back up and continued cutting.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Like nothing had happened.
Like she hadn’t just bled across the counter.
Like she hadn’t just told me she felt nothing at all.
“I’ve left her in peace for almost two decades,” I finally said, returning to the present.
“No, you didn’t. You visited her. You nurtured her relationship with your children—or attempted to, because we both know she feels nothing for them.” He shook his head. “For years, you’ve hoped for her recovery. It’s not coming, Lykos.”
Silence crashed into the space between us.
He wasn’t wrong, but what choice did I have?
Divorce wasn’t an option, regardless of circumstances.
In our world, marriage is forever. Yes, mistresses are the norm, double lives as well, but that was never something I wanted.
I wanted one family and one woman to love.
That ship had sailed with Amara, and the other woman I wanted had rejected me—and that was putting it mildly.
Fuck, I couldn’t go there. Not now. Not ever.
Maybe Salvatore was right and I should have dropped my mad wife at the psychiatric ward of the private clinic and abandoned her. Forgotten about her, rather than hoped for some miraculous recovery and a somewhat normal life.
“You have a right to be happy,” Salvatore went on. “You’ve watched Violet for ten years. You probably know the woman better than she knows herself.” His gaze bored into mine now, stripping me bare. “She’s already part of your life.”
My hand slowly released his collar. He was right, but it didn’t make this whole fucked-up situation right.
“You’re wrong if you think she wants anything to do with me,” I said quietly. She had made that perfectly clear.
Salvatore straightened, brushing off his shirt like nothing had happened. “You promised me just a few nights ago that when the opportunity came to find your second chance, you’d take it. Now, fucking take it.”
I let out a humorless laugh.
“She thinks she’s here to help my mad wife.” I turned away, dragging a hand down my face as I tried to rein in the storm of emotions closing in. “And knowing Violet, she won’t let go of that.”
“Then use that to keep her here until you can convince her there’s more to your story,” he said.
I glanced at him. “And how’s that?”
“With Violet in your bed and in your life.” He shot me a cocky look. “It’ll end exactly how it’s supposed to, brother.”
My chest tightened. “Except you’re forgetting one important thing: I’m still married, and Violet has turned me down once already.”
He scoffed. “Trust me, I know women. And that one will be yours.”
We stood there, the air between us charged with his confidence and my hopelessness, until I finally sighed.
“One day, Salvatore, a woman will come along and turn your world upside down. I can’t wait to see how you handle that shit.”
A faint smirk ghosted his lips. “Never gonna happen.”
Salvatore was still mourning his late wife, Renzo’s mother, who died in childbirth. It was another thing we had in common: single-dad status. Yes, my wife was still alive, but her demons prevented her from being a mother and a wife.
“Famous last words.” I couldn’t wait to tell him I told you so, but until then, I’d have to deal with a certain woman who had unraveled me once.
Would I be able to return the favor this time around? Even more importantly, would she stay despite all the obstacles in our way?