44. Nicolai
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
NICOLAI
I’ve become him.
The realization sits heavy in my chest. Clawing at my ribs like it wants to tear me apart from the inside out. I swore I’d never be like him. Swore I’d never let the rage consume me the way it consumed my father, the way it turned him into something unrecognizable.
And yet?—
I had my hand around her throat.
My wife’s throat.
My pulse hammers in my ears, and my breath stutters in my chest. A few seconds.
That’s all that stood between this moment and her grave.
I’m here, clutching my chest like an idiot, like these hands can fix what’s rotten inside of me.
They can’t . Nothing can because I’m a Caputo; his blood runs through my veins.
I almost killed her.
And worse?—
I almost killed our child.
My flesh and blood.
My world crashes down around me, heavier than anything I’ve ever felt. It’s brutal and overpowering because I know my father wouldn’t have hesitated. Wouldn’t have blinked. He would have ended Luna right then and there. The death of a Boss is forbidden.
My legs are unsteady, and my balance is off. I step back, needing space, but the realization stays with me. It’s relentless and coils in my chest, tightening with every breath.
How did I let it come to this? How did I become the very thing I swore I never would?
And how the hell do I come back from it?
Mateo steps forward, but I barely register it. My mind is replaying everything: the way Luna looked at me, the way her hands curled around her stomach, the way I could have ended everything before I even knew what I was losing.
“Breathe ,” Mateo mutters. In this moment, that’s easier said than done.
But I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m suffocating. Like the walls are closing in. Because once again, my world has changed, and for the first time, I don’t know if I can stand upright.
Mateo watches me carefully. “You need to pull yourself together, Boss.”
I shake my head as a bitter laugh escapes. “I almost killed her.”
Mateo’s jaw tightens. “I know.” He crosses the room, grabbing a bottle off the shelf. The whiskey splashes into the glass, and he slides it toward me. Two fingers poured, just enough to take the edge off.
I stare at it for a moment because my hands feel foreign. Untrustworthy. I almost killed my wife. Mateo watches my hesitation. Then he reminds me why my hands became a lethal weapon not that long ago.
“You were acting on instinct,” he continues. “You lost control, but that wasn’t just rage. It was grief. It was justice. You,” he pauses to find the right words, “you weren’t trying to kill your wife. You were trying to kill the woman who took your brother from you.”
I grab the glass, my fingers curling around it like a lifeline. The whiskey burns as I down it in one gulp, the heat spreading through my chest, but it doesn’t help. It doesn’t numb anything.
Mateo’s calm is a challenge. Like he’s wondering if I’m still the kid he dragged out of hell, or just another man trying to crawl back in. “You need to get a grip.” I slam the empty glass down with more force than necessary.
“A grip?” My voice is bitter. “I almost killed her.” Mateo doesn’t blink.
“She killed your brother.” I grit my teeth so tight it aches.
“I know,” I bite out. But that doesn’t change the fact that when I looked at Luna for the first time, I didn’t know who I was seeing.
My wife.
Or my enemy.
And that truth?
Terrifies me.
Mateo watches me closely, trying to decide if leaving me is the right call. Then he rubs the back of his neck before settling his gaze on mine. “You good?”
I huff out a laugh that sounds bitter and angry. “Do I look good?”
His jaw tightens, and he considers me for a moment before shaking his head. “No. You look like shit.”
I drag a hand down my face, the exhaustion settling in now that the adrenaline has faded. “Then there’s your answer.”
Mateo shakes his head. Grabbing the bottle, he sets it next to my empty glass. “You need to figure out what the hell you’re gonna do next, man.”
I already know that, but I have no idea where to start.
And as he finally turns around, leaving me with nothing but my thoughts, I realize it might be the most terrifying part of all.
He closes the door behind him, and the quiet gnaws at the edges of my sanity. I drag my hand through my hair, pressing my fingers hard against my scalp like I can dig out the thoughts that won’t stop shoving their way to the surface.
Luna said she was pretending this wasn’t real. Those words claw at me, twisting in my gut. She didn’t want this. Not me. Not my child.
She spent months pretending—burying it, ignoring it, hiding from something I didn’t even know existed.
Now she’s carrying a life inside her, and I almost tore it from her hands before she could tell me.