Twelve
Kaiden
Ican’t believe I’m about to see her again. Can’t believe she responded to my messages.
For all the dark things I’ve seen and done during my life, nothing has me tied up in knots as much as seeing my estranged wife after ten years without any contact.
I arrive early - twenty minutes before I’m supposed to - because I need to scope out the location. Old habits die hard, and after eighteen years in the syndicate, I can’t just walk into a situation blind. Even if that situation is meeting my wife for coffee.
Estranged wife, I remind myself, though the distinction feels hollow.
Santino’s hasn’t changed much. Same red awning, same cramped tables visible through the window, same smell of espresso and baked goods wafting onto the street.
Aspen and I used to come here occasionally, during those six perfect months. A small treat to ourselves. Aspen would order some ridiculously sweet latte with caramel, and I gave her shit about it while stealing sips when she wasn’t looking.
Now, I position myself across the street, where I have a clear view of the entrance but remain partially concealed by a storefront.
The Beretta under my jacket is a comforting weight, though I’m not expecting trouble.
Not today. Still, I scan the street, noting exits, checking for anyone who looks out of place or too interested in the café.
Nothing. Just regular people going about their Thursday afternoon.
My phone reads 1:47 PM. Thirteen minutes until she arrives… If she arrives.
I torture myself with the belief she won’t show.
That she’s moved on, found someone else, built a life that doesn’t include the ghost of a husband who abandoned her when she needed him most. The thought sits like acid in my gut, but I force myself to consider it.
I deserve that outcome. Hell, I deserve worse.
But then I see her.
1:52 PM. Eight minutes early. My breath catches in my throat.
She’s walking down the sidewalk with purpose, her blonde hair is longer and a little darker than I remember, falling almost to her waist in waves that catch the afternoon light.
She’s wearing jeans and a soft green sweater that I know will bring out the color in the seafoam eyes I’ve dreamed about for a decade, even though I can’t see them from here.
She looks… God, she looks beautiful. More than beautiful. She’s grown into herself, lost that last hint of teenage softness, and the woman approaching Santino’s is confident in a way that makes my chest ache.
A way I’ve missed being a part of.
I watch as she pauses outside the café, her hand on the door handle. From this distance, I can see her hesitation. She’s nervous. Well, that makes two of us.
She doesn’t go in immediately. Instead, she pulls out her phone, checks it, then slides it back into her pocket. Takes a visible breath. Squares her shoulders.
Then she opens the door and walks inside with her head held high.
I count to thirty, giving her time to settle, and maybe order something. My heart is hammering against my ribs in a way that has nothing to do with danger and everything to do with the fact that my wife - the love of my life - is sitting in that café waiting for me.
When I finally cross the street and push through the door, the little bell chimes overhead. The sound cuts through the ambient noise of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine. I scan the interior automatically. Check out exits, potential threats, civilians… before my eyes find her.
She’s chosen a table in the back corner. Smart. Private. Her hands are wrapped around a cup of something steaming, and she’s staring down at it like it holds the secrets of the universe.
Then the bell registers and she looks up, half expectant, half apprehensive, and our eyes meet.
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. Those pale green eyes, flecked with amber, are exactly as I remember them. But there’s something different now. A wariness that wasn’t there before. A guardedness I guess I put there when I walked away.
I force my feet to move, weaving between tables until I’m standing in front of her.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. I’m drowning in the sight of her, cataloguing every detail - the faint freckles across her nose that I used to kiss, the way she bites her lower lip when she’s uncertain, the pulse point in her throat that’s beating just a little too fast.
“Hey,” I manage, and my voice comes out rougher than I intend.
“Hi.” Her voice is steady, but her knuckles are white around the cup.
“May I...?” I gesture to the chair across from her.
She nods, and I sit, acutely aware of the small table between us that feels like a chasm. Up close, I notice things I couldn’t see from across the street. The faint shadows under her eyes. The absence of a wedding ring, though that doesn’t mean anything, even though it guts me.
Even though I don’t wear my own.
The way she’s holding herself like she might bolt at any second.
“You look good,” I say, because it’s true and because I don’t know how else to start this conversation.
Her eyes flick over me, assessing. “So do you.”
I wonder what she sees. I’m not the scrawny eighteen-year-old who left her in that hospital bed.
Well, I wasn’t exactly scrawny, since I stayed in shape with the MMA.
But by comparison, the latter years with Vito, and the year since his death, have filled me out.
I’m broader through the shoulders, harder everywhere.
The expensive suit I’m wearing, thanks to my newfound wealth, probably costs more than everything I owned back then combined.
I’ve got scars she’s never seen, and shadows in my eyes that weren’t there before.
As rough as the Viper was on me as a kid, my adult years with him made that time seem like kindergarten.
“You came,” I say, stating the obvious because apparently, my brain has decided to malfunction.
“You asked me to.” She takes a sip of her drink, and I recognize the defensive gesture for what it is… buying time, creating a barrier.
A waitress appears at my elbow, and I order an espresso without looking at the menu. When she leaves, the silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable.
“I don’t know where to start,” I admit, because honesty feels like the only card I have left to play.
“How about with why?” Her voice is quiet, but there’s steel underneath. “Why now, Kaiden? It’s been ten years.”
I expected this. Deserve it. “Vito’s dead.”
Her jaw tightens. “I heard.”
“Then you know why…”
She sets down her cup with more force than necessary. “No, actually, I don’t understand that at all. He’s been dead for a year, Kaiden. A year. So, I’ll ask again - why now?”
I deserve her anger. I welcome it, honestly, because it’s better than indifference. “I needed to get my shit together first. I couldn’t come to you with nothing, Aspen. Not again.”
“With nothing?” Her laugh is bitter. “You think that’s what mattered to me? Money? Status?”
“No, but…”
“I was eighteen years old, lying in a hospital bed, and the person I loved most in the world just vanished. No explanation. No goodbye. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”
The pain in her voice is a knife between my ribs. “I know. Fuck, Aspen, I know, and I’m sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry.”
“Sorry?” She shakes her head, and I see the glisten in her eyes, making them greener. “Sorry isn’t enough. It will never be enough.”
My throat tightens, and I have to force the next words out. “I didn’t have a choice. He was going to kill you, Aspen. All those ‘accidents’ you had - the subway platform, the mugging, the hit and run - that was him. That was Vito sending me a message.”
Her face pales slightly, but she doesn’t look surprised. “I figured that out thanks to Mamma.”
“I had to go back. It was the only way to keep you safe. If I’d stayed, if I’d tried to fight him, he would have...” I can’t finish the sentence. Even now, even with him dead, the thought of what he would have done to her makes my blood run cold.
“So you made the decision for both of us.” Her voice is flat now, emotionless, which somehow feels worse than the anger. “You decided what I could handle. What risks I was allowed to take. You just... left.”
“What was I supposed to do?” The words come out harsher than I intend. “Let him torture you? Kill you? Use you against me every single day for the rest of my life? Because that’s what would have happened.”
“Maybe that should have been my choice to make!” Her voice rises slightly, drawing a few glances from nearby tables.
She notices and lowers it again, leaning forward.
“We were married, Kaiden. Married. That’s supposed to mean something.
You’re supposed to face things together, not... not just disappear.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“No, you were trying to control the situation. Like you always do.” She sits back, crossing her arms. “You watch, you calculate, you make your moves. But you never let anyone else in on the plan.”
The accuracy of her observation stings. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” Her eyes search mine, and I see the hurt beneath the anger. “Even when we were kids, Kaiden. You’d disappear into your head, make decisions about what was best for both of us. I loved you, but I was never truly your partner. I was something precious you needed to protect.”
I want to argue, but the words die in my throat because she’s right. I have always been that way. The watcher. The one who stays three steps ahead. The thing is, it’s the only way I knew how to love her. To protect. To shield. Even if it meant shattering both our hearts in the process.