23. Maeve
MAEVE
PRESENT DAY
Pounding my fist on the brown front door, I say, “He said they had people on the door. Nico!”
The front screen is slightly ajar, but the entry is locked. There are no sounds from inside—usually by now, he and Maria are listening to one of their old Italian films. With the volume up so high, the windows would rattle with booming laughs or rich music.
He got me into those movies—spending nights with them gave me a piece of normalcy I’ve never experienced elsewhere.
Why aren’t they answering?
Killian slinks along the edges, peering into the bottom windows. Before I can slam into the door again, he smashes out a window, unlocking the top. Sliding inside, he’s hidden in the shadows, and as I step back to admire his skill, the front door opens.
He stares at me, mouth pressed into a hard line. My heart stutters as fear so tangible drops into my gut. “What? What is it?”
“It smells like blood. A lot of it.” He shifts, pulling his gun from the back of his jeans, but I’m already rushing past him. Cursing under his breath, he grabs me. Swinging back into the hall, he plants himself in front of my body, crushing me against the wall.
I can barely breathe, but I don’t fight him. His weight stabilizes me.
“We had this conversation. No more running into danger. Especially without me.”
“It’s Nico, Killian.” My voice shakes, but my gaze burns. “We have to find him.”
Nico, who helped me save Hayes. Nico, who allied when I had nothing to offer other than pretty words and false hopes. Nico, who gave me my throne.
Nico, who on the eve of my father’s death, signed the agreement to allow Sloane entrance into his family—and away from Doyle’s horrible ways. He didn’t have to do it—he knew what the cost would be if the Board found out. He didn’t care. He did it—for me.
“We do this my way.” He peers over my head, ears listening for any noise. “You don’t leave my side. Where’s your gun?”
Patting my pocket, he nods once. “Take it out and stand behind me.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“I just watched you get shot, Princess.” He yanks my head back, forcing me to meet his gaze. “I won’t watch that again. You stand behind me, or I take you out of here over my shoulder and let Nico have his fate. Your choice.”
Prick.
But he’s serious, and I don’t have time to argue. I need to find Nico and Maria.
“Fine.”
Shoving off of me, he waits for me to arm myself before taking my hand. My body melts at his touch, seeking him out while chaos reigns inside my mind. Because when life is hard, I know I can rest my weary head in his arms and still be safe.
Stepping through the front hall, we enter the office.
This home is small—much smaller than their grand mansion.
But when Dom burned it down after kidnapping Sloane and trying to assault her, Nico decided to let the past rest. This home was supposed to be their retirement—Saturdays out at fancy restaurants, and Sundays at church.
Nothing is disturbed here. The computer is off, with a lone lamp on the big desk. There aren’t any papers—not that there should be. Lex is in charge now, and Nico is out.
Killian stalks through the side hall, and the copper tang of blood—too much blood—hits my nose. I gasp, and he freezes, looking back at me.
Sympathy flashes there before the emotion is erased.
“Focus on me, Princess,” he murmurs. He taps my forehead. “Don’t let them win.”
The ghosts. The voices. He remembers how I’m still haunted.
Holding my nose, I gulp back bile. I try to control the thoughts—why is there so much? What happened here?
Killian waits, and I exhale.
“Stay with me.”
My heart cracks open further, that fucking love growing stronger. “I’m here.”
Tugging me forward, we enter the back kitchen. It’s a small room, with hanging copper pots and a basket of green apples in the center of the counter.
Blood is splattered across their grassy skin.
“No,” I murmur, dropping Killian’s hand. Stepping around the breakfast bar, in the far corner, Nico sits slumped with Maria’s head in his lap. Blood covers them both, soaking their white satin pajamas like a morbid rose in a winter storm.
How can you lead? You’re nothing but a woman with dainty emotions.
Rushing to their side, I kneel in the puddle of blood, letting it soak me. Fingers to Nico’s neck, I gently press against his throat and swear when I feel the smallest, faintest thump of a pulse.
Holy fuck, he’s alive.
Turning to Maria, I search her neck. When I can’t find anything, I snatch her wrist, digging the tips into her sensitive skin.
Nothing. No pulse. No life.
A sob sits on my tongue, but I don’t release it. It feels as if I’ve been shot—ripped apart and left to bleed on the floor. She’s gone. The only woman who loved me like a mother is dead.
Shoving a rag into my face, Killian says, “Nico’s been shot.”
Pathetic. Just like a woman to be so weak.
A steady stream drips from his shoulder. I push the rag into the wound numbly, throat clogged with emotions I can’t name. Sadness, grief, disappointment—plus more wrap around me, a heavy hand of failure that claws at me as good as any demon.
Killian eases Maria to the ground, and the scent of charred flesh drifts into the air. Tasting bile, I lean my nose into Killian’s shoulder—smelling his scent and regaining my composure.
He doesn’t say anything, letting me have a moment.
Carefully, he inspects her face, turning her from side to side.
Her dark hair is matted in knots against her skull, and her cheekbones are sunken, gray.
Red paints her eyes and her neck like macabre costume makeup, and I shudder.
Maria was always beautiful—elegant, sophisticated—and to see her carelessly left burns me with unholy rage.
Quietly, he pulls up the bottom of her shirt, and I choke down another sob as crimson spills down the sides. Two bullet holes—one in the center, and one a bit lower—leak onto the kitchen floor. A slightly burnt ring borders the impact site, likely formed from close range.
“They held her down,” he explains, holding up her wrist. Lines of purple with finger indents mark her olive skin. “Probably forced him to watch.”
“They killed her in front of him.” My heart falls, obliterated.
Gripping the rag, I let myself sniffle. Just one. A sign of weakness, with only the Reaper and the dead to witness it.
That’s all I allow. Because Maria doesn’t deserve my sadness—she deserves my wrath on her behalf. And I will hunt every single one of the killers down and make them pay for what they did here tonight.
Snatching my chin, Killian pulls me back to reality, turning so our noses brush. “I see the rage, Princess. I understand it. I know what Maria and Nico mean to you, but I’m going to need you to bottle it and help me here. Focus on me.”
Nodding, I swallow the fury and clear my throat. “I know. I’ve got it.”
He doesn’t believe me. “Maria is gone, but Nico is still alive.” My fingers flex against the prone man’s shoulder. “We need to get him to a hospital. The mansion is too far away.”
I shake my head. “He can’t go there unprotected.”
“Then we stay and protect.” He agrees so easily. “You and me, right?”
It’s always been him and me. Try as I might to deny it, it’s always been us against the world.
It’s never been more apparent than now. Nico is our enemy. When we ran the streets, we had to contend with De Luca’s men and dodge their hits. We made daring runs through their territory. I can’t count how many times Killian was ordered to kill one of theirs.
Yet, he’s willing to stay—to protect our enemy—for me.
“Why?” I ask, searching his eyes. “I know what the hospital means to you. Why would you help me? Help Nico?”
It’s a loaded question. The hospital is where he said goodbye to his mother—a woman I never met, but whom I know through his soft, late-night memories. When my nightmares awakened us, he’d tell me about her. How gentle she was—too gentle for the world they lived in.
It soothed us both.
“I don’t know what I have to do—say, for you to believe me,” he whispers, holding my gaze. “But I am here for you. When the days are dark, I’ll be in the shadows with you.” Glancing at Nico, he continues, “He means something to you. So, he means something to me.”
He’d risk his own fears, his own demons to help me. That damning love shines, and I exhale, hiccupping in his hand as the tears threaten to fall. I always said Killian would be the death of me—but he’s also the reason I’m alive.
I’m not alone in the dark when he’s here.
Slipping his hands under Nico’s frail form, he exits the kitchen. I gaze down at Maria and wipe my nose on the back of my bloody hand.
Bending down, I brush the hair from her face reverently and press a soft kiss to her brow. She smells like classic gardenia, and I commit it to memory. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
Folding her hands over her belly, I let my cold fingers linger on her warm skin. They were just here. They entered Nico’s home and destroyed everything.
Because of me.
You’ll never be the leader we need.
Fury ignites in my gut, and my hands shake. Pulling the red and white tablecloth, I drape it over Maria’s body. It’s not a proper funeral, but she doesn’t deserve this. She deserves more.
Nico deserves more.
And I’ll make sure they pay for what they’ve done.