Chapter 47
Vincent da Silva
A pile of Piera’s freshly laundered clothes on the wide shelf in the laundry room, I was grinning as I folded each tiny piece of clothing.
Holding up a Transformers tee shirt, I snickered.
Goddamn, I loved being a father. I had a daughter, but she was a tomboy, so she liked stuffed animals, dolls, and robots.
She was literally the best of both worlds.
The cane clicked on the floors in the kitchen and my heart spun around, widening the smile.
I’d never felt this before, this sense of utter peace and contentment.
Having sounds in this house, other than me roaming around aimlessly, daydreaming, was incredible.
No more longing for something I could never have, I actually had it!
“Wow,” I whispered and then whistled, still in disbelief how much had changed the last few weeks.
There was a small bang from the kitchen and the cane clattered to the floor. Instant fear hitting my gut, I tossed the clothes aside and rushed from the laundry room, turning left down the hallway. My heart lodged in my throat, I shouted his name, getting no answer.
“Oh, shit.”
Did he fall? Everything had been healing so well and quickly, what happened?
At the end of the hallway, my feet skidded to a halt, the skin squeaking the hardwood floors.
Panting, my arms were spread out in defense mode as I stared at him standing in the kitchen.
His chin on his chest, he was clutching an envelope.
Hyperventilating, his complexion was maroon, his eyes bulging.
I licked my dry lips and coughed, approaching cautiously. “Baby? You okay?”
He was visibly trembling and swaying, a foot stomping out to the side to hold his balance.
“Dash?”
His head jerked, his attention snatching to mine. Unshed tears welling, he was now violently shaking, holding up the envelope.
“What? What is it? You’re freaking me out, man.”
Vigorously shaking his head, he extended his arm and backed up, letting it go. It fluttered to the floor, and he slammed into the corner between the sink and stove. Fisting his hair at his temples, he stammered, “I-I-I-I don’t wanna know. Th-Throw i-i-it away.”
Confused, I closed the distance in a few wide strides. Holding his stare, my arm curved over my stomach, and I grunted to swipe it up. Finally looking away, I read the return address and my blood froze solid.
“Oh, shit.”
“I thought we had to go down there, man. What the fuck is that?”
“I…I don’t know, baby. With Letta, we did have to go back down there. We don’t have an appointment until tomorrow. I… didn’t know they mailed the DNA results.”
“Throw it away,” he barked, slicing his arms through the air while limping around the island.
“Dash,” I argued, shrugging my hands out, the envelope slapping to my thigh.
“No, no, goddammit!” He spun around by the dining room table, seething, his eyes bloodshot. “She’s mine, goddammit!” he shouted, jabbing his chest with his thumb.
“Of course, she is. This ain’t nothing—”
“Then burn it. Tear it up and burn it, Vinny.”
I scoffed, my shoulders slumping. “C’mon, Dash. We did the test, we got the results…we may as well check.”
“She’s mine!” he bellowed so hard, he shook.
Startled, I bristled and blinked. “Baby, no one is taking her from you. This don’t go no further than me and you. She’s yours.”
His head bobbing awkwardly, his nostrils were flaring in and out. “She’s ours, Vinny. The Boss can’t have her.”
Taken aback, my jaw practically hit the floor, stunned. Ever since telling him the truth about Ross and Jackyl, he’d been acting weird, but I never put the pieces together. I figured he was just processing the shocking truth, like I had when I was told. “Whoa, is that what this is about?”
His Adam’s apple kept jerking, his fists shaking at his sides.
Clucking my teeth and rolling my eyes, I deflated, bowing my chin to rub the spot between them.
“Jesus, babe.” I rounded the island and crept closer.
“Ross Murphey ain’t taking our daughter.
He don’t even know about this,” I offered, waving the envelope.
“Even if he did, he don’t want no babies.
The man’s in his sixties. Besides,” I stated firmly, grabbing his chin, my thumb and fingers curling around his cheeks to hold him still.
“Claiming her would mean claiming Jackyl, and we both know that ain’t happening. ”
He was giving very tiny nods, but the panic was still shimmering in his light brown irises with the stunning golden chips.
Slowly releasing him, my brows arched, I held up the envelope, speaking calmly. “Now, I’m gonna open this—”
He choked on an inhale, his chest puffing out, eyes bulging again.
“And everything is gonna be okay because Jack ain’t the daddy. That’s your acorn, Dash. Yours.”
Tucking my thumb under the flap, I ripped through the paper, only breaking our stare when I pulled the letter out. Unfolding it, my lips drew taut as I skimmed over the results. Bit by bit, I brought my focus back to his.
Dash was shuddering, his teeth clattering. “What?” he wheezed. “What does it say?”
Gradually curling my lips into a smile, the paper tucked between my index and middle finger, I flipped it around to show. “You’re the daddy.”
His eyes rolled and he exhaled the sigh that was so severe, he crumbled against the side of the table, knocking a chair away and making its legs grate the floor. His entire frame shrinking inwardly, he bowed his head and covered his face, taking long, deep breaths.
“Jesus fuck,” he whispered, rubbing a few times before raking his fingers through his hair. Locking them together at his nape, his face upturned to the ceiling, his eyelids closing, his throat constricting.
I refolded the paper and tucked it back into the envelope. Closing the distance between us, I tossed it to the table, bent over, and scattered kisses along his Adam’s apple to his ear. “That’s your acorn, baby.”
He shuddered again and moaned, embracing me tightly. “Fuck, Vin, I don’t think I’ve taken a full breath since last week. Oh, shit.”
I stood upright, petting his jawline. Grinning, I jutted my chin and motioned to the door with my head. “How about we go pick up our daughter from school early and go get some ice cream.”
He smiled and chuckled softly. “With caramel?”
“Of course.”
I winked and started to leave, but he fisted my shirt, tugging me back. His irises glossing a bit, he stretched his neck and planted a soft, lingering kiss to my mouth without closing his eyes. My heart swelled and I grew dizzy, cupping the side of his neck.
Breaking away, he whispered, “Thank you.”
My brows dipped before smoothing out with a small snicker. “For what?”
“Keeping me sane. I almost lost it so many times this last week, but you were my anchor, and…thank you.”
I dropped another quick kiss. “Ride or die, right?”
“Every day.”
One more peck and I was stepping away, going to the kitchen to retrieve his cane. “Lemme put some shoes on,” I said, handing it to him. “And we’ll head out.”
He stood by the table, tapping the stick to the floor, and watched me with an odd, hazy stare that made every nerve in my body prickle with energy.
Hurrying to the bedroom, I sat on the edge of the bed, grunting at the stab of pain for moving too fast. Carefully bending over to slip on my sneakers, I couldn’t stop grinning.
Jackyl was done. There was nothing left on earth for him to control us.
His reign of terror was, at last, over. Time to move forward, let him go, and heal. Piera was ours and he was dead.
Edoardo Jackson “Jackyl” Bianchi was over.