I climb up behind her, put my hands just above hers on the ladder. “I’ve got you.”
She studies me and I wonder if she hears what I’m saying. What I’m really saying. I do have her. And I won’t let her fall. Not again. Never again.
“I know,” she says, and something shifts inside me. A pain in my chest eases.
We climb in silence, Cristina’s body just inches ahead of mine, mine cocooning hers. And it feels good that I should be here. Feels right.
These past months have been different than I expected. Emptier. Or not emptier but empty again. Empty like before the night I took Cristina. The night I forced her into my home and into my life.
I knew walking away would be hard, but I thought throwing myself into the business—into rebuilding—would be enough. Would make it bearable, at least. I missed her, though. Missed her too much. And it’s different from how I miss my brother.
Lucas is dead. He died at my hands, his blood drenching them literally and figuratively. I mourn my brother daily. I mourn what happened to us. Why we became what we became. And I still wonder if there had been a chance to save him. Save us. Wonder if I could have done more.
In a way, I think that’s one of the reasons Cristina isn’t ever far from my mind. I have a chance with her. A chance I never really had with Lucas, not born into the family we were born into.
Once we’re to the top, she ducks into the small entrance. She scoots over and I have to twist to get inside. For two kids, I can see how this space would seem big, but I feel like a giant in here. Like Gulliver.
Moonlight pours in through the window cutout. We both look around. A small child’s table rests against one wall.
“We strung a pulley system to lift things from the ground. Scott’s idea,” she says.
The table is worn, one leg broken. Two chairs sit on either side and games are stacked along the far corner in their damaged boxes.
Christmas lights still drape the crookedly cut out window. They’re plastic so I’m sure their best days are about a decade in the past.
“Snacks,” she says, opening another cardboard box. I peer inside. It’s empty but for plastic wrapping that’s been gnawed through. Probably squirrels.
“I came up here once after Mom and Scott died,” she says, crawling to the plastic toy oven that has survived these years even though I’m sure the colors were more vibrant before. She opens it and I watch her face, the anticipation turning to relief as she pulls out a little tin trinket box.
“My mom bought it at an antique market. I’d thought it was so ugly. I wanted a Barbie one.” She carries it to where I’m sitting.
“What’s in it?”
She opens the lid and smiles when she sees the gold locket inside. She lifts it out.
“I’d taken it out of her bedroom on the night Dad and I had come home without the other half of our family.”
The gold chain unravels as she palms it.
She opens it, peering at the pictures behind the ovals of glass. A family photo.
“I’d just come home from the hospital in this one,” she says. I can see her parents’ happy faces, the bundle in her mother’s arms that is Cristina, her one-year-old brother tugging at her mom’s leg. “Liam was able to get some photos off my uncle’s computer but there aren’t many.”
“May I?”
She hands it to me, and I peer closely, “You really look like her.” I hand it back. “I’m sorry you lost it all. That’s not how I wanted this to go.”
“I know.”
A blanket of darkness falls over me. Maybe it’s being here where it happened. Maybe it’s being near her. I don’t know.
“I guess it’s fitting he chose fire,” I say.
“I’m sorry, Damian. I’m sorry you lost so much. I’m sorry about Lucas. And I’m even sorry about your father.” That last part is tacked on after a moment’s pause.
She shudders as a cool breeze blows in from the window.
I extend my arm over her shoulder and pull her closer so she’s leaning against me.
“They tried to tell me my father wouldn’t have suffered. That he was probably asleep. And do you know all I could think? All I hoped? That they were wrong. That he did know what was coming for him. And that he did suffer.”
I look at her. I want her to see who I am. What I am. This is the real me. I am a monster. I warned her from day one, and if she stays, she needs to do it with both eyes wide open.
“It’s okay. What you feel is okay.”
I lean my head back and stare straight ahead, in my periphery I can see her watching me.
“Is it? I’m not really sure about that, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart.
It sounds tender. Like how I feel when I think about her. Tender and raw.
“I went there, you know. To find you,” she continues.
“I know.”
“Will you rebuild the house?” she asks.
“No. At least not yet. I can’t sell the land, it has to stay in the family, but I don’t want to be there yet. Hell, maybe ever.”
“What about Michela? Does she want it?”
“She wants nothing to do with it. She came to Lucas’s memorial service but refused to go to our father’s. I understand.”
“How are you two?” She shifts so I have to look at her.
I touch her cheek to brush hair behind her ear. It’s grown a good inch, and her bangs keep falling into her eyes. “We’ll be okay,” I tell her.
“I’m glad.”
I study her. Remember how beautiful her eyes are. Not that I’d forgotten but it’s good to see them again. See her again. And not from behind a darkly tinted window or a photograph.
“He told me I’d break you,” I say. “Lucas, I mean. He said I break everything I touch. That I’d break you.”
“You saved me, Damian. You saved my life.”
“You almost died because of me. Because my brother wanted to punish me.”
“You saved my life. Period. And I’m not broken.”
“No, you’re not so easy to break. That’s a good thing with me, Cristina.”
She leans her head on my shoulder and sighs.
“In the end, he knew me much better than I ever knew him,” I say, tucking her closer.
“What do you mean?”
“He asked me if I cared about you. He knew I did. He just wanted to taunt me.” I pull back again to look at her. “Why didn’t you sign the divorce papers?”
She shifts her gaze.
I touch two fingers to her chin to tilt her face up, so she has to look at me. “Why, Cristina?”
“What you said to me…”
My heartbeat kicks up. I know what she’s talking about. When I told her I loved her just before all this happened.
“I heard it and…” She shifts her position so she’s sitting up, looking straight into my eyes. “I know it’s stupid and I can’t explain it. I haven’t even told anyone about it because I’m sure even Liam would think I was crazy.” She drops her head, shakes it, then pushes her bangs out of her eyes before looking at me. “Did you mean it?”
“When I told you that I love you.”
It’s not a question but she nods anyway.
“Yes. I meant it. I still do. I love you, Cristina.”
“Good. Because I love you, too, Damian.”
34
Damian
Studying her in the dim moonlight, I watch the flush creep into her cheeks.
She lowers her lashes to hide her eyes from me, but when she turns away, I take her face in both my hands, making her look at me.
She places her hands over mine, not resisting when I pull her to me.
I close my mouth over hers and kiss her.
This kiss is different than any other. There’s no resistance, nothing taken that isn’t given. I kiss her and she kisses me.
And when she surrenders to me, I know she’s mine. Truly mine for the first time.
Epilogue 1
&nb
sp; Cristina
Four Years Later
I never signed the divorce papers but watched him tuck them away in the safe instead along with our rings.
He wants it to be my choice.
And he doesn’t want me to choose just yet.
Given that I turned eighteen the night he took me, I’m okay with that.
It takes me another four years to graduate from college. Damian, Liam, Simona, and their mom attend my graduation. I think I see a man in the distance who resembles my uncle, but I don’t tell Damian. And besides, I could be wrong.
In the penthouse, Liam and I are eating cake while Damian takes my aunt and Simona downstairs to the car waiting to drive them home. They moved back to the city to be closer to Liam who is—or was—still in school here.
I study my cousin as he shoves another forkful of heavily iced chocolate cake into his mouth.
“You still eat like you’re growing,” I tell him. He’s grown than my uncle now and filled out a lot. I see how women look at him whenever we go anywhere. I want to scream that he’s only twenty, but I was only eighteen when I fell in love with Damian, so I keep my mouth shut.
“It’s good cake. I don’t get cake often.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, please. I’m sure any one of your many girlfriends would fall over themselves to bake you a cake if that’s what you wanted.”
He grins, revealing a dimple in his left cheek under the five o’clock shadow he’s perfected.
“They have other uses.” He winks to me.
“Don’t be gross,” I tell him, punching his arm. “And we need to talk.”
He shoves more cake into his mouth.
“About school,” I add as if he didn’t know.
“Here it comes,” he mutters under his breath then adds, “Don’t be Mom.”
“I won’t. You don’t listen to her.”
He shrugs a shoulder and, after finishing his cake, takes my plate and digs into my slice.
“You dropped out of school, Liam.”
“I don’t need school, Cris. I make a lot of money already.”
“But what you’re doing isn’t safe or legal.” He’s been honing his hacking skills and he’s gotten involved with some questionable people. I only know this because he’d needed to come to Damian for help a little while ago. I’m still not sure Damian would have told me if I hadn’t seen Liam when I’d come home earlier than expected from school.
He shifts his gaze to mine, thick lashes around dark eyes. I see why women twice his age fall for him.
“What Damian does is legal? I know more about him than you think.”
“This isn’t about Damian. This is about you.”
“Hey, this is your day. Let’s not have this conversation today, okay?”
“Then when? I’m worried about you. I don’t want you involved with people like Dad was involved with.”
“Then give me the green light to work with Damian.”
“No.”
“Why not? He could use my skills.”
“Is he offering you a job?”
“Are you kidding? He knows you’ll kill him if he does.”
“Good. He shouldn’t. Go back to school. Graduate and get your degree. You know you can do it in half the time it’d take anyone else.”
“Cristina,” he groans my name, dropping the fork and leaning back, arm over his stomach.
The door opens and Damian walks inside. He takes us in. He doesn’t quite agree with me on this one. He sees potential in Liam and that scares me.
Liam checks his watch. “I gotta go.” He stands.
“Damian,” I urge him with a nod at Liam.
“Sit,” Damian tells him. Pulling up a chair in front of us, he turns it around and straddles it as Liam reluctantly drops back into his seat.
He takes an envelope out of his pocket and holds it out to Liam.
“What’s that?” Liam asks, eyeing it suspiciously.
“Yeah, what’s that?” I parrot.
Liam opens it, skims the sheet, and raises his eyebrows.
“Contract,” Damian says, looking at me.
“What kind of contract?” I ask, Liam’s growing smile concerning me.
“If he gets his degree in two years, he can have a job with Di Santo International.”
“No. No way. He can’t work with you—”
Damian holds his hand up, stopping me. “It’s legit, Cristina. I won’t involve him in anything that isn’t.”
Liam looks over at me and hands me the contract.
“What have you got to lose?” Damian asks him. “You’re twenty years old. You’ve got plenty of time to find trouble, and I have a feeling it’ll come looking for you anyway. This way, I can teach you.”
“You mean it? I’ll be second in command in Genoa?”
Damian nods.
I look from one to the other and watch as Damian retrieves a pen, holds it out to Liam.
Liam takes it, gives me a happy smile, and signs. As soon as he hands it back to Damian, they both stand. Liam leans down and kisses me on the cheek.
“Don’t forget to open my gift later.” He winks. He wouldn’t let me open it in front of anyone.
“I’m nervous.”
He grins, which doesn’t ease those nerves. A few minutes later, he’s gone, and Damian sits down beside me.
“You bought two years,” I say.
“Two years is a start. He’ll be fine, Cristina. That kid can take care of himself. Mostly.”
“I don’t want him to get involved with men like...”
“Men like me,” he finishes for me.
I shrug a shoulder.
“He is a man like me, sweetheart. And he’s an adult. Young, but an adult.” He stands and holds out his hand.
I take it and let him pull me to my feet. He tugs me in for a kiss, and instantly, my body reacts, nipples tightening, stomach clenching. I think he’s going to lead me into the bedroom, but we go to the study instead.
“What are we doing?” I ask when he closes the door behind us. Leaving me standing at his desk, he walks around it to the safe hidden in a cabinet there. I watch as he crouches down to open it and removes the familiar envelope, the one he left on the nightstand at the hospital. The one that contains our divorce papers.
He straightens, takes the papers out of the envelope, then sets them on the desk. He moves to stand behind me.
I stare down at the stack as he closes his hands over mine and kisses my neck.
“What is this?” I ask, turning my head a little.
“Time for you to choose what you want.”
I study him.
He smiles, reaches into his pocket, and sets something on top of the papers.
I shift my gaze to find our wedding rings. Well, slightly different. Two platinum bands, the black diamond bands gone, the blood diamond set in a modern, clean, and beautiful setting for me.
I swallow and shift my gaze back to his.
“You choose. Sign them now or tear them up. Tear them up and marry me, Cristina. Marry me right. No dead roses. No thorns. And no ghosts to haunt our future.”
Epilogue 2
Damian
One Year Later
Michela watches her son proudly. She looks good. California agrees with her. Or it’s the man at her side I only met a few minutes ago that’s put a little color back in her face. I’ve already got Tobias looking into who he is.
Bennie is my best man. He’s nearly ten and I hate that I only see him a few times a year. But it’s what Michela wants, and I’ll give her the space she needs. For now. I’ve given her share of the Di Santo inheritance back to her but am managing Bennie’s trust myself. A backup plan just in case she decides to cut me out entirely.
Cristina’s aunt and Simona sit in the pew opposite Michela’s. It’s a small wedding. Neither of us really has any friends.
The music changes and a hush falls over the church. It’s time.
The double doors open, letting in a brigh
t white light.
I turn.
Standing in the doorway with that light behind her, Cristina looks like an angel. Like she’s been sent from heaven above.
My heartbeat kicks up as she takes a step inside. The doors close. And I’m in awe.
She is stunning in her wedding dress. A proper wedding dress this time. A snow-white lace gown cut close to hug her body and fanning out below her knees to touch the floor. In her hands, she holds a single long-stemmed red rose. No thorns. The red matches the color of her lips.
From behind the floor-length veil, violet eyes lined with smoky black, lock with mine.
She is fierce, my bride.
Different than the last time we did this.
She walks alone down the aisle. Liam was supposed to escort her to me, but he took off a few months ago. I know she’s worried about him. I am too, honestly. But I just got a location. I haven’t told her that yet. I plan on paying him a visit myself first to encourage him to get his head out of his ass before he gets hurt.
Clearing my throat, I focus my eyes on her. The music and the faces in the pews fade from my periphery as I take her in.
My wife. My bride. My love.
No bridesmaids for her. No girlfriends to speak of, even considering school. But I think that’s how she is. Who she is.
We’re the same in this, she and I. And we’re closer for it.
I smile when she reaches the altar. When I lift her veil to look into her eyes, I see the vulnerability alongside that ferocity. The strength she’s always had. I never doubted it, not even in the beginning. She wouldn’t have survived me if she’d not been strong.
“You’re beautiful,” I say.
She smiles and a tear slips from her eye. I watch it make its way down her cheek, and when a second one follows, I cup her face and pull her to me gently. I lay a soft kiss where that tear is, and when I do, she turns her face a little, just enough to lay her cheek against mine.
I slide my hands down her arms and interlace my fingers with hers. That single rose drops to our feet. I smell the soft scent of her perfume, feel the smooth skin of her cheek.
Unholy Intent: Unholy Union Duet Book 2 Page 20