by T Steele
“What the fuck!” I shriek. “You think that’s a good punishment? He’s not leaving!”
“Ruby,” John says softly.
My gaze locks onto his. His eyes hold so many unspoken words. Regret. Guilt. Love. Gratefulness. But when his brows furrow and he shakes his head, I recoil as if I’ve been slapped.
“You’re leaving,” I whisper, rubbing my chest consolingly.
John’s eyes track my every movement and he nods. “Malcolm’s punishment is fair, and regardless, I have a lot of people after me. I can’t put that on you.”
His voice is emotionless and my brain is whirring like it’s an old computer that can’t compute the words being said.
“Go,” says my father.
John gives one curt nod before running to the window and escaping through it.
I stare open mouthed at the window, not fully understanding what just transpired and I run to it, thrusting my head out and staring down.
John is already gone, and I curse to myself before turning back to my dad.
“Why did you do that?” I scream. “I’m not staying here. I’m not living here with you!”
I stomp over to my dresser and start throwing clothes onto the bed. I’m like a tornado sweeping through my bedroom, collecting items I think I may need yet not really understanding what I’m saying or doing. I just need to move and scream and most importantly, I need John back. I’ve totally lost it and I’m not staying here.
The sight of my father’s face, torn between anger and desperation, causes the knife he’s already stabbed into my heart to pierce deeper and deeper until my entire body shakes with rage, sadness, and fear. So much fear for John and what will happen to him. So much fear that I’ll never see him again and I don’t know if I can live without him.
Three days pass, but it feels more like an eternity. I haven’t seen or heard from John. I don’t know if he’s safe. Even worse, I don’t know if he’s alive. John has unparalleled fighting skills, but he’s only one man. He isn’t invincible, and he has the FBI and Detroit PD after him now as well as the Russians.
My father hasn’t shown his face. At least he’s a smart man in that respect, because there’s no telling what I might do to him when I see him again. The past week has been nothing but a cluster fuck of epic proportions. As if the powers that be wanted to see just how much I could take. And then the universe must’ve stepped in saying, “Hold my beer. I bet I can throw more bullshit at her.”
I hate the helpless feeling in my stomach. I feel stuck, knowing I’m damned if I decide to leave the house and damned if I don’t. On one hand, I’d miss John if he ever decides to climb through my window again. Then, on the other hand, if I did leave this life that I haven't even been in very long, I would have to take the chance of being taken for ransom again. Or killed.
Fuck, how did things turn out this way?
If anything good came from the situation of the kidnapping it was at least that Zoya, the Russian girl that helped me, was finally safe.
She probably would never feel truly safe, though. I didn’t have to be a genius to know that she’s been through some tough shit. If everything wasn’t so fucked up at the moment, I would visit her more and try to help her adjust to a new mob family. But I just don’t have it in me right now.
The family doesn’t trust her yet. Trusting her was asking for a lot and would take a while, but she at least wasn’t being beaten. Ryder, being in recovery from a bullet to the arm, was following her around after begging my father for something to do or some sort of mission. My father finally caved, giving Ryder the task of babysitting “The Russian bitch he still wasn’t sure of yet.”
The only reason I knew any of this was thanks to Liz. She visited me frequently, seeing how I didn't leave my room. I appreciated Liz and her friendship so much, but her friendly presence always shot a pang to my heart, causing Daphnee to cross my mind. Not that she was ever too far from it. It seemed the more I tried to talk myself out of not calling her and trying to hide and protect her from this life, the more I missed her and desperately needed someone to talk to. Someone who knew the real me and knew the things I needed to hear.
A fresh set of tears well in my eyes as I think of John and Daphnee. The two people who I could trust fully and that I loved deeply and I’ve lost them both. Just like I lost my mom.
An old Disney movie plays quietly in the background as I stare at the wall, crying silently, not knowing how to get my life back on track and feeling trapped.
My door swings open with a bang and Liz bounds in. Her expression is disturbed and her eyes are shiny with unshed tears.
I stand, grasping the edge of my bed. “What is it?”
She shakes her head and turns on the TV, flipping to a news station.
I’m thankful I’m standing by the bed when the image on the screen pops up because my legs give out as I fall down with an oof.
There’s a video of John being handcuffed and escorted into the Oakland County Courthouse to be held on trial for murder involving foul play, and arson.
I gasp, and the fear I felt earlier is like child’s play compared to what I feel now.
He could get death row for that. He would definitely spend life in prison.
I turn to Liz. “What about Cade? He’s on our side, right? Can’t he do something?”
“Maybe,” she whispers, not sounding like she believes it.
I run from my bedroom and down the hall, taking the stairs since the elevator is still being repaired. My head is clouded with determination and fear and I don’t even notice the stitch in my side when I finally reach my father’s door. I don’t knock, just throw it open. A little spark of surprise flashes through my mind when I realize his door wasn’t locked, but I don’t dwell on it as I rush inside.
“Where the fuck are you?!” I yell.
“He left.”
I whip around to see Todd entering the room, holding a piece of paper in his hand, and I straighten. I’ve barely said two words to the guy and we're not about to become best buds now.
“Where is he?” I grit out.
A piece of paper crinkles in his hand as he crunches it, and his eyes darken in anger. My hackles rise, wondering why he would show this much emotion to me. I remind myself that regardless of the way things are with my father and I, I’m still his daughter and he would kill anyone who tried to hurt me. I hate the conflicted emotions that roil through me at the thought.
Todd closes his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face. “He’s gone to take John’s place.”
“What?”
He hands me the note, and I flatten it on the table, straightening the creases.
It reads: “I should’ve been a better father. Please forgive me, Ruby.”
I read over it several more times before staring back up at Todd again. “I don’t get it. How do you know he’s taking John’s place from this?”
“I’ve known Malcolm for a long time. I knew what was weighing on him.”
We stare at one another for a long moment and then he sighs and nods his head to the door. “Come on. We’ve gotta go bail your father and John out of jail.”
Todd, Frank, Luca, and myself show up to my father’s attorney’s office.
The man is sitting behind a desk with the name plaque reading Diego Escalona. He is very pretty—his suit hugs the toned muscles of his body, and from the sinister smirk on his face, I’d wager he knows just how good looking he is. He has several rings over the tanned skin of his fingers and his dark hair is slicked back away from his dark eyes.
“And what brings my best clients here?” says the man in a velvety voice and lilting accent.
I feel myself tense. This wasn’t what I was expecting.
Todd rolls his eyes and slams his heavy suitcase on his desk. He opens it to reveal more money than I’ve ever seen in my life. “Don’t act like you haven’t seen the news.”
My throat plummets to my stomach as the images I’d seen in the car spiral through my mind
once more.
As soon as we’d gotten into the SUV to meet this slimy district attorney, I’d pulled up the news on my phone. John and my father’s faces were plastered everywhere, along with headlines saying the police caught the mysterious men who had always seemed to get themselves out of everything.
The newest article today had said Malcolm Moretti, notorious billionaire, has been accused of being involved in the murder of the two John Does and the bombing. “Our head reporter is at the courthouse with the details now,” the reporter said. By the time it had flickered to the other news reporter I had turned it off.
The videos of my father with cameras flashing in his face while handcuffed, and the image of John’s mugshot that they’d shown were enough to make me want to throw up what little food I had in my stomach.
One thing I did notice was that my father was at least smart with who he kept on his payroll. Or rather, who he blackmailed. I‘m curious to know just had much money he had to pay Diego, a district attorney who was supposed to be prosecuting him, to keep him compliant and silent.
John was only being held in a minimum security prison and I had to wonder how they could have pulled that off and just how many people he and my father knew and paid.
Diego stares at us, a smirk still plastered across his face and then his eyes linger on me. “So, this is the daughter, eh?”
“Don’t start,” says Todd, his voice the equivalent of a bear whose cub is on the loose.
Diego snickers, and looks down at the suitcase once more and starts skimming through the bills. “Yeah, that’ll do,” he says, claiming the suitcase and putting it under his desk as if we’re going to try to steal it back or something. “So, John called me earlier.” I must visibly tense, because he smiles at me again and I swear—if I didn’t think he could help us, I would kick him in the mouth. Assuming my leg could reach that high up. “He had one call and he called me,” Diego says, his eyes probing the group wondering why he hadn’t called someone else, I’m sure. “He told me that he had a man, Todd, Tito, Trey—something like that—who owed the Russians a debt, apparently. John locked him up in the trunk of his car. He’s dead now, but that works in our favor. John of course didn’t say all of this over the phone. Thankfully, our Johnny boy is smart and knows what he’s doing. Anyway . . . my men found Mr. Trey Henderson and got his DNA and placed it at the crime scene. So our dead man is the one guilty of the crime.” He finishes with a wide smile and bows dramatically at his job well done. “Now, Malcolm pulled the biggest fuck up I’ve seen in the history of fucks ups today. What kind of mob boss takes the fall for a fucking soldier?” He shakes his head, and I purse my lips together to prevent them from trembling because I know why and it’s taking all my energy not to break down in front of everyone.
Luca’s jaw is tense, but the smarmy smile that’s always on his face makes its appearance. “I’m surprised you were willing to get your hands dirty enough for all that.”
“Oh, I didn’t.” Diego laughs. “My men did that, but it was my idea . . . mostly. Well, okay, it was John’s, but still.”
“So, you’re saying none of our men are guilty?” Todd asks exasperated.
“Correct,” says Diego. “You’re welcome.”
“Where are they now?” asks Luca.
“Malcolm was just released. Thanks to our dear friend Cade, some others who I can’t be bothered to remember, but most importantly—me. Malcolm may have to wear an ankle bracelet for 90 days because he did admit to being involved in a murder, but money talks. Since I’m the district attorney, I’ve decided there simply isn’t enough evidence to charge Malcolm with anything, especially since Trey Henderson’s DNA is all over the scene of the crime and Malcolm’s is not. I will, however, have to wait for a small amount of time to come to this decision. He’ll have to wear the ankle bracelet for a few days. Can’t make it look like I was paid off or anything,” he shrugs, a cocky smile plastered on his face.
“And John?” I ask.
“He’s not guilty, so he was free to go whenever he pleased.”
I nod, and then Todd and Luca are scrambling out the door motioning with their arms to tell me “come on.” I quickly follow them out, not looking back even though I feel Diego’s eyes on me.
Chapter Seventeen
When we reach the courthouse, we find John and my father sitting on a bench together. I’m pulling on the door handle, opening it before the SUV is even stopped.
Todd slams on the breaks and I’m out, running toward them. My feet pound on the concrete before I skid to a halt before them and the three of us stare at one another and then I’m hugging them both. Not caring about all the shit that’s went down in the last week, just grateful they’re okay and not going to be spending life as death row inmates.
I’m crying and I don’t care, and then my dad is patting me on the back. “Not here,” he whispers.
I start blinking quickly, and my father and John lead me back to the SUV that we had pulled up in.
There’s a small crowd watching, and I want to kick myself for causing a scene. I’m still not used to this life and it shows.
We step inside the vehicle and as soon as the door is shut, it takes off. My head whips back and forth to John and my father. “What happened?”
John gives me a sad half smile, and I can tell he wants to pull me into his arms, but he refrains and stays quiet while my dad explains. “It was pretty easy, honestly.” My dad shrugs his broad shoulders. “I told Cade to let them know I had some info on what happened at the murder scene and that it was not John. Of course, that kinda thing wouldn’t usually work, but it helps that I have a lot of blackmail material on the judge who happens to have an election coming up,” my dad says with a shark's grin. I’ve never been more grateful that he’s a mob boss and is able to pull shit like that. I know that’s only the short explanation of the schemes and strings he pulled, but at this point I don’t need details.
My father bends down and lifts the suit pants at his ankle and shows me his anklet that he has to wear.
“I’m so sorry,” mutters John. “I appreciate that you intervened, but I wish you wouldn’t have. I had it under control.”
My father and John lock eyes and there’s so much history there that I almost feel like I’m intruding on something.
“Never lie to me again,” is all my dad says, and the rest of the ride home is quiet.
We walk into the house and everyone is lined up en masse to greet us. Liz is leaning against the wall, smiling, the hot pink pant suit she wears stands out vividly with the somber tone of the rest of the house. Ryder stands beside her, his arm still in a sling, looking like the complete opposite of his sister wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt.
“Are we all one big happy family again?” Liz asks, smiling widely.
“Yeah and lets fucking keep it that way,” my dad says and then looks to me and John. “John, Ruby, come with me.”
I tense, and then blush as everyone’s eyes fall on us.
“It’s alright. Come on,” John whispers.
We don’t hold hands or touch as we follow my father. He leads us to the elevator, which appears to finally be functional, and we all get on.
Once the doors close, he turns to me. “This new glass,” he points to the newly repaired glass of the elevator. “It’s bulletproof. I’m kicking my own ass that I didn’t do that sooner, and it’s not going to fucking happen again, but if it did, you could stay in here until help comes and nothing could break it.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, not trusting my voice at its normal octave.
My dad nods, and no one says another word.
We reach the second floor and the doors open. We step out and follow him to his study. He opens the door for us and we walk in. John appears to be perfectly calm but I’m flipping my shit, not knowing if I should start begging for him to let John stay here or if I should just start screaming again. I have no idea what’s happening and it’s about to give me a heart attack.
John grabs two chairs and puts them beside each other and sits in one. Then they both stare at me, and I scramble to take my place next to him.
“Due to my new predicament that is house arrest, I’m delegating the Bella Ragazza to you two.”
“Wait, what?!” I squeal.
“I can’t exactly run an entire business when leaving my house will cause me to get arrested,” my dad says giving me a small grin.
John looks guilty, but there’s gratitude and respect in his eyes as he leans over on his arm rest. He whispers, “That’s his way of saying he’s sorry about your mom and trying to kill me.”
My head snaps over to my dad. Shock fills me at the realization that I’m actually getting what I want. That John and I can finally be a couple. That my dad’s letting me leave the house. It seems too good to be true, but my hopes have soared so high that I don’t dare question him. I bask in this comfort, feeling reassured and touched. This doesn’t erase everything my father’s done, but it’s a step in the right direction.
My father stares into a big book that looks like it has something to do with the casino. He’s still in his hunched over position when his eyes slide up to mine. “He’s right,” he says dryly, and then his gaze hardens as he looks to John. “Don’t get too cheeky, though, boy. I almost went to jail for you. You owe me everything.”
“Like I didn’t already,” John says and then straightens, staring my father directly in the eyes. “You know I would never hurt her or betray you.”
At my father’s raised eyebrow, John puts a hand up. “Again. I wouldn’t betray you again,” he clarifies. “I’ll never be able to express how truly sorry I am, but I’ll still be your best hitman and I would lay my life down for yours in a heartbeat.”
“Why does anyone have to die for anyone why can’t we all just live?!” I explode.