Empire (Eagle Elite Book 7)

by Rachel Van Dyken

  The girls laughed.

  “What was she like?” I asked. “He doesn’t talk about her much.”

  Trace exchanged a glance with Mil who shook her head slowly and said, “Not yet.”

  “Huh?” I frowned. “Am I missing something?”

  “Wait until you read the last note. And then we’ll show you the room.”

  “My room?”

  It was silent and then Bee whispered, “Hers.”

  Later that night, when I was settled into bed with the same glass of wine on my night stand, I realized.

  They had known about the notes.

  All of them had.

  What game were they playing?

  Were they the ones writing them?

  Not that it mattered, since the notes were long gone by now. I shivered under the blankets, then finally tossed them over and went to the suitcase that had been packed for me.

  I unzipped it and started rummaging for something warmer when my hand touched paper.

  Frowning, I gave a little tug.

  Every single note was wrapped in a little package, including the last two.

  I dropped the package like it was fire.

  Phoenix had packed my bags.

  Was it him all along?

  Mil was his sister. Was that how he knew?

  My head hurt. It was going in complete circles.

  I grabbed a Henley and pulled it over my tank top then started walking back toward my lonely bed, only to hear a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” I called.

  “Thanks.” Sergio walked in two steps and looked around, his eyes taking in the giant open concept room with a walk-in closet that was bigger than my entire room back in New York.

  The clothes were all designer.

  All new.

  And all in my size.

  I had a moment of rage when I wanted to tear them all off of the hangers and set them on fire, not because I wasn’t thankful, but because gifts weren’t the way to my heart — if he knew that, he’d know it didn’t matter if I lived in a shoe box with one good pair of shoes and a T-shirt, or had a mansion. He’d know that nothing material mattered. Even though for the most part the gift was more the girls than it was him.

  Please hug me. I silently begged.

  Or at least look at me.

  Tell me it’s going to be okay.

  I shivered, hugging my body close as Sergio’s icy eyes finally landed on mine.

  He might as well be in another country with the way he looked at me, physically putting distance between our two bodies, refusing to move any closer. “So,” he said, and did a little half circle. “By now you know the girls are insane.”

  I offered a small smile. “Yeah, I kind of love them.”

  “Terrifying, the fact that they’re reproducing carbon copies.”

  Small talk? Really?

  “Did you need anything?” I asked.

  He opened his mouth then shut it, his eyes conveying a deep-rooted sadness and pain that I knew he refused to share with me, which hurt even more than being left alone, because I wanted to help him.

  Seeing him in pain hurt me.

  He just didn’t know it yet.

  “Well.” He rocked back on his heels. “Sleep well.”

  “Thanks. You too.”

  I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet gowns, Quite over canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine. –A Midsummer Night’s Dream

  Two weeks later

  Valentina

  “SLEEP WELL.” SERGIO nodded.

  “You too.”

  It was our thing.

  During the day, he avoided me, slamming doors, running errands. And I caught up on every TV show known to mankind. After a while, boredom won out, and I asked one of the girls to teach me how to do something useful.

  Bee came over on Mondays to help me cook, though she had to sit the whole time since she was due any day now.

  Trace taught me how to shoot out in the fields, she always had funny stories about Wyoming and made me feel like it was okay to be scared. I cried with her a few times, broke down to where I was so embarrassed I cried more.

  But Trace didn’t say anything. She just held me and told me it would get better.

  Mil helped with the anger. Fridays I did kick boxing sessions, and she’d taped a picture of Sergio’s face on the punching bag. At first I felt horrible.

  And then Sergio walked by the home gym and just kept walking.

  The guilt disappeared, and anger replaced it, a red-hot anger. How dare he ignore me!

  I stopped reading the notes too. I had one left.

  I didn’t want to stop but they made me hopeful.

  I was hurting.

  I was lonely.

  And Dante wasn’t texting me back.

  Gio had answered the phone when I called and said Frank was busy with Dante and that I’d get to talk to him soon.

  The rest of the guys had returned from New York shortly after I arrived in Chicago but they didn’t stop by right away.

  I think it was their way of letting Sergio and I have time together.

  Little did they know, there was no time.

  Scratch that, there was time, it was just all spent on my own.

  Mo visited the most often, sometimes every day. She always tried to get me to go shopping, and when my own black shiny credit card arrived with my new last name and a credit line with no limit, she said we should buy a car and put Sergio in it, set it on fire, and roll it off a cliff. I laughed, but she didn’t.

  I wanted to defend him.

  But I was tired of lying for him.

  Tired of forcing smiles when he was around, when we were in front of people, I knew my moment was coming. When I wouldn’t have any energy left.

  When I’d snap.

  It was only a matter of time, before he sucked the life out of me, because he couldn’t get over a death.

  I flicked off the light and stared at the door, my mind wandering, my heart hurting.

  Sergio Abandonato, my husband, was not living.

  He wasn’t even dead.

  He was a ghost.

  And only he could set himself free.

  I’ll put a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes.—A Midsummer Night’s Dream

  Sergio

  I WAS TORTURING myself.

  I figured if I purposefully remembered everything about Andi, going as far as to even keep her room in perfect condition with all the memories of us together — that maybe I would remember what it was like to be with her and only her.

  During the day, I forced my thoughts to Andi.

  But nights were completely different, because at night I lost complete control. I couldn’t guard my thoughts.

  At night, I yearned for Val.

  I thirsted for her.

  So many nights I’d stand by her door, my hand lifted to knock, only to back up and return to my bed, to sleep, dreaming of the way she responded to me, the way she kissed me, accepted me, was willing to say yes to me.

  I knew she was angry, too.

  Hurting.

  It was a vicious cycle, each of us only focusing on ourselves, refusing to take that first step. And it was my fault. How the hell was I supposed to expect a girl so young to continually put herself in the line of fire when every single time she did, I took a kill shot?

  Frank was still in New York, but he was sending Dante, apparently things had gotten more dangerous, so I was to hide the other twin, put him under the protection of all of our families while Frank flushed out Xavier.

  Though he still wasn’t sure if he was going to simply hire a hit on him and offer an abhorrent amount of money, or take him out himself.

  Frank had sounded tired, broken down.

  Join the club.

  I was exhausted already, and it was only six at night, family dinner night. Everyone invited themselves over to my house since Dante was expected to arrive.


  Which meant one more night where I had to force a smile and make everyone think everything was okay between me and Val when really I’d never felt more distant from another human being.

  The doorbell rang.

  I shuffled over to answer, but the door burst open before I had the chance. Tex was carrying balloons, while the rest of the crew filed in after him, each of them carrying presents.

  “VAL!” Mil shouted, piercing my ears with her loudness. “Get your ass down here! We have presents!”

  Frowning, I watched as each couple went into the kitchen, wine was pulled out, dishes were shuffled around as food was set on the counter.

  It was Chase’s turn to cook, which meant we were probably getting some sort of difficult pasta dish.

  My breath hitched the minute Val stepped into the kitchen. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, she was wearing tight jeans and a sweater, and she couldn’t have looked more beautiful. Her fresh face was shining as she hugged each of the girls and kissed the guys on the cheek.

  Since when had she gotten over her fear of them?

  Where the hell had I been?

  “Hey!” Tex held out a fist to her, she bumped it. “How’s the car engine sound now?”

  “Good.” She sagged in relief. “Thank you so much for coming to my rescue yesterday.”

  “The hell?” I barked. “Rescue?”

  Tex blinked over at me. “You still live here?”

  Nixon smacked him in the back of the head and addressed me. “She had a flat tire on her way home from getting some groceries, and you know how Tex can’t turn down an opportunity to ride in like a white knight.”

  “Damn it!” Chase yelled. “Phoenix just tell me where the white horse is!”

  “Nope.” Phoenix poured a healthy glass of wine and lifted it in Tex’s direction. Ever since Phoenix had left a note about a white horse for his sister, Chase had been on the hunt.

  Sad bastard.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” I just had to ask.

  Val’s gaze met mine. “I did.”

  “But—”

  “You didn’t answer.” She gulped as her cheeks burned red. “Anyway, thanks, Tex.” She gave him a small hug then went over and started talking to Phoenix about Muay Thai.

  The hell?

  She knew what that even was?

  I was still frozen in the spot when I saw another wrapped gift make its way to the table via Nixon, who slid it next to the others. Five gifts. For what?

  “Why all the gifts?” I asked, completely confused.

  All talking ceased.

  Shit. What now?

  Val couldn’t get any redder if you dumped her in a tank of tomato juice.

  “It’s Val’s birthday,” Mo said, her eyes flashing with venom.

  “Fuck.” I rubbed my face with my hands.

  Tears filled Val’s eyes as she slowly walked backward and then turned on her heel and ran out of the room.

  I chased after her.

  The scene was too familiar for words, chasing after my wife as she ran out of the house and into the field.

  The same field Andi had died in.

  Was the one that Val chose to run through.

  Of course.

  Because that was life.

  She stopped suddenly, her body going rigid, before she turned on her heel and marched toward me.

  I felt like I needed to back up, but I wasn’t sure why.

  Until she punched me in the face, sending me to the ground.

  “Shit!” I hissed. “Since when do you punch people!”

  “You’re not even a person!” she yelled. “You’re not human! A human, a decent human would ask if I was okay! A decent human would make sure there was food in the house! A decent human would come to my rescue after I was followed home with a flat tire! You don’t even remember my birthday? I told you yesterday! I told you at dinner! And you said okay!”

  That brief conversation flashed through my mind. She’d been wearing short shorts, and I’d been having fantasies about picking her up by the ass and screwing her on the counter.

  And then the guilt happened.

  Because I saw a vision of Andi on the counter.

  And the memory was faded, not as strong. So I’d said yes to get her to stop talking and then excused myself.

  I was still in my position on the ground, cheek throbbing. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.” Val’s eyes blurred with tears. “I’ve tried!” she yelled louder. “I text you. I try talking to you at night. You ignore me! All the time! I just… the only reason that I’m not on antidepressants is because of the girls!” She pointed back at the house. “Even the guys talk to me more than you do!”

  I opened my mouth but she held up her hand.

  “No,” she seethed. “You don’t get to talk to me. In fact, I don’t want you here. At all. It’s my birthday, right? Did you get me a gift?”

  “I would have but—”

  “Here’s the perfect opportunity.” Tears streamed down her face. “Give me the gift of your absence. Because looking at you hurts too much, and I want to be happy on my birthday.”

  “You want me to leave?” My chest cracked open. Hell, I was bloodied, bruised, dying inside. “As a birthday present?”

  “Yes.”

  I had no choice. I stood and nodded slowly. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

  “You lost the right to ask what I wanted a long time ago, and the sad thing is, I’m easy, Sergio. I’m a really easy person to please. Really, it’s pathetic, being so starved for any sort of affection that had you even smiled at me once since we got here I’d want nothing more than to have you at my side.”

  She might as well have picked up a gun and fired direct hits into my heart, I was dead, flailing, falling.

  How had I messed up so horribly?

  Not seen her hurt?

  Because I’d been so focused on me.

  On keeping a memory alive that was long ago dead.

  Shame. Shame was worse than anger.

  I swam in it, I embraced it, I was shame.

  The anger was gone.

  And what replaced it was worse, because at least you can justify anger, but shame?

  There’s no justifying shame.

  It is what it is.

  Horrifying.

  Val stomped off and rejoined my family —her family, and I numbly went to the garage to grant Val her wish.

  Over hill, over dale, thorough bush, thorough briar, over park, over pale, thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander everywhere. Swifter than the moon’s sphere. –A Midsummer Night’s Dream

  Valentina

  I WANTED DANTE.

  And Gio.

  And Sal.

  And Papi.

  And oddly enough, at times like this, I wanted my best friend from high school, the one who’d moved away without a word. She’d always understood me and had been so kind when I was frustrated, almost like she knew me better than I knew myself.

  But people get busy.

  And we lost touch.

  I stared at the door to the house and took a deep breath only to have it open before I even had the chance to touch the knob.

  “So.” Nixon smiled. “How are things in Jackass Land? Do I need to bury a Sergio sized body?”

  Nixon never really spoke to me much, I mean he did, but not like the rest of the guys; he was constantly watching, calculating. Funny how I used to be afraid of Phoenix and now it was Nixon that had me uneasy, probably because the girls talked way too much, and I learned just how brutal he could be, how brutal he wanted to be when he was angry.

  He reminded me a lot of my twin.

  Hah, maybe because he was a twin himself. Who knew?

  I shrugged.

  “Not the shrug.” Nixon sighed, and opened his arms. “Anything but the shrug. When Trace shrugs, I hide the guns.”

  I smirked.

  “Ah, a smile?”

  “I didn’t kill him.”
<
br />   Sergio’s car peeled out of the driveway, making my ears hurt, but my heart hurt worse.

  Nixon swore under his breath. “What did you say to him?”

  “After I punched him?” I offered.

  His eyes widened. “You punched him?”

  “It felt right.”

  “Atta girl!” He rubbed his scruffy chin and laughed harder, his lip ring drawing attention to his young face. Even though they were twins, he and Mo looked nothing alike. She was gorgeous, but there was a harsh beauty about Nixon, one that told people like me that we could look all we wanted but to touch was taking our lives into our own hands. “So what happened after the punch, Rocky?”

  “I yelled… a lot.” Slumping my shoulders, I moved forward into his embrace and pressed my head against his strong chest as he rubbed my back. He wasn’t Dante, but again, it felt like Dante. “And told him that since he didn’t get me anything for my birthday, my present could be his absence.”

  “Harsh,” Nixon whispered.

  “Necessary,” I fired back.

  “Pain has a way of wrecking us from the inside out, Val. Physical pain is nothing. Damn, shoot my leg, slice my throat, but when it comes to loss?” He shook his head. “I remember when I thought I lost Tracey to Chase.”

  “Lost?” I stepped back. “What do you mean lost?”

  “The point is.” He avoided my question. “Emotional pain scars but never truly heals. It’s like a scab that refuses to stop bleeding. You think you’re fine, until you bump into something and the bleeding continues. It’s confusing as hell, and it hurts. I’m not saying to give it time, but know that I know my cousin.” He looked out at the road. “He’s not fighting you. He’s fighting himself. If he didn’t like you, if he didn’t care for you, he’d keep you close.”

  “Well that’s… confusing.”

  “If I were him,” Nixon said as he opened the door and led me inside. “I think I’d be stuck in a place where I was forced to lay my past to rest in order to accept my future, and because guys are idiots, he probably thinks he has to release the only woman he’s ever loved, in order to accept one he isn’t even sure likes him. Tell me, would you take that risk?”