by Robinson, M.
Not when Naz’s life could be at stake.
I drove to the first place I could think of, and in less than ten minutes, I was pulling into my parents’ driveway, seeking refuge in the house I had grown up in.
Naz was crying; I couldn’t stop him from crying. I wanted to break down myself. Quickly, I unstrapped him from his booster seat and ran awkwardly toward the front door, clutching him against my chest. I still had a key because, in the words of my father, “This will always be your home.”
“Dad! You here? Dad!” I screamed, unable to control my voice. “Dad!”
“Eden, what’s going on?” he questioned, darting into the foyer from his office.
He took one look at me and grabbed Naz out of my arms, immediately calming him.
Great. Now I was a bad mother too.
I stood there in a daze, confused by the turn in events.
How could I have let this happen?
I swear I blinked, and I was sitting on the couch in my father’s office with him sitting in front of me on a chair.
“You need to tell me what happened, Eden, and start from the beginning.”
“Naz? Where is Naz?” I panicked, getting ready to stand up and search for him, but he stopped me. Placing his hand on my leg.
It was like déjà vu all over again. Except, nothing could compare to the way this was mutilating me inside.
Carving.
Cutting.
Slicing me up into tiny little pieces, making me bleed from the inside out.
I would never have expected Tristian to have it in him to completely fucking destroy me. Bury me alive beneath his wrath at my deceit. He was blinded by his rage, by my presence, by his love for me.
Was it love?
Loathing?
Punishing us both.
I needed to keep going.
I had to remain strong.
I dug my fingernails as hard as I could into the palm of my hand to keep from breaking apart. My only saving grace was that my father was with me. I had to keep reminding myself of every last promise he’d ever made me. Every last word he had ever told me.
He’d protect me.
He’d always protect me.
I was his little girl.
“He’s with the housekeeper. He’s all right.”
“Oh, my God,” I whispered. My heart still felt as if it were beating a mile a minute.
“Eden,” he reassured in a comforting tone. “You’re safe. Naz is safe. Now tell me what is going on, so I can handle it.”
“Handle it? What are you going to do?”
“Depends on what happened.”
For a split second, I contemplated if telling him the truth was the right thing to do.
“Eden, even if you don’t tell me, I’ll find out. It’s best if I hear it from you instead.”
Who knew which would be worse, me telling him or him finding out on his own. Either way, once I told him, Tristian’s life would be in danger. My father wouldn’t stand for abuse. He was a lot of things, but he never put his hands on my mother.
In one breath, I choked out, “It’s Tristian.”
His eyebrows lowered, his gaze narrowing in on me. “What about him?”
“He’s… I mean… he was… drinking… been drinking… a lot,” I stammered, not knowing where to begin.
His serene gaze went from my face to my disheveled hair, to my robe that was still open.
Lips compressed in a hard line, he reached over and closed it for me. “What did Tristian do to you, Eden?” His jaw tightened, his hands fisted, his expression morphed from worry to hatred. “Did he hurt you?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I couldn’t find the words to tell him what had happened. I think a huge part of me didn’t even realize the extent of our altercation. It had all happened so damn fast.
Dad muttered something in Italian under his breath while he reached for his cellphone inside his suit jacket.
“What are you doing?” I asked, petrified with his reply.
“Handling business.”
“No!” I snatched his phone out of his hands. “He’s my husband.”
“What did he do to you, Eden?”
“He’d been drinking before he got home. He’s been drinking a lot, Dad. For years now. I’ve tried to pretend like it wasn’t a big deal until I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I dumped out all the liquor from the bar in our house. He came home…” I shook my head, reliving it all over again. “He was angry I hadn’t cooked dinner, I told him I’d make him something, but it didn’t matter. Nothing I do ever does.”
My father’s anger intensified with each word that escaped my lips.
“When he realized there wasn’t any liquor left, he just… blew up. I’ve never seen him like that before.”
“Did he lay a hand on you?”
“No,” I lied.
“Eden…”
“What are you going to do?”
“What any father would do.”
“Father or made man?”
“Makes no difference.”
“It does, and you know it.”
“How long has this been going on? You said years. How many exactly?”
I wanted to tell him the truth.
It was on the tip of my tongue.
Ready.
Willing.
Able.
Just say it.
I wouldn’t.
I couldn’t.
I turned him into what he’d become.
This was my fault.
Right?
Why did it feel like it was?
If I’d never opened the door to Romeo that night, then we’d be happy, right? Our life would be normal? Living happily ever after?
I did this…
I had no one to blame but myself.
Which had me stating, “You can’t hurt him, Dad. You just can’t.”
“You think I’ll be the only one who’d put him in his place? If his father finds out that his son has laid even one finger on your head, he’ll do it himself.”
I exhaled a deep breath, aware of how much truth that statement made. “He was drunk.”
“That’s no excuse.”
“He didn’t hurt me. He scared me.”
“And I’ll make sure to return the favor. He won’t scare you again if he knows what’s good for him.”
“Daddy, please… for Naz.”
“All the more reason.”
“I can’t deal with this. You need to listen to me. You can’t hurt him.”
Out of nowhere, a familiar voice boomed through the office, “He won’t, but I sure as fuck will.”
Shaking me right down to my core. In that instant, I realized the reality of my world.
This wasn’t the end like I expected…
This was only the beginning.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“If only there was someone out there that loved you.” —Scar
Romeo
I listened until I couldn’t listen anymore until my blood burned with a rage so hot, so deadly that I was having trouble seeing in front of me.
Tristian.
Fucking Tristian.
He had everything.
Fucking everything!
And this was how he treated her? Treated his son?
My gut twisted with an anger so foreign that I knew if I didn’t walk out of that room soon, I would decimate it; there would be nothing left of it, nothing left of Tristian but dust as he returned to the very ground he had come out of.
I wouldn’t say his last rights.
I wouldn’t send him to Heaven.
I’d damn him to Hell, and I’d do it with a smile on my face and anger in my soul.
It wouldn’t matter if I damned myself in the process. All that mattered was that Eden was safe, that she got her retribution, that fear was no longer pretending to be love.
God, had I done this?
Was I the reason she was sobbing on the couch?
�
�I sure the fuck will,” I repeated in case no one had heard me.
Eden gasped, her eyes going wide with fear, then horror, and ending in shame as she turned away like she didn’t want me seeing her at her worst when she believed I’d only ever loved her at her best.
Wrong.
How very wrong she was.
I would take her any way I could have her.
Blind.
Broken.
Half dead.
Aged.
She was mine.
Always had been, always would be, and it took me years to admit it to myself.
I had done what was best.
For my two best friends.
I’d handed him gold, and he had treated it like dirt.
Nobody harmed what was mine; it didn’t matter that his ring was on her finger—she owned my soul, and mine recognized hers as one thing.
Ours.
Blood protected blood even if the person who needed protection couldn’t be the one to do it.
Tears rolled down her pretty cheeks as she sat trembling in her small spot on the couch. I’d never seen her so disheveled, I’d never seen her so scared.
And what was worse?
The light I’d so often seen in her, the one I’d treasured, the one I’d thought holy and sacred… was gone.
Vanished like the mist.
That fucker had blown it out.
How had this gone so wrong?
I crouched down on my haunches, my Glock in my shaking left hand at my side as I reached up my right hand and gripped her chin, turning her head from side to side. “Are. You. Hurt?”
She wouldn’t meet my eyes; I made her, not out of anger but out of fucking need to know she would be okay. I needed it more than air, more than my own soul. I needed her to be okay.
I wouldn’t survive anything but.
Finally, my girl lifted her eyes to mine.
I would rather suffer a million cuts.
A thousand tortures.
Dying over and over again only to be resurrected and killed again, then see the look she had on her face.
“No,” she finally whispered, “I’m not hurt.”
I didn’t release her chin right away; instead, my thumb caressed down her jaw as I promised, “I won’t kill him, you have my word, but he needs to be punished for thinking he can touch you in any way that hurts you.”
I released her then.
She looked down at the hardwood floor.
With a curse, I stood and stomped out of the house in a frenzy of rage, and I hopped in my car. I jammed my foot on the accelerator so hard my leg hurt.
It took me less than nine minutes to make it to their house and see that the lights were off, and his Mercedes wasn’t parked out front.
“Where are you…?” I mumbled to myself, recalling the conversation she’d had with her father.
He’d been drunk.
She’d thrown out all the alcohol.
A bar?
The one shit hole that was closest to this neighborhood, our bar, the one that held all our good memories. I didn’t want to accidentally kill him during happy hour for being a jackass, and that was bound to happen if he opened his mouth.
I sped off, continuing to see visions of Eden’s tear-stained face, getting more pissed as I drove, and before I knew it, I was in front of the old dive bar staring down Tristian’s black Mercedes and plotting pain.
I killed the engine, got out, and slowly walked along the perimeter of his car, my knife held in my right hand as I drew a nice line into the expensive paint.
Piece of shit.
When I was done, I folded the knife and shoved it in my pocket. People were scattered outside smoking, groping. I sneered and yanked open the heavy wooden door.
Tristian was at the bar with a familiar face.
A woman.
Their heads were too close together.
Their lips even closer.
Tristian was clearly drunk off his ass, but even drunk, he knew better. He leaned toward her and placed a hand over hers.
She stood, murmuring something in his ear while he slid a hand down her lower back, pulling her between his thighs. He briefly expressed something and sent her on her way.
With a curse, I made my way through the crowd and sat on the empty stool next to him. “Playing with fire.”
Tristian did a slow double take and downed the glass of whiskey. “Mind your own fucking business.”
“You know the rules, brother,” I practically spat out the word; what weight did it even carry anymore? “No touching another man’s wife, no looking, and definitely no abuse of your own.”
The woman he had just been with started back toward him again, her eyes zeroed in on Tristian like a fucking snack.
“No.” I held up my hand. “Turn your ass around and go sit the fuck down.”
She gasped while Tristian shot to his feet and swayed a bit. “You can’t say that to her!”
She had brass balls; I’d give her that. She stepped forward, falling into my arms like she was a damsel in distress. I didn’t fall for her bullshit, shoving her away.
I sneered, “You disgust me. You’re defending that woman. And yet your wife flees her own home in fear? Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I shoved his chest. “Now sit your ass down before I do it for you!”
“She’s not yours to protect, brother.” He lifted a finger to order another shot. “Remember who she married.”
“I protect family. And in a way, I’m protecting you. Fuck this up, and it’s going to be your head rolling down the street. You’re lucky I’m here, not her father, not Andrei, not our father! You’re breaking all sorts of rules, which means… there will be consequences.”
He gave me a sideways glance and tried to bolt in the other direction, but he was slower than hell. I grabbed him by the back of his shirt, then picked him up and slammed him against the bar top. Glass went flying around us, and people immediately scattered.
“Hurt her again. Threaten her again. Make her afraid, again, and I’ll personally take out the hit on your life, not because I need the money, or because you’re my brother and I should make it fucking quick, but because I want to be the last person you see before your descent into Hell because that’s where men like you go.” I threw a right jab into his gut, causing him to keel over. “So you remember…who holds your marker.”
With that, I kneed him in the face. He fell to the grimy floor, groveling in pain. I left him there, coughing up blood. Cussing me out like the drunk he was.
I always thought Tristian and I were different, but I was wrong.
We were pathetically the same.
Neither of us willing to grasp the gift that we’d been given.
I had given her to him.
And he was too chicken shit to accept her.
Just like I had been.
Both of us.
Fucking idiots.
Bastards who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.
She loved us both.
And it still wasn’t enough for us to love ourselves enough to fucking receive it.
I shoved the wooden door open and stepped through. Gravel crunched beneath my shoes as I walked toward my car, making the call I’d been dreading to make since I saw the woman at Tristian’s side.
“Yeah?” Bartollo, Eden’s father, answered on the first ring.
I didn’t hesitate in stating…
“We’ve got a big fucking problem.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“In an evil society the villain is the hero, because only the villain can speak the truth.” —T.J. Kirk
Eden
Now
I tried not to think of what he would do to me if he found out, but I couldn’t get the vision of those bank statements out of my head or the fact that Romeo had just taken them like he owned them.
The chances were slim that he took them to his apartment, though when he’d left his keys on the counter, the temptation had been
too intense.
If Tristian was hiding those documents?
What else was being hidden from me?
Had Romeo just taken the box to his house?
For reasons I really didn’t want to explore, I knew that Romeo wouldn’t be that upset if he caught me in his apartment. After all, wasn’t that where he took all the women he seduced?
Would I just be another victim if he caught me?
I was lying to myself if I thought I was anything but his brother’s widow—someone he’d once loved.
Tarnished.
Forgotten.
Naz was spending the weekend with his grandparents and a few of his friends in their neighborhood. He’d begged me; the timing couldn’t be more perfect. I had dropped him off and watched him sprint into the house like his heels were on fire.
I still laughed at the sight.
He said I was his favorite.
Until he saw Papa or one of his friends that had nerf guns, and then all bets were off. He was gone in a flash.
With a sigh, I clenched the steering wheel and pulled into Romeo’s penthouse parking garage. His was on the top floor, and I couldn’t help but remember what had happened last time I was here.
His drunkenness after my engagement.
The almost kiss.
I gave my head a shake, turning off the engine. If he was keeping something from me, I deserved to know it.
I’d suffered for it.
Endured.
Been handed over, tossed away, and abused because of this life, so why didn’t I deserve answers? Out of everyone, they belonged to me.
Everyone said it was for my protection, but I called bullshit. I’d been a part of this life for a long time, and something felt strangely off about Tristian’s death, about Romeo staying with me. Maybe it was my own guilt over lying in the same bed I’d shared with my dead husband. The fact I craved it, liked it, used to dream about it when it was Tristian who pulled me close.
“Shit.” I hit the steering wheel then made the choice.
I got out of the car.
I walked into the building.
I waved the keys in my hand at the guard.
I hit the penthouse button.
I walked in.
I tried to escape the memories of being in that elevator with Romeo, but it didn’t matter. Romeo had always been a part of me; he always would be.