Resisting Royal (The Repayment Series)

by Delilah Mohan

  He nodded. “Just be careful and think wisely.”

  I turned and leaned against the rail. “I need to tell Bianca.”

  “I agree. Best of luck to you.”

  I left him with a promise to talk later tonight and keep him posted, then I got back in my car to break the news to my wife. Shit, this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. Hell, I would have given anything to not be the bearer of bad news, but to let someone else tell her would make me a coward.

  I might have driven an extra block or two before parking in my driveway. After getting out of my car, I trudged up the steps slowly, trying to prolong the inevitable. I was weak. But, we were doing so well together that the thought of breaking her this soon into our marriage ripped my heart in two.

  She was sitting at the table when I walked through the kitchen door. A smile beamed toward me as she stood to remove the foil from the loaf pan sitting in front of her. I swallowed, trying to work past the sand grinding down my throat. “I’m sorry I’m late. Last-minute business.”

  Loosening my tie, I sat across from her. “I hope you like meatloaf.”

  I did not, in fact, like meatloaf. But, now wasn’t that time for that piece of information. “I love meatloaf.”

  “Good. It’s a special recipe my dad used to make. Well, on the few occasions he cooked that wasn’t from a box or frozen meal.”

  Her words felt like a knife twisting in my heart. Fuck me. I couldn’t tell her now. So I waited, and I suffered through the admittedly delicious meatloaf. Swallowing the mashed potatoes like I couldn’t get enough and forcing the green beans down my throat like it was the best food I’d ever let past my lips.

  My pocket buzzed, and I slyly removed the phone and peeked at the message. Confirmed.

  Shit. I suspected it. I took a deep breath. “Bianca. We need to talk.”

  She paused from scraping the leftovers into a container, fear causing tension in her posture at my tone. “What’s happened? Is it me?”

  My chest tightened. “God, no. It is never you, Bianca.”

  I stood close to her, unsure if I should pull her in my arms and tell her or just lay it all out there. Ultimately, she deserved to look me in the eyes when I delivered the news that would, for sure, devastate her. “It’s Frank.”

  She dropped the spoon in her hand, it clinked hard against the granite. “Is—is he alright?”

  “When was the last time you talked to him?” I asked, hoping it was recently, wishing she had a few last words with him before he passed.

  She bit her lip. “I, um, we talked the night before our trip to Roman’s compound. He seemed well.”

  So, it had been days. Days since she heard her father’s voice and now it was too late. She would never speak to him again. “I don’t know the details, but this evening he was found unresponsive.”

  That wasn’t entirely the truth, but I couldn’t tell her the gory details of her father’s death; she would find out soon enough. “Unresponsive? But he’s okay, right?”

  “Bianca, he’s dead.”

  She shook her head like she didn’t believe me, and held a hand up when I stepped forward. I let my hands fall to my side. “It’s not true, he was fine when we spoke.”

  I reached up, taking her hand in mine, wanting to wrap my arms around her to give her comfort, but knowing it wasn’t what she wanted at this moment. “It’s true, and I’m so sorry, Amore. I wish there was something I could do to help.”

  Tears were running silently down her cheeks, and I felt gutted. “What do you mean? Help?”

  “You. Him. With the situation,” I offered.

  She blinked. More tears fell. “What situation are you referring to?”

  I was about to answer her when lights suddenly flooded through the kitchen window. Red and blue flashes reflected off the wooden cabinets and danced against the wall as what appeared to be multiple police cars filed into my driveway. I knew this wasn’t good, but I thought I had more time.

  I grabbed her arm rougher than I intended to, but I needed her attention away from the cars in our driveaway and back to me. “Bianca, listen to me.” Her beautiful eyes turned to me, blinking a few times before they focused. “There’s something else.”

  “Something else?” Her face slowly dawned with a conclusion, and she tried to pull away, but I wouldn’t let her.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking, let me just explain.”

  There was a pounding on the door and a loud voice announcing their presence, but I didn’t move. “You’re going to hear somethings, some accusations but they aren’t true. I would never. You have to believe that.”

  There was another loud knocking, the last warning. “What kind of accusations, Royal? What are you not telling me?”

  The wood around the door splintered as the door was kicked inward. Heavy boots pounded against the floor, and it took only moments before I was surrounded, my kitchen filled with heavily armed men, their weapons trained on me. I held my hands up, not willing to fight or make any moves to put Bianca in danger.

  “Royal Russo, we have a warrant for your arrest. You are wanted in connection with the death of Frank Moretti.”

  Bianca stepped back, fear and anger clouded her eyes. “You—you killed my father?”

  My arm jerked behind my body as the cold metal of cuffs clamped around my wrist. “It’s not true. Whatever you hear, you have to believe me when I say, it’s not the truth. It will work out, and I’ll be home in no time. Call Troy. If he doesn’t answer, call my secretary. Her number is taped to my desk.”

  Bianca was shaking her head no like she didn’t believe me, and the weight of her accusing eyes tore holes through me. I was pushed forward, but my feet didn’t want to move, “Bianca, I didn’t do it. You know I didn’t.”

  But the way she was looking at me, I knew that she didn’t believe a word that spewed out of my mouth. No matter what I said, she had formed her decision about me, and I wouldn’t be able to change it. They pushed on, forcing my body through the kitchen door and the last glimpse I got of Bianca, the imagine that would forever be ingrained in my mind, was one of heartbreak and betrayal—all directed at me.

  CHAPTER 40

  BIANCA

  I watched numbly from the window as they pushed Royal into the police car, utterly oblivious to the commotion and sounds that went on around me. They were searching everywhere, scattering everything . . . searching for what? I wasn’t exactly sure. It didn’t matter, not anymore. Not when my heart was shattered in a million pieces after finally being so full.

  He killed my father. My husband killed my father.

  I choked on a sob that threatened to escape.

  I fell for it. I knew my husband was a bad man, a monster, and I let myself fall for him. I allowed my heart to get caught up in the feelings his rich baritone and deep brown eyes provoked, even when I promised myself I wouldn’t let him win.

  He won.

  I watched as a pitcher fell from the top cabinet as they reached inside to check the shelves. Like it was falling in slow motion, time seemed to drag as it slowly descended to the ground, splintering on impact when it hit the ground, sending shards cascading in all directions. I felt it, like a symbol of my life; I felt the agony of pieces that could never be mended back together again. Pieces that try as they might would never be completely whole, would always be broken, would forever be damaged.

  Hours. It took hours before the last car left the property, just before the first ray of the morning light crested the horizon. I never made a single phone call as Royal suggested, I didn’t have to. Troy already knew. He had to have known with the way his number flashed across my phone on repeat, filling up my mailbox and draining the life from my phone’s batteries.

  When I was alone, I finally let myself fully feel the magnitude of the situation, and I cried, full-body sobs that came so fast and furious I had to fight to breathe. Never-ending streams of tears that ran down my cheeks and soaked the cotton of my shirt tore from my eyes u
ntil there was nothing left of my soul to pour out of me.

  When Greta’s knock came on my bedroom door, I ignored it, not willing to look directly at her and show her my pain. She was guilty by association. Afflicted with the heartache of loving the same man I did, but not naïve enough to believe that loving a man like Royal came painlessly.

  Royal killed my father.

  I was suddenly gasping for air, fighting against the panic attack that wracked my whole body. I needed out, I needed to leave. I couldn’t stay in Royal’s room, sleeping in Royal’s bed and enjoying the luxury from his ill earned life knowing what he had done.

  Without much thought into my plan, I pulled myself from the bedroom floor and started tossing items into empty bags, not caring if they matched. I filled two bags before I scooped up an armful of toiletries, dropped them in a tote, then proceeded to fill a box with everything Peter would need.

  I packed my bags in my car before standing in the doorway of our shared bedroom one last time. I loved it here, with this man. At least I had. I bit my lip as I fought a sob then pulled off my ring. Placing the ring gently on the wooden nightstand, I closed the door and walked away, determined to leave this life behind.

  It was just past eight in the morning when my car pulled out of Royal’s driveway, and even though I hadn’t been there long, I felt like I was leaving a piece of myself behind. I drove and drove, with no real destination in mind. How could I have a destination when I no longer had a family? Besides a few friends, who I wasn’t willing to bring this drama to, I had no one.

  Hours of driving lead me to familiar surroundings. I didn’t mean to drive there, but subconsciously there had to be a reason, at least that’s what I told myself as I stared at the building in front of me. Exhaustion was setting in, my body ached, my head pounded, and the adrenaline that fueled me hours ago no longer pumped through my system.

  I cracked the window of the car to let in the cool breeze for Peter before climbing out of the vehicle and shutting the door. Forcing myself to move forward, I walked up the short walkway to the bakery door, then pulled it open and stepped inside. Fresh air and the heavenly scent of sugar assaulted my senses, but I refused to let myself enjoy it.

  Each step toward the display case felt heavy, but I had no other choice. I had no one. To my left, the man at the table noticed me, his back suddenly straight with recognition, but he said nothing as he pulled out his phone. I wasn’t delusional in thinking Royal would never find me. I knew the moment I parked my car, that word would get to him. But I needed a safe place away from him, even for a while.

  The customer in front of me paid and moved past me. I stepped forward, bringing my eyes to the girl in front of me. I took a deep breath and let it out on a sob. “I didn’t know that loving him would hurt so bad.”

  CHAPTER 41

  ROYAL

  The cement walls were closing in around me, and all I could think about was Bianca. She didn’t believe me, her face said it all. And could I really blame her? The man who manipulated her into marriage was accused of murder—there’s a shocker.

  Hours, I spent hours within these walls, answering questions after questions, defending myself against ridiculous evidence they had against me, which was all bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit because I didn’t kill Frank. I wouldn’t kill him.

  Okay, maybe that’s a partial lie. Initially, I had wanted to kill him. But that was before he was my father-in-law, even if he was a shit one at that. Whether I liked him or not didn’t matter. He was family, and I couldn’t tie a cinder block to family.

  The metal door scraped against the cement floor as it was pushed open from the outside. The fat bastard who had been pressing me all night and all morning strolled in with a folder and tossed it down in front of me, not uttering a single word. I stared at it, ignoring the officer as he sat down across the table from me, folding his meaty arms over his chest.

  He cleared his throat and spoke. “It appears you did not kill Frank.”

  “No fucking kidding. I’m pretty sure I fucking said that.”

  He sighed. “Everyone claims to be innocent, but they rarely are.” He reached for the folder and flipped it open. “We found a receipt for two coffees and some pastries along with a gas station receipt during the time of death, all pointing to you being out of town and traveling away from the location. Once we get the gas station’s video surveillance and review the footage, if this checks out, then you are free to go.”

  I sat up straighter in the hard metal chair. “How long?”

  He eyed me suspiciously like I already had some shit planned. I didn’t. I only needed to see my wife, to comfort her and reassure her during this painful time. “Could be an hour could be five. Who really knows? If they have everything digitally, it could be fairly quick. If we have to drive over there, well—it’s a bit of a drive.”

  “Fuck,” I growled under my breath.

  His eyes narrowed. “Just because we release you doesn’t mean you’re completely cleared. I’ll be watching, Russo.”

  He could watch me all he wanted. He could watch me walk out of this place. He could watch me track down the real murderer. And he could watch me do the job that they were too fucking moral to do because my wife was hurting. It was some bastard’s fault, and I swear on my last breath, I would make it right.

  Three hours later, I caught a cab for the drive home. It was already getting dark, a whole day wasted being a suspect instead of them finding the real killer. I slowly walked up the stone steps of my home, not sure what sort of mayhem I would find beyond those doors. I knew they would have destroyed my home. Each chair tossed aside was done so with a vengeance and a smug knowledge that they thought I was a criminal.

  I was. I was a criminal, but in this case, I wasn’t the one they were looking for.

  I turned the knob and pushed open the door, shocked that the disarray wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I strolled through the kitchen, looking around, searching for my mother and wife, hoping they came out unscathed from this situation.

  I was facing the kitchen, remembering my time with Bianca, when Greta’s voice broke the silence. “She left, you know.”

  My heart squeezed. “What do you mean, left?”

  Her bare feet padded against the tile floor as she walked closer. “Packed her bags and was gone.”

  “Shit,” I growled as my hands went to my hair, tugging. I knew Bianca would be angry, maybe upset, but leave? The thought didn’t cross my mind. Well, it did, but I wasn’t fully ready to accept it as a possibility.

  “Don’t worry. She’s safe.” Greta sighed and sat down. “I’ve been working on this mess all day, I hope you plan to order dinner.”

  “She called?” I asked, hoping she had contact.

  She waved her hand in front of her. “No.”

  “So, how do you know she’s safe?” I wasn’t trying to raise my voice at Greta, but at the same time, I needed answers. It wasn’t some random one night stand we are talking about, it was my wife.

  She grabbed for an apple from the center of the table. “Troy called and said he talked to Roman. Apparently, your little dove made her way over to the compound. She and some girl over there are having a bit of girl time as we speak.”

  “Emma,” I offered absentmindedly as I scratched at the hair on my jaw.

  “What?”

  “Emma. Roman’s girl is named Emma.”

  She sighed happily. “It’s nice to see that boy finally settled down.”

  I didn’t have the patience to explain that the situation in itself was a whole level of complications. “Yeah. They are . . . settled.”

  I pulled out my phone, grunted at the dead battery before taking the phone off the wall, and calling Roman. He confirmed that Bianca was there, spending time in their guest room and that under no circumstances did I need to come get her. She was safe, he would make sure of that, even though their own home was a bit compromised at the moment.

  Bianca was mad, angry, conf
used, but he knew she needed time to think, and if I came now, that might only confuse her more. So I’d wait and wait. I’d wait for as long as it took to bring my wife back home to me, knowing that my best friend and my men would keep her safe or die trying.

  CHAPTER 42

  BIANCA

  I sat on a boulder outside of Roman’s house, watching the sunset behind the trees, a pair of Roman’s dogs sat guard at my feet. It had been two weeks, and I still couldn’t bring myself to call my husband. I knew he knew where I was, with his men milling around the compound to follow through on their arrangement, there was no way someone hadn’t told him.

  I was okay with that. I had to be. I had nowhere else to go but here with almost complete strangers. I felt my eyes burn at the realization that this was it for me; the rest of my time on this earth was destined to be walked alone because no man would ever compare to Royal.

  A cloud of dirt stirred around me as Emma sat, offering me a cupcake. “Do we miss him? Or despise him?”

  I loved how she decided she would band with me, no matter my decision. “A little of both.”

  She took a bite of her own cupcake and hummed. “Well, it’s been two weeks, and I’ve not said a word, but I think you should probably talk about it.”

  “What’s there to talk about?” Besides everything.

  “Why do we despise him?” She swooped her finger into the chocolate frosting and stuck it in her mouth. From a distance, I heard Shaw make a noise as he watched us, and I caught the smirk she was trying to hide.

  “To start, he killed my father. He forced me into this farce of a marriage, and he still killed him anyway. What was the point? What did I do for him to break me like this?” I shoved a piece of the cupcake into my mouth, deciding that eating my misery was definitely in order.

  “Well, I know you haven’t talked to him in a bit. Roman told him to give you space, but honestly, he’s going a little mad not calling you.”