“Of course not.” Besides, if Lettie didn’t come, someone else would, like Tits, or Slade, or Tango. A day hadn’t passed without at least one of them coming by for their baby fix. They were checking up on me, and I didn’t mind. In fact, I looked forward to their impromptu visits.
Tucker watched with warm eyes while Lucia feasted on one breast and then the other. When she fell asleep, he scooped her to his bare chest and rocked, and hummed, and stroked her little back.
My heart broke, every shattered piece growing wings then taking flight. I ached from scalp to toes—skin, muscle, and bone—with love for my family. I ached because I knew my little girl would grow up wanting for nothing. She’d have her mother. She’d have a father. And she was loved. My God, she was loved. I ached because I loved her so hard. I ached because I’d loved my father, too, and he’d missed out on the most important, most beautiful, painful, fulfilling thing life had to offer. He’d been wrong, dreadfully wrong, teaching me that love had no place in our world. What a frightening thing, to live without the most vital connection two humans could share. Thank God, I’d fucked up and had been sent away. Thank God, I’d escaped a life plagued with empty promises, false comforts, and black, empty souls.
Thank God, thank God, thank God.
I left my sleeping beauty and her daddy to their bonding time. After a quick shower, I padded downstairs to let Lola back in the house. She bypassed me altogether and made her way up to the nursery. Yeah. Lucia was loved, all right, by man and beast alike.
While coffee brewed, I pulled eggs, onions, potatoes, and parmesan out of the fridge. Tucker joined me shortly after the garlic had been minced. He held Lucia on one shoulder, grabbed my hand, and twirled me until I smashed into his chest. There, he held me tight, and swayed, and sang along to the radio, some song I’d never heard about dollar bills, cheap thrills, and dancing. I laughed, wrestled free, and continued to cook while he continued to dance with Lucia and sing. Soon, I was shaking my ass and singing along, too. Didn’t know the words. Didn’t care.
Hadn’t worn makeup in months. Didn’t care.
Hadn’t brushed my hair. Messy buns were my new best friend. Didn’t care.
Wore Tucker’s baggy sweats and sleep T-shirts. Didn’t care.
I was loved. More important, I was lovable, just as I was. More important than that? I loved. Sweet Papa, I had so much fucking love to give, it was painful.
Painful as it was, leaving my ladies behind, I was grateful they had each other. The three of them seemed happy to shoo me off. Probably eager for girl time. Fucking blew my mind how well Aida and my mother got along. Of course, Mom got along with everybody, but Aida, she was a harder nut to crack. Mom had pierced her shell the first time they’d met.
It’d been even more painful to lie to Aida about my destination. It was necessary, however, because I didn’t want to get her hopes up, only to smash them to dust if the intel Conner had sent me was incorrect.
The lobby of the Georgian Grand Care Home smelled of peaches and seemed more a majestic hotel than a long-term care facility. The front desk alone was a hand-carved work of art that stretched the entire length of the entrance.
A tall, curvy, blonde woman greeted me with glowing, blue eyes, and a million-dollar smile. “How can I help you?” she asked.
“I’m here to see Aida Suarez.”
The glow extinguished in one blink. “Excuse me?”
“Aida Suarez,” I repeated.
She swallowed hard. All color drained from her high cheekbones. Her gaze left my face and focused over my shoulder before she nodded and backed away from the counter.
Somebody cleared their throat behind me. “Mr. Slade.”
I turned to meet a set of dark eyes, framed with thick lashes, set in a chiseled face belonging to a man who stood a head taller, and I guessed about sixty pounds heavier than me. “We’ve been expecting you. Follow me.”
I hadn’t told a soul I was heading to Savannah.
The man tipped his head to the girl behind the desk. “Thank you, Caroline. I’ll take it from here.”
I followed him outside, around the refurbished mansion, and across a sprawling property thick with shrubbery, droopy trees, and green. Green everywhere, in every shade and conceivable texture—the grass, the trees, stretching up the walls, and peeking through the cracks of the cobblestone walkway.
We walked in silence, for five minutes, until we reached a wrought iron gate connecting two high stone walls. The man opened it for me, gestured me through, then nodded toward the small, ivy-covered cottage set dead center in the middle of the courtyard. “There are three snipers trained on you right now. Mind your manners … you should be fine.”
The white painted door opened. A heavily armed man, tall, dark, and scary as fuck with a face full of scars and a threatening glare, greeted me. Not so much greeted, as grunted and nodded toward the back of the small home.
French doors opened to a small garden patio. Seated under an umbrella, was a man and a woman, hand in hand, him in a garden chair, her in a wheelchair. I knew him the moment his head turned my way and his dark eyes met mine. I knew those eyes intimately. The smile, too.
Luciano Voltolini pushed to stand, blocking my view of the woman. He was short in stature. Fit. Well-dressed. Full head of dark hair. Handsome fucking fellow for a dead guy.
“Mr. Slade. I trust you had a safe trip.” He offered his hand. A hand marred with gruesome burn scars.
“Mr. Voltolini.” I gave him a firm shake. Yep. Warm skin. Definitely not dead. “Afraid you’ve taken me by surprise. That doesn’t happen often.”
“Understandably.” He gestured for me to take a seat. “You came to Savannah for answers. I’m here to give them to you.” He moved to sit, giving me a closer glance at the woman in the wheelchair.
Dark hair, pinned up in a neat bun. Wrinkled skin, dark in tone. Thin, white dress hanging loose on her small frame. Head perched on a slim neck at an off angle. Shoulders hunched.
Our eyes met.
My heart sank.
There was no denying the resemblance.
She spoke, but the words came out slurred.
Voltolini pulled the woman’s hand once again into his own and leaned closer, listening carefully. He nodded. “Yes, love. This is the man I told you about.”
One side of her mouth lifted in a smile. The other side didn’t seem to work.
“Tucker Slade. Meet Aidaline Suarez. Aida’s mother.”
I quickly rose to my feet and offered her a kiss on one cheek, then the other. She mumbled something. Again, I couldn’t understand.
Voltolini laughed, tugged at the collar of his shirt, then patted her hand. “She says you’re very handsome. And a gentleman.”
“How did you know I was coming?”
“It’s my responsibility to know everything, son. Knowledge is imperative to my survival.”
“You’re supposed to be dead.”
“And as you can see, I’m very much alive.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.”
“You faked your death.” I studied the mosaic tile under my feet, the severity of the situation crashing over me. When I lifted my gaze, he seemed to be studying me, waiting patiently for me to absorb the truth. “Aida, too? Her death. That was you?”
“She was never built for this life. She tried. Her performance was brilliant, but that’s all it was, a show.”
I nodded in agreement. I’d seen through her bullshit act from day one.
“You knew from the beginning her life was a farce,” he said, then paused to take a drink. He set his glass down and met me eye to eye. “You chipped away her dirty walls. You set the little girl free. The little girl I could never allow her to be. I watched her fall in love, I watched her blossom. I watched her laugh, and smile with you, and I knew it was time to let her go.”
Voltolini nodded at someone over my shoulder. Another man dressed in black stepped to his side, holding a tray with a gol
d-plated lighter, and a pack of Insignia cigarettes, the same brand I had found burning outside Aida’s apartment months ago.
“Do you mind?” he asked, pulling a stick from the black box.
“You were there. Outside her apartment.”
“Yes.” He stuck the cigarette between his lips and lit it, relaxing into his chair.
“Why didn’t you let her know you were alive? Why let her suffer? Do you have any idea how she tortured herself, worried that it was her fault you were in danger to begin with?”
“I was never in danger. Aida’s stunt with Rafael, although unfortunate, only hurried the game already in play.”
“What game was that?”
“The endgame.”
I watched him suck in a drag, hold it, blow it out slow and controlled. He was waiting for me to figure it out. And I did. “You wanted out.”
He looked to Aidaline, who hadn’t stopped staring at me. “I wanted my Aidaline. She wouldn’t take me unless I was out.”
Punch to the gut? No. More like a sledgehammer to the chest. “Wait a fucking minute. All this shit. All this show. Explosions, and murders, and tears. My God. The fucking tears your daughter cried for you. All that for the one thing she wanted and needed from you more than anything. All this shit for the very thing you taught her to avoid at all costs?”
Aidaline lifted her chin and mumbled. One word. One word I understood loud and clear although her speech was impaired. I understood, when she said, “Love.”
Fuck. Me.
I wanted to murder the guy. For Aida. I wanted him to hurt.
“I know what you must be thinking.” He squeezed Aidaline’s arm.
“Pretty sure you don’t, or I’d have a bullet in my skull right now.”
The fucker laughed.
He pointed his cancer stick my direction. “I like you, Tucker Slade.”
I didn’t like Luciano Voltolini. Not one bit. “Why keep her mother a secret?”
“Why would he keep such a secret from us?” Lettie asked, her little finger being held hostage by a small fist.
“Lettie. I’m betraying him by saying anything at all. And I feel terrible. But I love him. He loves helping those girls. And I want to do this for him. I want to help. I was built for this.”
“I can see you’re passionate about his plight. I just don’t know if you understand what a huge undertaking, what an enormous responsibility this would be. And have you considered what might happen if things go bad? If God forbid, you get caught?”
Although she knew the truth about my identity, Lettie really had no clue where I came from, or how I’d been raised. “I learned from the best how not to get busted. I’ve been responsible for my father’s women, and that whole side of the business since I was sixteen. I’m good at it. And I have the fuck…” I winced, eyeing the baby. “I have the money. It’s blood money, true, but now I can do something good with it. I can help these girls, these innocent children. I want this so much.”
“Rest Area Reaper. Wow. My son. I’ve always been proud of the boy, but this. God, I think my heart might just burst.”
“So, you’ll help?”
“I’m in. Yes. Count me in. I’ll have to tell James, of course. I can’t keep something this monumental from my husband.”
“I know. I know. Of course, we’ll include James.” I bounced, clapping my hands, unsure what else to do with all the excitement bubbling out of me. I couldn’t remember ever being excited over a business prospect.
Tucker would probably be upset with me spilling his secrets. He’d get over it. Besides, maybe having his family involved would make it easier for him to accept that rescuing children was his calling. As a team … good Lord, nothing could stand in our way.
Lettie tucked Lucia into her bassinet, turned, and grabbed both of my hands. Liquid eyes met mine. “Thank you, Aida. Thank you for letting me in, for inviting me to be a part of this.” A tear rolled down her cheek, and she gave me the most beautiful smile. “Thank you for the beautiful granddaughter. Thank you for not leaving. But most of all, thank you for loving my boy.”
“Like I had a choice.” I pulled her in for a hug and held her tight. “He’s so lucky to have a mom who loves him like you do.” To have a mom at all, I left unsaid.
As if reading my mind, Lettie kissed my cheek and whispered, “You have me, too, beautiful girl. You have me, too.”
Her words undid me. Hit me in the hard spots, turning them soft. I used to be afraid of soft, worried it would weaken me. Little by little, this new life, my new family, was proving that soft didn’t make me vulnerable, it only loosened the tight weaves of my protective skin, allowing light to shine through and scatter the shadows.
The shadows would always be there, of course. As Tucker had said, darkness was part of my DNA. Only now, I could use the dangerous parts of me for something that mattered. I could manipulate my ugly, and make something beautiful.
“Beautiful can’t begin to describe my Aidaline when we met.” Luciano released a low whistle and threw his head back with a giant smile. “When I fell, I fell hard. Lost my mind.” He looked me up and down, then laughed. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”
I did. Aida had knocked me for a loop the first time I’d laid eyes on her. I’ve yet to stop spinning.
“I’ll spare you the details of our torrid affair and skip to the main points. Aidaline’s father didn’t like me. I didn’t care. She was mine. When her father learned she was with child, he arranged to have her and the baby…” Luciano cleared his throat. “Dealt with,” he finished, his voice reduced to a quiver.
Aidaline’s shaky hand rose to rest on his arm.
His features softened before he continued. “Her father was a powerful man. Aidaline disappeared. I tore the city apart for months looking for her. By the time I’d found her, she’d already given birth. Aida, my child, my princess, had been sold to a family in Jacksonville. Aidaline had become imprisoned in her own body. Her father had beaten her to near death. Because of me. She suffered brain damage. Spinal injury.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, dropped his head, and took three deep breaths. “He broke my beauty. He stole my daughter. And so, I promised my love that I would find our baby. I swore to find our daughter and protect her, and keep her safe from the monster. At the time, I hadn’t the means to take care of Aidaline. She needed ‘round the clock care. So, I left her to find our daughter. I murdered the family that had bought her like she was livestock, and, when I’d grown powerful enough, I came back for Aidaline. I murdered her family. I brought her here. Found the best doctors. I kept her safe.”
Aidaline made a wet, gurgled noise, drawing my attention away from Voltolini’s haunted face. Tears streamed from her dark eyes. Visible tremors rocked her small body.
Voltolini dropped to his knees at her feet, drying her eyes with his thumbs, and whispering words meant only for her ears. I damn near broke down myself. Luciano Voltolini was human. He was soft. He’d suffered a great loss. He’d made it right, the only way he’d known how.
His cold approach to parenting made sense. He’d wanted to protect Aida from the loss he’d suffered. He’d wanted to make her stronger than the beasts and the demons he coexisted with.
When Aidaline calmed, Luciano gestured for the guard, ordered him to take her inside, and kissed her gently on the head. He watched, spine stiff and lips pursed, until they disappeared into the dark shadows of the house.
“When I’d met her, Aidaline was a proud woman, born into a prominent family. Her father was a politician. Dirty fucker. Because of her association with me, because she loved me, she lost everything. It was Aidaline who’d ordered me to keep Aida away. She couldn’t walk. Couldn’t hold, or speak to her daughter. Would never change a diaper, brush her hair, sing her to sleep, or comfort her when she cried. She was a proud woman. She refused to let her children…” His chest rose and fell. He shook his head. “Her daughter,” he corrected himself. “She refused to let her daughter see her in that conditi
on. Was it wrong? I don’t know. What I do know is that Aida is where she belongs now. As am I.”
Perhaps I was in a state of mild shock. Hell, maybe I was taking longer than usual to process the twisted history lesson. Whatever the reason, I stared, in silence, for longer than respectful, at the man who had molded my Bambi. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to tighten my fingers around his neck and choke the putrid life from his body. But when I looked at Luciano, I saw Aida. I saw Lucia.
And I was thankful.
Because had he not been who he was, I wouldn’t have my family waiting at home for me.
So, instead of acting on my murderous impulses, I pulled out my cell phone, tapped the photo icon, and sat with one of the country’s most dangerous criminals, who, incidentally, was officially dead but very much alive and kicking, and made him look at baby pictures.
He smiled. I counted five smiles and two chuckles.
After he’d perused the files for the second time and handed my cell back, I asked, “What do I tell Aida?”
“I’ll leave that decision to you.”
“She has the right to know.”
“I agree. The question is, will she benefit from knowing the truth, or suffer?”
Okay. I wanted to kill him again.
“Maybe the question should be, will I suffer?” I asked, tucking my phone away and leaning forward, elbows to knees, meeting the man face to face. “Will there be repercussions if I tell her the truth?”
“No repercussions. Not from my end,” he said, grabbing another cancer stick from the tray. “I give you my word.”
“Now what?”
“It’s done,” he mumbled, lighting his tobacco.
“You say it’s done. You say you’re out, but when I look around, I see guns, and goons, and you still have eyes on Aida, you know everything about her, so is it really done?”
“Tell me something, Tucker, or should I call you Reaper?” He quirked a brow at me, a cocky smirk pulling at his lips. “If, for some reason, Aida walked away from you, told you she didn’t love you, didn’t want a life with you, would you let her go?”
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