I stand at the kitchen bench drinking a coffee. The bitter bite helps steady the tremor in my hands. My brothers have been in and out of the building since dawn, and each time they looked at me I could feel the question in their eyes.
Was I the one who killed Matteo? Had I followed through on my word? They knew the answer, of course. They just wouldn’task it here. Not yet, but that conversation was coming like the next tick of a clock’s hand.
I stare across the open-plan room. Briar sits curled on the sofa, a blanket tucked around her legs, laptop open on her lap as she works. She is catching up on emails. With the fundraiser happening in under a week, I know that’s what’s occupying most of her time. There is lots to do and everyone in the office is drowning in extra work on top of their everyday positions to keep the company running smoothly. Even here, her fingers move fast, focused, committed. She always gives more than is asked.
The news plays on the television, volume low. Every few minutes Matteo’s face fills the screen again. I narrow my eyes as the news cycle repeats the same statement.
The anchor says potential underworld retaliation is suspected. He says Romero was found in an alley in Midtown, beaten before a single execution-style shot. He says police believe the killing was personal.
I fight to keep from snarling at the image of the bastard. To push down the satisfaction that warred within me with the man I’d tried to be the last few years. A man who followed the law. Built an empire without drug money, or shoddy business practices.
I want to turn the television off. I want to tear the screen off the wall and remove the bastard from our life and memory forever. But turning it off would look obvious to Briar. And she doesn’t seem to be paying attention. The news runs like nothing more than background noise, white noise to fill the unnerving quietness she has kept since that night.
I wish I could take her pain away. Every bruise. Every tear. Every memory of him. I wish I could give her clean beginnings and uncomplicated mornings. But I don’t get wishes. Men like me only get consequences. I drink the last of my coffee and walkto the sofa, leaning over the back and pressing a soft kiss to Briar’s lips.
She smiles up at me, and I rub my thumb over her cheek, drinking in the sight of her, marveling at how much I care for her. Her skin is warmer today, her face less tight with pain. The bruises are still there, but fading. She’s healing. And yet I know that emotionally, she’s anything but mended.
I need to tell her that I love her. That I want her to move in full time. That I would burn the city to ash to keep her safe. I stand upright and start toward the elevator doors, preparing to leave for the office.
“Lucien.”
I stop. Turn. She’s watching me with something fragile and uncertain in her eyes. I feel the question before she speaks it, settling heavy between us. So the conversation I’ve been dreading to have is about to begin. I brace myself for it.
She shuts her laptop slowly and clasps her hands tightly in her lap, twisting her fingers together. Her voice is quiet. “The night that Matteo was killed,” she begins. “You were late and didn’t come home until after midnight.” She pauses. “You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you?”
The question hangs in the air, sharp as a blade. I debate telling her the truth. I debate lying. I weigh both outcomes and know either one could end us. But I can’t build whatever we are becoming on a foundation of lies. I step back to the sofa and sit across from her, leaning my elbows on my knees, meeting her gaze.
“What were you doing out with him?” I ask, surprising even myself for changing the direction of the conversation. It wasn’t the question I meant to ask. It wasn’t the answer I planned to demand. Yet it burns in me. A part of me, the old part, the Moretti part, questions loyalty first and love second.
A small part of me had wondered what she was doing meeting him. A darker part had questioned what I would do if she proved untrustworthy. Even thinking of what floated through my mind tasted like poison. She couldn’t possibly be capable of such a betrayal. Not her…
She swallows, her throat bobbing with visible effort. She doesn’t deny it. She can’t, not when I already know where she went. “Briar,” I say quietly. “I have this building watched like Fort Knox. There wasn’t anything you were going to do that I didn’t know about. When you thought you snuck out, we let you go to see where you were going. That you were meeting with Romero surprised and disappointed me in equal measure. What did you meet him about?”
Her breathing stutters, but she lifts her chin. “I was going to try and talk sense into him. He let me go once. I hoped he would let me go a second time. I wanted him to stop this madness and the jealousy and the threats.” She looks away, fingers knotted together. “But he couldn’t be persuaded,” she whispers. “And I knew there wasn’t anything left for me to do here in New York. Nothing that could save me from him. So I decided that as much as I love my life here, the opportunities Moretti Global gave me, I was going to have to leave.”
I stare at her, lost for words. The sacrifice she was willing to make just to live freely steals the breath from my chest. “If the law had worked properly, Romero wouldn’t have been free in the first place. He would never have been a threat. And you wouldn’t need to make such sacrifices,” I state. And where the law fails, men like myself step in and finish the job. “You were going to leave me.”
My tongue feels thick, heavy. The words taste raw and jagged in my mouth. The mere thought sends a ball of unease into my gut. Now that I’ve had her, now that I love her, the thought of her leaving is unbearable.
“I didn’t want to leave.” Her tone is sad. “But I thought it was the only way. I got away once. I thought maybe I could do so again.”
She looks stricken, like she carries the guilt of the world.
“It was a mistake for me to come here in the first place. I was foolish to think hiding in plain sight would work. I didn’t know he was going to be paroled.”
I lean back, bracing myself for what comes next. For the truth, but she needs to know. Needs to understand what kind of monster I’m capable of being. The choice then would be hers if she were to remain with me or not. I couldn’t force her like Romero tried to. “I killed Romero,” I admit, my tone devoid of emotion. “So I suppose we are both hiding secrets.”
Her lips part slowly in shock, but no words come out. The silence presses in around us. “You told me you were going to use the law to deal with Romero,” she whispers. “And you told me you wouldn’t go near him again.”
I hate myself for the pain in her voice. I feel it like a blade twisting deep. “I’m sorry.” I meet her eyes and hope she can’t see that I’m not sorry. I don’t care about Romero and would shoot the bastard again and again if I had to. “The law failed you and others, and therefore where they failed, I did not.”
“Lucien, you hardly gave the law time to work. To do its job,” she snaps, rising to her feet, eyes flashing. “How could you do that? You promised me you weren’t part of that world anymore.”
“And I’m not.” I’m not entirely sure if that were the truth either. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t have the skills of that life. I won’t apologize for what I did. I would do it again to protect you.”
“I don’t want that kind of protection. I don’t want anything to do with the underworld.” She turns and storms toward the bedroom. The sound of muffled packing sends alarms through me. I shove up from the sofa and follow her.
“What are you doing?” I watch her shove clothes into a small overnight bag.
