“Antonio said if I wanted him dead, I should do it myself.”
A chill ran down my spine.
“I'd never felt so angry. Knowin’ he’d been so close that entire time. Livin’ his life as if he hadn’t turned ours upside down.” His voice was sharper as he gritted his teeth. “I went with Vince to where Antonio had located his apartment... He was too drunk to understand what was going on or properly recognize who I was when we came through his front door. But sobered up fast when I held the gun to his head...”
You wanted to know this, I thought, unintentionally loosening my fingers from around his hand as I processed it all. You asked.
“...I gave him two choices. Be tortured until death or, kill himself,” Dean said. I could feel his eyes on me, watching me closely. “He went with the latter. No note... And bled to death in his bathtub.”
He hadn’t killed his father, but the intention was there. Along with the consequences of what he had done if he were ever caught. Forcing someone to end their life was just as bad as murder.
But that someone had brought his family a world of pain.
“Does your mother know?” I said quietly. Out of all the things flying about my head at once, it was the one thought I could put into words.
“No... She thinks it was all his doing, killing himself like the death report said.” He moved in his seat so he was facing me as I knelt on the floor.
“And Seb?”
“He’s the only other person who knows... And now you too.” He hesitantly reached for my hand, as if he waited for me to flinch, before curling his fingers around it. “If you want to leave—”
“It wasn’t right.” I was frowning before I looked up at him. He was leaning forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees as he anticipated my reaction. “What your father did. Or what you did... It should’ve been handled by the police. By the judicial system. Gio should’ve been put in prison.” I got to my feet, releasing my hand from his before I went about collecting the cutlery and plates from the table. He watched my movements with his brows furrowed and jaw set. “But sometimes getting the law involved isn’t always enough.”
I was the daughter of a detective; I was raised to respect the law, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe that a prison sentence would’ve been good enough for what Gio had done.
“I’m staying.”
The words were barely a whisper as I stole a glance in Dean’s direction. His expression softened with surprise, or relief before I brought the plates, forks, and spoons over to the kitchen sink. I started washing the dishes. My hands moved on autopilot as the story settled in my head until my mind was blank. I didn’t want to think anymore.
Dean stepped up beside me, taking to drying the dishes and putting them away without a word. Every so often he brushed his arm against mine as he moved. Every so often, I did the same back. It was a silent conversation of body language and touch. The whole two minutes were strangely cathartic.
I turned on the faucet to rinse the last plate, only for the tap handle to come off in my hand. A stream of cold water sprayed directly into my face and chest, temporarily blinding me. I laughed and gasped as I tried to put the handle back. Dean quickly stepped in.
“I am so sorry,” he said. There was a hint of laughter in his voice as he screwed the tap handle back on, stopping the water flow. “I was meant to get that replaced.”
“Well.” I unstuck my T-shirt from my chest before looking at him, smiling when I found him equally soaked from collarbone to navel. I brushed my damp hair from my face, trying not to look too hard at the muscle visible beneath his black T-shirt, and shrugged. “At least the water didn’t go anywhere else.”
Dean chuckled, a welcome sound after our conversation, and looked down at his shirt. Then up to my hair.
“How about we get you dried off,” he said, reaching across to wipe a strand of hair away from my cheekbone.
“What about you?” I gestured to his chest.
He lifted his right eyebrow, and then pulled up the hem of his shirt and peeled it off his body. The tight, wet fabric snagged at his broad shoulders before he tugged it the rest of the way off.
Bundling the shirt in his hands, he said, “What about me?”
I couldn’t help that my eyes drifted across his naked, wet torso.
“Sorry— I’m just— How?” I dragged my eyes back to his face.
He huffed a laugh that made his abs flex, before bringing his hand around to my lower back and guiding me over to the dining table. I took a seat as he moved over to a bottom drawer in the kitchen. His back muscles flexed as he bent over to take out a clean dishcloth. He dabbed the cloth down his chest as he returned, mopping up the water droplets on his skin as he stepped in behind my chair.
I was a little confused, and slightly distracted, until he brought the cloth to my head, gently massaging my scalp as he dried the damp strands of hair. I closed my eyes while he worked his fingers, and let my head roll back.
The movement of his steady hands slowed before a warm breath of air danced across my exposed neck. Followed by his mouth caressing the side of my throat, and his hands skimming down my arms as he leaned over my shoulder.
I hummed breathlessly, arching off the back of the chair. I brought a hand to the back of his head, threading my fingers through his soft, black hair as he swirled his tongue against my skin, and then dragged his mouth up to mine. Kissing me at an angle while I kept my head reclined.
