What hit me first was the absence of noise. Our home seemed to be always bursting from the seams. Kids laughing, or arguing, voices raised, one person calling to another, the sound ofclack, clack, clackas the dogs’ paws scraped against the wooden floors, pots being clanged, music being played, the smell of something savory or sweet, often both, drifting from the kitchen. Even after the kids had gone to bed, the house never offered this much quiet. The days’ life lingered long after the house took its rest.
Complete silence greeted me. The kind that has a fake smile and a cold handshake.
I didn’t tiptoe. There was no use. If Nemours was close, he’d know where I was. If Scarlett was inside, she would’ve answered me. Unless she couldn’t—I rolled my shoulders, suffocating the thought before it became wild enough to drive me insane.
The house was all in order. Nothing broken or moved. Not that that was proof of the rat not being here, but proof that he hadn’t tried to take her. She wouldn’t go without a fight. The only way she would was if he had threatened me or our kids. Since Scarlett had made sure the children were at the park and had sent me off to speak to Mitch—fuck, she had convinced me to go—he couldn’t use us as leverage.
“That’s why you did this,” I muttered, making my way to the kitchen. I went straight to the window, expecting to see Silvio escorting her to the SUV, or waiting with her there.
Where else could she be? The car was in the driveway, the house empty. It made no fucking sense. Silvio would have had her wait in the car with him, sending another guard inside, or he would’ve escorted her himself.
My eyes searched some more, and then she seemed to appear. She stepped out of the car.
Her back turned, she stared toward the woods. Where the fuck was Silvio? The rest of the men?
My wife turned on her heel, so graceful, so quickly, that it almost shocked me. She felt me here, knew that I had come, and the fear on her face at seeing me made her go pale. Those green eyes glowed, almost alien in her face.
The sight of her made my heart still—come to a complete screeching halt. Which did odd things to the blood in my veins, my bones, my very being.
It wasn’t relief—I had no name for it, but it was there.
Here. She stood here. Right in front of me. Breathing. Heart pumping. Blood rushing. The moment felt like it had been seared into my memory. Unforgettable.
Then my eyes followed hers. Something to the left. A body lay flat on the cement. One of the guards. Not Silvio. Rolando. He had been hit in the head with a blunt object, from the looks of him. A pair of cleats was still clutched in his hands.
If my wife had been in the house when he was hit, more than one man would be lying on the floor. The house showed no signs of disorder.
She waited in the car because something had happened with Silvio while Rolando came into the house to retrieve the cleats—Matteo’s old cleats, at that. There was no need to come here, unless she did it on purpose—to save someone she knew was in danger. Me or one of our children?
A step was all I had taken after her mouth opened, like she was going to scream, and the sound of a skull cracking seemed to deafen the head it belonged to—my head.
All went black.
* * *
An echo.A name.
No.
Names.
Names seemed to reverberate inside of a tunnel.
Where my mind had once closed, it seemed to open, allowing sound through. The darkness refused to recede, but sound—I could hear.
My kids were crying. Voices. Other voices were calling to me, and others were telling them to stay calm.
Everett.
Mitch.
Silvio.
My hands came up automatically, reaching out, and three solid bodies seemed to sink into me, seeking refuge.
“Papà!”
Wetness glided along my cheek. Mia. Her tears fell on me, warm at first, then drying into cool streaks.
