“I was going to raise him as our own.Let them think he died in the explosion.The remains will be unidentifiable.They’ll assume he perished.With time, he’ll forget his past, his family, all of it.”
“He’s not an infant.He’ll remember his family, and the prison, the fear that you’ve invoked in him.Do you really think he’ll grow up as our son?What you’re suggesting is absolute madness.He could have other family—grandparents, an aunt or uncle.”
“I’ve already looked.There is no one else.He’ll end up in foster care.You said it yourself, Nikki.We can’t let him lead the police to our home.He’s seen our faces, which leaves the only viable options—he belongs to us or we kill him.”
“For fuck’s sake, Dante!We’re not killing a child.”
“Then I guess it’s settled.He shall be our son.”
I throw my arms up in the air.“You can’t just demand that and it becomes reality.”I remember the trauma that Nova had, how she’d been mute, and it took time to trust again.
“Besides, he sees us as his kidnappers.What happens next?You suddenly let him free, save him?”
“No, you will,” Dante says to me.“You’ll raise him, let him realize that we’re not to be feared, and with time, he will forget what happened in the cellar.”
“You’re wrong.He won’t forget.You can’t just erase his memories.”
“Tell me what you would do,” Dante says, his fingers reaching out to push the hair back from my face.“If you were don, how would you handle this little situation?”
“I wouldn’t have started with putting him in the prison basement!”
Dante winces, perhaps realizing his mistake.“He was only supposed to see Caden.”One liability could have been easily erased.“Harper fucked everything up when she came down those stairs.What would you donow?”he asks.
“Blaming Harper was your first mistake.Youshould have kept out of that basement and let only Caden and whoever else recaptured him into the prison.You were too busy worrying about your son’s involvement and the girl he likes, to think clearly,” I say.
“Anyone else, and I’d kill them for talking to me that way,” Dante scoffs.
“Well, you asked,” I say, not the least bit afraid of my husband.I’ve lived with him long enough to know his good moods from bad.He’s displeased but not ready to commit murder.
“I asked what you would do now, not what I did wrong,” he says.He huffs and turns his back, returning his attention to the file on his desk, filled with pages on Harper McKenna.Everything from her social media accounts, posts, texts, emails, medical, and hospital records.It’s more than just your typical background check.
I pause, considering all the options and variables.“I would take Rylan upstairs, sit him in front of the television and let him watch the news.Let him see when the explosion makes the news, and he realizes his family and everyone he knows is dead.”
“Cruel,” Dante whispers, tilting his head at me.“You do have mafia blood in you.”
“I don’t suggest it to be cruel, only for him to realize that he has nowhere to go, and that we saved him.”
“He’ll blame us,” he says.
Dante is right.Rylan will blame us, but maybe we deserve the blame.We’re not innocent in all of this, and I don’t pretend to be a saint.
“There’s always Rhys,” I say, pursing my lips as I consider the implication of what I’m about to suggest.“Rhys and Rylan haven’t met.You ordered Rhys to remain outside of Nova’s door last night, am I correct?”
“Rhys is always protecting Nova,” Dante says.“He’s practically her own personal bodyguard.”
“Precisely.He’s good with kids.He knows how to protect them, and we could stage an escape where Rhys rescues Rylan.Then he takes him to a shitty motel, and they can witness the destruction of his family on the news.At which point, he’ll trust Rhys, and you can give them both new identities.”
He strokes his jaw as he considers my suggestion.“That’s not bad, except Rhys isn’t going to be thrilled with the new assignment.Full-time father to a kid who isn’t his?”
“Bump his salary and send them both to the Caymans or Costa Rica.Let Rhys have an early retirement when he’s done with raising Rylan.Rhys will do whatever you ask of him,” I say.“He’s a good soldier.”
“It’s asking a lot,” Dante says, realizing the weight of what he’s done, “but I think it’ll work.”
His attention returns once again to the file, which is now spread out on his desk, pages upon pages.
I glance over his shoulder, reviewing the information in front of us.
Harper McKenna.
