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“You will never let someone get their hands on my wife ever again.”

“No, boss,” Ricky says.

I holster my weapon and drop Bacon and stride down the hallway to where Spider’s waiting at the elevator.

Every single thing that asshole did to my wife and that girl is about to come back to him a thousandfold.

Karma’s a bitch.

Thirty-Eight

CARSON

It’s late by the time my guards pull through the gates of my house. I sent Spider home hours ago, but I wasn’t finished.

I wanted to stretch it out. I needed to make the asshole suffer, and because I’m so fucking good at my job, his death was as long and as miserable as it gets.

Because he touched what’s mine. I have no doubt that he would have killed Rina and the doctor to get to the girl, and for that, he paid.

With skin and blood and appendages.

Organs.

Until he finally died from blood loss.

And I know that I’m a sick fuck because I enjoyed every goddamn millisecond of making him beg and spit and plead for his life.

With a sigh, I walk into the house. I showered all the blood off at the penthouse because I never want to risk that Charlie might be up for some reason and ask questions that he’s definitely not old enough to ask. That’ll come eventually, but I want him to enjoy being a little boy. Many organized crime families begin grooming their heirs when they’re Charlie’s age, but not only would Rina not stand for that, I don’t want it either.

My boy will grow up soon enough. I love his innocence.

I don’t remember what that feels like, and I want him to have it for as long as he can.

The house is quiet, with low light on here and there to illuminate my way through the house. I can smell . . . cookies?

And when I get to the kitchen, I frown because my wife is standing by the island, nibbling on a cookie and slowly rubbing her hurt hip.

“Hey, sweetheart.” I stride over to her and brush her soft hair behind her ear. “You always warmed your cookies up.”

“They’re better warm,” she says with a smile, but then her face sobers and she drags her hand up and down my chest. “Are you okay?”

With a sigh, I lean in to kiss her forehead. “I’m a lot of things, Sunshine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Nope, you don’t get to shut down on me like you do everyone else.” She pops the last bite of cookie into her mouth. “You can be stoic with the brothers and your men, but you’re home now, in your safe place, and you can talk to me.”

Jesus, how did I survive without her for seven fucking years?

“I’m frustrated,” I begin, and she nods with encouragement, those hands still moving over my chest. “Because Damien is a slimy fucking asshole and I can’t find him.”

“You will.” There’s so much confidence in her voice, it humbles me. “You’re the best at what you do.”

“I’m worried about you,” I continue and bring my hand up to brush my knuckles down her soft-as-fuck cheek. “You’re hurt, and I don’t like that you’re not sleeping right now.”

“My hip aches, and finding a comfortable position isn’t easy. I might try to sleep sitting up in that recliner over there.”

I glance over and see another recliner next to it. “Then I’ll sleep down here with you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”