by S. M. Soto
I had Dr. Chang check on him for me, to make sure he wasn’t going to slip away when I least expected it. He’s been coming in twice a week after every torture session, doing his best to keep him alive. On top of enjoying Finlay’s pain, I was still handling the FBI issue and dealing with Matteo’s absence—trying to juggle everything on those fronts.
There hasn’t been much on the famiglia front. My visit to the strip joint, home to members of the Bratva seemed to have the intended effect. After killing Grigori and making a show of displaying Sergei’s dismembered body, they all understood their place. It didn’t seem like anyone was stepping out of line. But I knew better. Just because no one was acting out, didn’t mean they weren’t plotting, and I’d be ready if they wanted to strike.
Without having to focus all my time on threats within the syndicate, I spent most of my time trying to figure out how to get rid of the FBI issue and the HawkFire issue. I briefed the rest of the guys on my plan. They were all on board, willing to take out HawkFire once and for all and put a dent in whatever case the FBI was building against my family.
I’ve had Monte and Clarence looking into the families of the agents so I can find the weakest of the bunch. My way in. We still haven’t gleaned much from the reports. They’re not stupid; they have to know the first place anyone with the means to do so would be to look in their database. That’s exactly where we looked, and still, it was the same vague explanation. That wasn’t going to work for me. Because I know that can’t possibly be all they have. They have something concrete enough that they felt the need to make their presence known. They wanted us to be afraid, maybe even ask questions. That’s probably what they’re expecting. They haven’t been in contact since that first visit. So that must mean they’re watching. I’ve been extra careful every time I’ve had to leave the estate. Getting past them to deal with HawkFire will be the biggest issue. I needed a distraction. Something that would keep their eyes off us and our family long enough that I’d be able to get in and get out, without being a number one suspect or becoming most wanted on their list.
I needed to raise hell and leave them pointing the finger somewhere else—
“Creed, did you hear me?”
I’m snapped out of my thoughts at the sound of Sophia’s voice. She’s staring up at me with questions in her eyes. When I glance around the room, I realize the guys have already left, and it’s just the two of us. I reach my hand out and caress the side of her face. Her close proximity easing the tension building in my chest. She leans into my touch immediately, seeking me out.
“What?” I ask, realizing she was asking me something while I was plotting.
“I said did you want to help me move his clothes from our room to here? Maybe keep half and half? I was thinking of adding a changing station and a bassinet in our room for him too.”
At the blank expression on my face, she frowns at me and reaches out, running her fingers through my hair at the nape of my neck. “Are you okay? You seem like you’re somewhere else.”
I bend down, pressing my lips against hers and cupping her face. “I’m fine. Just thinking. Let’s split the clothes, and we’ll make room for the bassinet and another changing table in our room for him.”
I hate lying to her, but I don’t want her worrying; I don’t want her questioning what is happening with Finlay, HawkFire, or the FBI. The less she knows, the better. We’re in the homestretch. I’m not going to fuck that up by stressing her out.
Soph smiles up at me, her green eyes sparkling with happiness, much like they have been lately. She slides her hands around my hips and leans into me. Her bump rests against my lower half and I smirk down at her.
“You’re beautiful.”
A pink flush coats her cheeks, and if possible, her smile widens. “Are you sweet talking me Creed?”
A chuckle vibrates in my chest.
Leaning into her, I bend down, placing my lips next to her ear and ask in a low voice, “And if I am?”
A shudder runs through her body and I chuckle at the effect I still have on her. She leans back, glancing up at me.
“Then maybe you’ll have to do something about it.” There’s no mistaking the huskiness in her voice. Her hands tighten around my waist, I feel the pads of her fingers digging into my skin. I shake my head back and forth with a laugh. Looking down at her with an amused expression on my face.
Fuck, I want her. I’ve missed her. But I don’t want to hurt her. It’s still too soon. To drive my point home, I glide my hand over her hip, and she winces the tiniest bit. My smile drops.
“Not until this heals. How bad does it still hurt? And don’t lie.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not that bad. It’s just sore. The bruising is finally gone.”
She’s right, the bruising is finally gone, but that doesn’t mean she’s not still in pain.
“You need to tell me if it gets any worse. Got it?”
“Yes. Yes, I know.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s been two weeks, Creed, I should be better in no time. Have you seen how huge I am? That’s probably why it still feels sore. I’m heavier than a freaking whale.”
I purse my lips, fighting my laughter. “You’re not heavier than a whale.”
She gives me a look that says she wants to argue, but instead, she reaches onto her tiptoes and kisses me.
“I know you’re lying, but I’ll take it. Want to help me finish up?”
“How about I have everyone else finish up and you go lay down,” I retort
“No way. This is going to be our son’s room. I want it to be perfect for him. I want to be able to do it myself.”
I press my lips together, understanding her need to add her own touches in his room and make herself feel like she’s doing something.
“All right,” I blow out a sigh. “What are we doing?”
“Can you hang that picture there on that wall.” She points to the wall opposite of us. “Hang the crucifix above the door and then help me separate and put the rest of his clothes away.”
I get to work. Sophia slips the tiny stacks of baby clothes in the drawers, and as I grab the hammer and nails the guys left behind, I use them to hang the picture and the crucifix. I can’t help but stop every now and then to watch her. She’s in full momma mode. For someone who only a few weeks ago cried because she thought she was going to be a bad mother she has not only proven herself wrong, but everyone else as well. The last two weeks as I’ve been watching her, I’ve seen a side to her I never have before. A protective side. The maternal side. She’s been folding clothes, buying stuff for him left and right, wanting everything to be perfect. After I finished with Finlay the other night, I walked into our bedroom in the south wing of the estate and found her asleep with a baby book in her hand. In hindsight, there should’ve been nothing surprising about it, but there was.
We were going to be parents. I couldn’t tell you what the fuck was more frightening than that.
Sophia and I work seamlessly as we put the rest of the baby’s clothes away. Once we’re a little more than half-way finished, I start to notice her slowing down. Like she’s fatigued. I step into her back and wrap my arms around her midsection, settling my hands on her stomach. Dipping my head down, I lean into her, inhaling her scent, pressing an opened mouth kiss to her neck.
I’ve missed this.
Having her in my arms.
I’ve been so caught up in Finlay and getting rid of any other threats, by the time I get to bed each night, she’s already asleep, and when I get up in the morning, she’s still out cold.
As if she feels the same way, she leans into me, resting her head back against my chest. We silently take in the entirety of the room, almost completely put together now. As I glance at everything, a warmth fills my chest. I can almost picture her in here, holding him, putting him to bed.
“I’ve missed you.” Her voice is quiet. A little sad. I tighten my grip around her and press a kiss to her temple.
“I know.” I sigh.
“Once Matteo is fully recovered, things will get easier.”
She’s silent for a while and I know she’s processing. I can practically hear the gears turning in her head, so I just hold her.
“Do you have to stay out late again tonight?”
I clench my eyes shut, because yes, I do. Tonight, I’m handling the Abdul issue and then checking in on Finlay. He’s still strung up in the basement. His breathing was slow and labored yesterday so I called in Dr. Chang’s associate to do whatever is necessary. I don’t know how much longer he’ll last, but I’m hoping it’ll be long enough for me to be satisfied.
“I do.”
I feel her deflate against my body, and she turns in my arms. Glancing up at me with those sweet, innocent green eyes, her question has my heart stuttering.
“Are you sure everything is okay, Creed? I feel like you’re somewhere else lately. I know I promised I’d stay out of that side of things, but you can talk to me, you know. You can confide in me. We’re partners, that’s what we’re supposed to do, share our problems with each other.”
She searches my eyes, and I hate that she feels like I’m keeping secrets from her, not fully opening up. I settle my gaze on her lips, so she can’t read what’s happening inside me.
“I know.” I brush the stray hairs away from her forehead. “It’ll all be over soon, il mio amore. I promise.”
I take her lips with mine and kiss her. I’m doing everything I can to give her and our son a safe life. She just needs to trust me.
I pull along the darkened street and cut the lights. Throwing the car in park, I slide my suit jacket on, covering my strap, and get out. Lorenzo and Monte are out in the wings watching for any other suspicious activity—meaning the FBI. They’re backup in case anything goes wrong, but if my gut and strategic planning is right, everything is going to go as planned.
Just as I instructed I would, I head toward the docks, glancing conspicuously over my shoulder, playing the part of a paranoid criminal. I feel his eyes on me. He’s probably out there, waiting and watching to see if he can trust me. He can’t, but he doesn’t know that.
I’m not surprised when I make it to the spot at the edge of the docks—the meeting place of his choosing—and I hear quiet, but firm footfalls. When I turn toward the source, I clear my face of all expression and any outward emotion. I try not to smirk at the predictability of it all.
He isn’t dressed like a criminal. In fact, to any regular person on the street, they wouldn’t even suspect he’d be a criminal. A foreign man who profits on selling people like they’re cattle. Men, women, children, ranging from sickening ages. He sticks to the shadows now, like most criminals do. Out of force of habit. I can still make out the lines of his impeccable suit. The darkened hue to his skin.
“You alone?” Abdul demands, his thick accent butchering his words.
“You have the merchandise?”
He watches me closely, his beady brown eyes narrowed on me—trying to read me. He nods, mostly to himself and leads me farther into the shipping yard. A calm settles into my bones. It’s so at odds with the bloodlust swimming through my veins. I always get it—this feeling—right before a kill. He can either be stupid and try to ambush me, or be smart and show me what I came here for. He’s going to die either way.
Abdul leads me into a shipping container and the inside is filled with wooden crates. I try to steel my expression and hide my disgust at what’s inside. I try to tell myself to think about the bigger picture—how all of this is going to end. He leans against one of the crates, his meaty palm slapping against the wooden top.
“Mexicans here.” He moves over to another crate. “European bitches here. Virgins here. And the rest are mixed with whatever flavor you’re looking for.”
I feel a presence behind me, and I don’t even have to look over my shoulder to know his men are here, blocking the entrance and my only escape, more than likely with their guns trained on me, just like I knew they would be. I knew he wouldn’t come alone. And as I gaze at the man, at Abdul, I take stock of the gleam shining in his eyes, he thinks he’s won. But he’s sorely mistaken.
Slowly, I turn on my heels, raking my gaze over his men, then looking back at him. His suit is crisp and clean, the only thing giving away his extreme wealth and nationality is the embroidery along his suit. His men, though, I can tell they’re the bottom of the barrel, I can fucking smell them from here.
“Looks like you brought friends.” I keep my tone even. And he smirks, running his hand over the wooden crate, eyeing me.
“Safety precaution,” he rasps in his thick accent “I’m sure you understand.”
Oh, I do, Abdul. But I keep that little tidbit to myself.
“Have you made your decision?” he asks, referring to the girls he currently has stuffed into these crates. The girls I plan on setting free after I murder him and his men.
“Am I allowed to view the merchandise before purchasing?”
Abdul snaps his fingers at one of his lackeys.
“Zuhran.” He motions to the crate in front of him and his man dutifully comes to do his bidding. I watch them both, the blood roaring through my veins as I meticulously break down each of their movements, recognizing which sides they favor, studying them work the crate open.
I’m going down the list of anyone who has ever hurt Sophia or anyone who can pose any threat to her and I’m getting rid of them one by fucking one.
With Finlay, Ivan, and Alejandro already taken care of, all I need to mark off on my list are Abdul and his men, and then Zen, the man who violated her. I’ve got eyes on all of them. I’ve been planning this for weeks. Setting this up perfectly to avoid any outcome other than success—the success of their death by my hands.
I have my shot.
I have it in clear view.
If I really wanted to, I could fire off a shot into Abdul and Zuhran, but then I’d have his other men to worry about who are hovering near the doors to the shipping container. More than likely, they’ll retaliate, firing off rounds inside here, and if any of them miss me, their stray bullets will more than likely penetrate the crates, and I can’t have that. It’s too close of a call—too messy.
I sidestep discretely, keeping them all in front of me, trying to find the best angle of attack. Zuhran steps away from the crate, giving me full access and an open view inside. I can see the bodies huddled together. I can vaguely make out shadows and the sounds of muted sobbing.
I grind my teeth together and school my features, forcing my face to remain impassive. Forcing myself to look through them. Not to see Sophia or my mother.
When I can’t stand waiting anymore, I slip out my Glock and fire off a shot into the man farthest away then wind my arm around Abdul’s neck, shielding my body with his. Zuhran has his AK aimed at Abdul as he tries to get a clear shot, but he can’t.
“Drop it,” Zuhran grits out, it only prompts me to squeeze Abdul’s neck harder, cutting off his air supply.
“Motherfucker,” he wheezes, and I grin.
He raises his AK higher like he’s going to shoot, regardless of my hold on his boss, but before he can think twice about pulling the trigger, I fire off a bullet into Zuhran’s head and twist Abdul’s neck. I hear the crack, and his body goes limp in my arms. His dead weight drops to the metal container, and I step over him, digging my phone out of my pocket. Using the burner, I dial Lorenzo who answers on the first ring.
“It’s done.”
“The authorities are on their way. Get out now.”
I nod and move through the container, pushing open each crate for the girls stuffed inside, none of them make any move to step out, not that I’d expect them to, but I leave them be.
“And the other one?” I ask.
“We already have him. He’s strapped to the chair in the basement. Breathing in Finlay’s stench as we speak.”
A thrill shoots down my spine and I smile. It’s cold and sadistic. Slipping out of the shipping container, I stick to the
shadows all the way back to my car. Before getting in, I glance over my shoulder, the hairs at the back of my neck standing at attention, telling me I’m not alone. I’m just about to whirl around and say to hell with it when the burner vibrates. I lift it to my ear.
“You’re taking too fucking long. Get out, now,” Monte barks. Gritting my teeth, I slide into the driver’s seat and peel off.
Once I get back to the estate, it’s nearing dawn and the foyer is silent, no sounds coming from anywhere. I know Sophia is probably sound asleep still, so I use this time to slip into the basement and lock the door behind me. There, I find both of them in the room. Finlay is still strung up by his ankles, his legs an ugly shade of blue now. Zen is strapped to a chair, his gaze darting around, taking in everything, especially Finlay.
I lean against the wall and watch them both. I’m not done with Fin yet, and I have to tread carefully, so I decide to have some fun with Zen instead.
With him strapped to the chair and Fin still unconscious, I close the distance, his eyes following my every move.
“Bet you’re wondering why you’re here.” I keep my voice even. Cold. Aloof.
He doesn’t say anything. Not that I’d expect him to anyway. He keeps his face pinched with anger, no doubt cursing me out in the safety of his mind.
“When I was a kid, I hated when people touched what was mine. You ever have that problem?” I pause, waiting to see if he’ll play along and reply. He doesn’t.
I make a show of sighing. “I don’t like when people touch something that isn’t rightfully theirs to touch, Zen. And you touched what was mine. You hurt her.”
His eyes widen. He’s probably running through everything he’s done lately, trying to remember what he could’ve possibly gotten himself into, who he could’ve possibly touched that belonged to me. A cruel smile tips the corners of my lips when I realize the guys have his arms zip tied to the chair he’s strapped to. That makes things easier. I walk to the table without saying another word. My eyes rove over the instruments until I find the simplest of all. The same hammer I used just this morning in my son’s nursery.
