by A. C. Bextor
“That can’t be. Wren had good parents. She adored them.”
“Can you trust me, please? Get the fuck out of there. Away from Ciro. Away from her.”
“I can’t do that,” I resign quickly. “I can’t leave with Chase still out there.”
“Chase is dead.”
All the air in my lungs escapes. “What the fuck?”
“Dead. He has no family. No friends. No one misses the fuck. But he’s dead. Drowned in a motel bathtub.”
“When?”
“Call from motel came in tonight. About the same time word got in from my contact about Wren.”
“Did someone kill him?”
Clearly, I’ve hit a nerve. Mike’s posture tightens.
Leaning forward, he hisses, “Does it fucking matter? He’s dead, for fuck’s sake. One less wasted life to support.”
What he says is true. I sure as fuck won’t miss him, anyway.
“But the world will miss you, Liam. See this for what it is before it’s too late.”
“I can’t accuse Ciro of knowing about Wren, Mike. You know my family. That’s not how this works.”
“Then get help. Not for her but for you. Or get the fuck out.” After a brief pause, Mike continues. “Ciro isn’t doing you any favors, Liam. Whatever he’s holding over your head, he’s doing it with lies.”
“If what you say is true—”
“Yes, it’s true, and there’s more.” Mike runs his hands through his hair, looking around the parking lot as if he’s expecting the bad guys to come for him. Maybe he has reason to be afraid. After hearing all this, anything is possible.
“I’m not done looking into it. I won’t be done until I get what I need and convince you to walk away.”
I shouldn’t have involved him. Between his hate for my family and his determination to get me away from them, he won’t stop. He’s putting himself in danger.
“Tell me what else you think you’ve found,” I push. “Then stop prying.”
Without delay, he asks, “Is Pete still Ciro’s right hand?”
“What does Pete have to do with this?”
“I’m not accusing him of anything. But you need to know—”
As if I’m watching an accident happen in slow motion, bullets from a semiautomatic weapon burst through the air. Mike’s body falls forward, landing like a heavy weight against mine.
Screams come from a distance—women, children, anyone around to witness. Then, as quickly as they started, the bullets stop.
“Fuck!” I scream, bringing Mike down to the cold cement as carefully as I can. “Someone fucking help!”
As I look up to the black van with the closing door driving away, I scream again. My voice is hoarse. There is no sound. The screams of passersby become muted.
Instinctively I know before my attempts to assess Mike’s wounds begin that my best friend’s life has been ended.
The front of his white shirt is covered in blood as it falls from the corners of his mouth. His empty eyes are open, looking up to heaven above.
Holding his head and closing my eyes, I relive everything in slow motion, again and again.
Secrets.
Lies.
Bullets.
Blood.
I need to get to Wren.
The empty weight of the gun lying in the palm of my hand is nothing compared to the burden crushing my chest. The knowledge I’d been given before my best friend’s life was taken too early threatens to drown me. To swallow me whole.
Desperate thoughts consume me.
Anger.
Chase Avery is dead. The man Ciro claimed he was protecting Wren from is no longer a threat. It doesn’t matter who killed him or how he died; it only matters that he’s gone—no longer a risk to Wren. I have no doubt Ciro knows this, as he has his fingers on the pulse of every crooked and vile deal in this city.
Rage.
My best friend is gone. The man Ie loved like a brother, trusted like family, depended on nearly my entire life, is dead. And it wasn’t a random act of violence that took him away. No, the person who did this is one of my own. I don’t need any proof.
After I’d explained to the police and hospital staff the last few moments of Mike’s life, I showered there and waited for Mary. She was as I knew she would be—completely shocked and utterly broken. Her life, as well as her son’s, will never be the same. A blessed father and loving husband is gone, and nothing they or I can do will ever bring him back.
Vengeance.
The most startling revelation is what Mike’s informant dug up on Wren. She doesn’t belong anywhere except with her family and—
“You look better than I had expected you would, Liam,” Ciro’s voice calls as he steps into the study of his home.
Gripping the gun in my hand, my finger rests gently against its trigger and I wait. Ciro comes to stand across from where I’m seated on his favorite leather couch. Surely he’s considered how bold it must be that I’ve taken his seat, not my usual obedient place.
As a kid, I used to find solace in this very room. I’d come in, climb into the oversized chair in the corner, and read for hours, never bothered by anyone.
I knew Ciro secretly hated the boy I used to be because I stood for everything he didn’t. I was good, honest, and hardworking. I wanted to spend my life helping others, even if it meant I did that alone.
And here, in a place I should’ve always felt comforted, cared for, and loved, I’m lonelier than ever before.
“You have something you wish to discuss?” Ciro questions, taking a seat in the chair across from me, eyes full of suspicion. “You must if you’re here at this hour after dealing with such a personal tragedy.”
Gathering my composure, I stare candidly into my uncle’s dark eyes and ask, “Did you do this?”
“Did I do what?” he feigns ignorance.
“Don’t fuckin’ play with me, Uncle. Did you have Mike shot?”
“You choose me to blame?”
“I’m asking you a fuckin’ question, and I expect an honest answer.”
He shakes his head. “I hate that you feel you have to ask. After everything I’ve done for you. After all our family has been through.”
Narrowing my eyes and shaking my head quickly as if to make sense of his answer, I repeat, “You hate that I have to ask this?”
“There are many in this city who despise law enforcement. You know this.”
“Bullshit.”
“You work for me now, Liam. I’m sorry for you that you’ve inherited my enemies, but it’s true that you have. It’s possible one of those did this.”
Fucking bastard. I’m getting nowhere. Nor will I until he’s ready to confess. That’s how Ciro works.
Moving to my next point, I ask, “Do you know Chase Avery is dead?”
“Liam—”
“Answer me.”
“Chase Avery is a threat to Wren. You know this as well as I.”
“He’s dead, Ciro. The threat is gone.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” he admits. “But there are others out there who will—”
“Fuck that,” I clip.
“There’s a bigger picture at play here, nephew.”
“No, there isn’t.”
“Your work in this family has only started. Thanks to you, the men here are finding their hope again, Liam.”
“You’ve always been dark, Ciro. A living, breathing Lucifer. I’ve looked the other way. I’ve tried not to see it.”
“You mistake my actions,” he argues.
“Who ordered Faina Zalesky killed?”
I’ve surprised him. Sitting back in his chair, a look of satisfaction crosses his features. He’s reveling in the fact that someone here, someone he trusts, will be able to hear his confession. His eyes are apologetic, but not for what he did to an innocent woman. Now that I know the truth, he worries what I’ll do next.
“Answer,” I prod, moving the gun still sitting in my lap inches closer to him.
“There are things you don’t need to understand. Burdens I carry that are mine.”
“So it was you,” I assume.
“Not only me.”
“Who else, other than you, would’ve ordered an innocent woman beaten, raped, and killed?”
“It had to be done, Liam. There was no other way.”
“And Klara?” I push. “She was supposed to end up like Faina, wasn’t she?”
“I hardly understand why this is so important. All of that happened so long ago.”
“Answer the fucking question,” I demand.
“Yes. An unfortunate turn with Klara. Katrina didn’t do as I had instructed her.”
My gut turns. My hands shake. A black cloud dims my vision. I have yet another piece to the lying puzzle that’s my uncle.
“Unfortunately, because Katrina was unable to follow orders and was in love with that Russian buffoon, she’s no longer with us.”
No longer with us.
Most definitely Katrina Marx is no longer with anyone. Zalesky had her killed for her role in the abduction of his sweet Klara. A woman I met and admired.
“Are you insane?” I question. “Have you lost your mind? Your men are scared, Ciro.”
“As they should be. We should all worry about our enemies.”
“No. They think you’ve gone crazy. You’re their enemy.”
Ciro laughs, his big belly shaking grossly. “Oh, my young boy. You’re grieving. You aren’t thinking clearly.”
“Everything you’ve done has been to destroy others. You knew what Mike meant to me.”
“I knew what Mike meant to the old Liam. But that boy is gone,” he insists. “The loving, sensitive young man you used to be has no place here now.”
If Ciro is anything, he’s perceptive. He as well as Pete and Wren have recognized the change in me. With the time passed under this roof, I’ve become less the man I’ve always wanted to be and more the monster Ciro’s always wanted.
“No. I’m not the same anymore,” I agree. “And if you have anything, Ciro, I hope it’s the foresight to realize what you’ve forced me to become.”
“What’s that?” he seethes.
Clutching the gun, I answer, “Your worst fucking nightmare.”
A thickening wave of rage penetrates Ciro’s gaze. Once he stands, he takes two steps in my direction and looks down at the gun.
Pointing to it, he states, “Like the others who work for me, Liam, blood or not, beware of your words. Watch your manner when you speak to me, or someone you love will suffer for it.”
They already have.
The noise coming from outside the library is murmured and faint.
Cliff, who had been sitting at my side all evening, perks his ears and stares at the door. A low growl crawls from his chest.
Setting the book I’d been skimming on the table beside my chair, I stand.
No more noise.
Cliff looks up to me with pleading eyes, waiting to see what I’ll do next.
When the double doors swing open, Liam stands on the other side, bracing his hands against the frame. His hair is a mess, his clothes disheveled, and his glare impenetrable.
When he doesn’t make a move to enter, I lean over and turn on the second lamp. In the shadow of its glow, Liam looks larger than usual—a towering inferno of bitter rage and absolute disgust.
“Liam? What’s wrong?”
“Do you know?” he questions in a low voice, seemingly restraining himself.
I’ve never seen Liam look so vulnerable. He’s one of the most confident men I’ve ever known. Until we got here.
His eyes are swollen. He bites his lip, waiting for my answer, so I prod, “Do I know what?”
Dropping his hands and straightening himself, Liam prowls into the library. He was supposed to be home hours ago. He said he was going into the hospital to pick up the rest of his things and ask for an extended leave of absence. My calls and texts went unanswered, which I hated. I worried, then decided to pass the time in here.
Once he makes it to where I stand, he moves in as close as space will allow. His eyes roam my face, neck, and chest before he brings his gaze back to mine.
“A man died tonight,” he tells me. “Because of you.”
“What?” I return, unsure I’ve heard correctly.
“He was doing something for me, for you, and before he had a chance to fuckin’ tell me everything he found, he was shot in the back three times.”
“Oh my God.”
“He fucking died in my arms. I held him as he took his last breath.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know—”
“He was a son. A husband. A father.”
“Liam, please stop.”
“He was a Chicago police officer,” he continues, grabbing my arms and shaking me, not enough to cause pain but enough that he has my full attention. “Now tell me, Wren. Do you have any idea who you are?”
Memories come to light. Those of Liam and me together once. We were friends. We were happy. We came together, even happier for it.
Now, with whatever happened, Liam is accusing me of something I have no knowledge of.
I haven’t had control of my own life in what feels like years. Being here, in this house, watching the man I thought cared about me change in ways I can’t explain, brings up resentments I didn’t know I had.
For Chase.
For Liam.
For Ciro.
Even Pete.
“Take your hands off me,” I clip. I don’t move, though, waiting for Liam to decide.
“Who are you?” he asks, no longer angry but confused. “Do you have any fucking idea?”
“Who am I?” I snap. “Liam, I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m Wren!”
“Bullshit. Your family, caro. Who were they?”
“You know who my family was. I’ve told you!”
“You’ve told me about your childhood. Not who they were.”
“Liam, I don’t understand.”
Releasing me and stepping back, Liam runs his hands through his hair. He spins in a circle before turning back to me again.
“Ciro has plans for you. And right now, I need you to think. Tell me anything about your life that I don’t already know.”
“You’re scaring me.”
“You can trust me,” he assures.
I don’t know that I believe that anymore.
“I’m going to bed.” I inch past him.
Thankfully he lets me go.
She doesn’t know.
Wren doesn’t have the first fucking clue about who she is, where she came from, or where she really belongs.
To her, this prison means protection. This family isn’t the enemy; they’re helping her through a hard time.
All a lie. Being here no doubt endangers her.
Of course, she understands there are ulterior motives at play. Yet she doesn’t understand the immense danger of those motives.
As I tip up the rest of the whiskey, I glance at the door.
Angelina stands alone, wearing a small robe that stops midthigh and nothing else. Her hair is wild and her body is trembling.
“I knew what he was doing,” she starts.
“What?”
“I heard your uncle talking to some of his men.”
“Mike,” I assume. “You knew Ciro meant to hurt him.”
With nowhere to turn, Angelina admits her own guilt. “Yes. I knew he was going to hurt someone.”
“What happened to Mike wasn’t your fault.”
Holding back a sob, Angelina looks down. “Calloy told me you’re a good person. And that you don’t agree with what Ciro does.”
“I don’t.”
“He can’t be stopped. The only way out is to try to leave, but….”
“He can be stopped,” I consider for the first time aloud. “There are ways to make him stop.”
Surprised, Angelina’s nervous gaze meets my determined one. “Then you�
��ll do this?”
For Wren.
For Pete.
For a life I once loved.
“I’ll do this.”
I recognize the fingers working between my legs, rousing me from unsettled sleep. The heavy breaths, smelling of alcohol, against my neck and the soft words spoken in Italian are familiar.
Liam.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he tells me, running his nose along my jaw, flicking his tongue against my lips. “You’re not safe here anymore.”
“Liam,” I moan as his finger slides inside me.
His voice is soft, a sad serenade that only we can hear. His body is taut, settling in close and warming mine. When Liam makes another aggressive drive inside, my body rocks, testing his resolve.
“I was wrong to be angry with you,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted.”
As Liam’s mouth descends to my chest, my back arches. He takes my nipple into his mouth, savage and yearning. Again and again, he sucks, licks, and kisses each in turn. My insides fever with anticipation as he presses his palm against my clit. He curls his finger, adding pressure inside until I’m ready to burst.
My God.
“Ride me, leonessa,” he orders. “Come for me.”
Grabbing his wrist for leverage, I do as commanded, my body further igniting at his touch. His breaths are heavy, heated, and uneven. The soft, smooth skin of his chest brushes against mine. With nothing else between us, he drives his ready cock into my side.
“Fucking ride me,” he clips, this time on a hiss. “Let me feel you. Let me fucking hear you.”
“Liam, wait,” I plead.
This is too much.
“No. Take this from me.”
“I’m close.”
“Let go, caro. I’m here.”
Shit.
As soon as Liam nips my neck, the space and time between us disappears. All we’ve endured. All we’ve lost in being here. Every doubt vanishes.
“Oh fuck. Yes, that’s it, tesoro. More,” he encourages.
I dig my fingernails into his arm, desperately holding it between my legs. The faint sounds of my moans mixed with his are swallowed when he brings his mouth to mine. Liam positions himself over me, removing his hand and using it to spread my legs. In one brutal but beautiful push, we’re connected in the most carnal of ways.
