A sob rips through Scarlett, but she holds it together. “Thank you, Raff. The only thing to bring me peace is knowing that she’s with Dad.”
As the two of them share fond memories, my gaze meets Dalton’s. He stares back at me with the same smug look on his face he had at the meeting, as if he’s won, and all I can do is imagine the things I would do to him if we weren’t in a crowd of people.
The one thing I do know is that this is far from over.
I SETTLE ONTO THE couch, exhausted from the events of today. While Raff was eager to come inside and discuss the future of his children, or lack thereof, I wasn’t having it. I told him that as much as I respect him, his opinion is not something I’m willing to take into consideration. They’re grown adults who made their decisions, and now they have to face the consequences for their actions.
Beni sits on the other side of the L-shaped couch and watches as I put my feet up on the coffee table. He’s been watching me carefully all day, as if I’m dynamite with a lit fuse, just waiting to explode and wreak havoc on everything around me. And I can’t blame him for it, because that’s exactly how I feel.
“So, where are we?” I ask. “Anything I should be aware of?”
His brows raise. “You really want to do this now? Today?”
“Especially today. What have you found?”
I can see the hesitation in his eyes. He doesn’t think we should be discussing this today, and the fact that I want to move on as if we didn’t come home from a funeral is concerning him. But I will not stop until Viola is at the same depth of the coffin we put in the ground today.
He sighs and reluctantly pulls out his phone. “The tracking from Viola’s phone hasn’t been on since the night of the shooting, but it has helped in seeing her actions that night. She went from the gym to Mari Vanna. From there she waited a couple hours and then came here, which is when Paolo was killed. And then she went home, where—”
I hold up a hand to stop him. He doesn’t need to continue. The events of that night will forever be burned into my brain. I don’t need a replay of that.
“And what about Nico?” I ask.
He shrugs. “No one has seen or heard from him since the hospital. I’m sure wherever he is, he’s hiding out with Viola. Did Raff give you any intel this morning?”
A dry laugh forces itself out of me. “All he did was try to get me to believe she wasn’t behind this. He’ll never do anything that could harm his precious spawn.” I exhale slowly as I feel myself getting worked up. “I don’t know. We may need to reevaluate his position in the Familia.”
Beni purses his lips but when he glances behind me, he smiles. “Hey, Kamikaze. Dead looks good on you.”
My breath hitches, and I turn my head to find Saxon standing there. Her black hair is tied up into a messy bun, and she’s clearly lost at least fifteen pounds—from her refusal to eat—but it’s still her. She glances over at me but then quickly looks away, a pained look etched on her face.
“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” I tell her softly.
She scoffs. “What are you going to do? Lock me in there again?”
Giving me no chance to respond, she goes into the kitchen and grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge. It’s one thing she’s been doing ever since we brought her back here. She knows damn well all she would have to do is ask and I’d bring her one, but since she woke up, she seems to want nothing to do with me.
Without sparing another glance in my direction, she heads back to her room, and I hear the door click shut. Once we’re alone, Beni exhales slowly.
“Damn,” he says. “That made me feel cold.”
I can feel my patience dwindling by the second, and he may have had a point. Today is not the day for this. I get up from my place on the couch, mumbling to Beni that I’m going to lay down. He knows when to come get me.
Before disappearing into my room, I look down the hallway that leads to Saxon’s, feeling the same pain in my chest I get every time I think about what we lost. Because while she may not be dead, we may as well be dead to each other.
Have you ever felt pain so bad it knocks the wind out of you? Like literally steals the breath straight from your lungs. It’s brutal and unforgiving, making you wonder if you’ll ever make it out alive.
That’s how I’ve felt since the moment I woke up after being shot.
The TV Kage mounted on the wall plays some movie that at one point in time I may have found interesting, but now, it’s simply background noise. I’m too lost in the depths of despair, drowning in the emptiness that makes me feel like dying every second of the day. The only place I can find solitude is when I’m asleep.
When I can be back with my baby in my dreams.
A knock on the door pulls me from my dark thoughts. As I turn my head, a home nurse comes in—the one requirement Kage had to fulfill in order for the hospital to let him take me home. After all, you can’t fake your death and still stay in a public hospital.
She looks nice, with her light blue scrubs and overly cheery smile. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she looks well rested and optimistic, but I’m sure if I got inside her mind, I’d see that she’s miserable, just like the rest of the world.
No one is really as happy as they pretend to be.
“Hi,” she greets me sweetly. “I’ve just got to change your bandages and check how you’re healing, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
To be honest, I’d like nothing less right now, because no amount of physical healing will change the fact that I’m mentally and emotionally dead inside. Still, I sigh and nod, letting her know that it’s okay for her to do what she’s hired to come here for.
She places her bag on the dresser and takes out the needed supplies before coming closer to me. I keep my eyes focused on the TV as she lifts my shirt. She carefully pulls the bandage away, and while I refuse to look at it, I can tell she’s happy with the results by how she sighs in relief.
“When was your last surgery?”
I rack my brain for the answer, since all the days seem to blend together. “Four days ago, I think.”
There were three surgeries in total. Two were in the same day, but the last was shortly before I was discharged. By the time I left the hospital, it was without a spleen, an appendix, and most importantly, my son.
She smiles. “It’s healing slowly, but well. Another week and you should be able to get these stitches out.”
“Great,” I drone.
Grabbing the antiseptic, she goes to pour it onto a couple pieces of gauze when it slips out of her hand and splashes all over my bed. The cold liquid soaks both me and my bedsheets.
“Oh!” she yelps. “I’m so sorry. Please, let me help you up so I can get this cleaned up for you.”
She holds her hands out for me to take, but I swat them away and stand by myself. She may mean well, but I’m tired of people treating me like I’m fragile. I’m not. I simply don’t want to fucking be here. Or anywhere, for that matter.
The sheets are stripped from my bed, and the nurse runs out to retrieve new ones and a towel to dry the mattress. As I’m left alone, I roll my eyes, catching the mirror in my peripheral vision.