Page 20 of Wicked Union
The leather squeaks as he readjusts his position on the couch, and I lean forward and lay my head on his chest. His arm comes up to surround me, pushing hair off my shoulder and rubbing circles on my back. It's brutally painful to even think of goingto Jasper's home and seeing the evidence that he was there only days ago. There will be laundry on the floor of his bedroom, dishes in the sink. And the police caution tape is still there on the street corner too, the investigation still active.
"Melody will go…" Dad's grief is so tangible, I can feel it seeping into me through osmosis. I feel so ashamed. I want to confess to him that it was my fault, but even if I told him everything, he would still say that life is this way sometimes. He'd never be angry or blame me.
"I want to go too." My decision is final. Tito won't care. He doesn't seem to care what I do right now, and for a while, I thought that was because he was busy with his work. Now I know he's busy taking my father's organization over—with Dad's permission to do so.
"Alright, then, we'll go." He rubs my shoulder, squeezing and petting me as if I'm a lap dog. I want to go find Mom and see if she's alright, but right now, Dad needs this moment.
My thoughts linger on the triggering sight of that caution tape stretched around traffic cones and trees, surrounding the burnt-out car and crumbled cement from the aftermath of the explosion. Police cleared the block moments after it happened, and no one is allowed to park within twenty feet of the cordoned-off area.
"Do you think they'll find who did this?" I pick at a loose thread on my father’s shirt. It dangles from a button and annoys me. It's something to keep my waffling mind steady as I listen to Dad talk about the police and what they know.
"We have our guys in the lead, but the best they can see is that it was related to our organization. Gang violence is at an all-time high, blah, blah…" Dad sounds about as convinced as I am. "One of them tried to tell me it was a Ramiro, but I'm no fool. Donatello would never remove my heir after signing that contract. He'd be a fool. It's a breach of our agreement. All the money they've poured into things already, along with the wise business principles put in place by Tito—they'd be stupid to make such an egregious error."
Dad is so confident, and for a single second, it actually makes me hopeful. He's right. If I can prove Tito ordered the hit, it means he's broken the alliance and Tito and I are finished. But if Tito finds out I'm the one who gave that intel to the police, not Jasper directly, then the pendulum sways the opposite way. My heart sinks again.
"You're right," I tell him, but I'm realizing that taking my husband down to rescue my father from this stupid mess he's in—part of it my fault now—is going to be harder than I thought.
"I'm not worried." Dad pats my shoulder again. "You'll produce my heir, and by the time I'm too old to do this any longer, he will be a man old enough to lead well, with a brilliant mother to support him."
I force myself to sit straighter as Melody walks in, Mom trailing behind her. "Look who feels up for company," Mel says, trying to act cheerful, but her eyes are just as puffy and red as everyone else’s.
Mom hurries to Dad's side, climbing onto his lap and letting him hold her. She is taking this harder than us all, and my deep shame causes a chasm of separation between us. I'm sure she doesn't feel it. She would wrap me in her arms and hold me like I’m her baby girl all day if I ask. It's me. I'm the problem. I can'tbring myself to meet her gaze right now. I am the reason her baby boy is dead this time, and nothing will undo that.
The most I can hope for is vengeance in the end. So, I curl up and rest my head on her knee as she sits on Dad's lap. Melody sits on the other side of them, leaning her head on Dad's shoulder.
I have to fight harder now than ever before because Tito needs to get his hands out of the pie and away from my father's businesses. It doesn’t even matter that the sex is incredible, and after that comment about us leading together, my heart is starting to fall for him. I didn't do this to find a partner. I did this to save my father's organization, and my heart will be collateral damage, but by God, I will bring him down and his money will stay ours forever.
16
TITO
It's been two weeks now since the funeral. Aria isn't herself anymore. She's angry and reserved all the time, but not in the feisty way that shows her will to fight for her family and punish herself to make sure they're taken care of. This is a new expression of hers, something more sinister. I see the anger flash in her eyes at all times, even when she acts caring toward me. I think she blames herself for her brother's death and as a result, she's punishing herself, not allowing herself to find any sense of relief.
Which is the reason for today's dinner.
We're dining at 71Above, a restaurant seventy-one stories in the air with a breathtaking view of western LA. The gold and cream colors don't seem to fit Aria's mood, though she dressed appropriately for the venue. She looks stunning with her hair swept up into a braid, loose tendrils kissing her cheeks. But the hollow stare, like I’m looking into a void instead of her soul, is chilling.
"Try the sushi," I tell her, pointing at it with my knife. She does as I say, but she's quiet. She doesn’t say a word, so I fill up thespace with conversation, hoping it will draw her out of her grief for a while. "You look absolutely stunning tonight, Aria. I really mean that."
Her eyes flick up at me over the rim of her glass of wine, and she blinks as she sips. The ring on her finger sparkles in the light from the golden chandeliers overhead, reminding me that she's mine. I take care of my things. I always have.
"And I spoke with your father earlier. He's so proud of you." I take a small bite of my steak and chew carefully, contemplating what else I can say to cheer her up. "Things are really looking up for Carlos, too. That advice you gave him was a game changer. His businesses are booming now."
Aria sets her wine glass down and uses her napkin to wipe her lips. "That's good," she says, the first thing she's said all night other than what food she wanted to eat when the waiter took our order. Her eyes scan the window, taking in the city lights. "It's beautiful from this far up."
I set my knife and fork down, suddenly no longer hungry anymore. She is what I'm interested in. "Not as beautiful as you are,mia cara." I feel myself drawn to her. I want to hold her against my body and make the weight of what she's going through go away. Watching her grieve feels like it's changing me, like I've been seeing life through such a narrow, unfocused lens for so long that I forgot there was more.
"My father calls me that." She turns away from the window, and I see the moisture in her eyes.
"Is it alright that I call you that?" Something is developing in me, the tiniest ember of affection growing and being fanned to a flame.
"I guess." She lifts one shoulder and lets it drop, and I reach over to take her hand.
"If it's not okay…" I dip my head, looking up at her through my lashes, and she blinks slowly.
"It's fine." Her lips press into a line and she sucks in a deep breath. "I want to go. I feel so out of place here. Everyone is so happy and I'm just not." Her eyes plead with me to heed her request. "Thank you for spoiling me, for wanting to do anything you can to get my mind off things, but I'm more comfortable at home."
The guilt is crushing as she explains what she's feeling. I'm not pampering her out of guilt. A man like me doesn’t feel guilt, shame, or fear. So why the fuck do I feel so goddamn guilty that she is hurting? And why do I even fucking care at all? This was an arrangement, a means to an end. I'm not supposed to care. I'm supposed to make a baby with her and nothing more, but as her fingers turn in my grasp, wanting their freedom, I find myself caring way too much.
