Dante chokes on air.
Vito Marin is immobilized in the seat.
With a sinister grin stretching across my face, I lean down,draping my arm over the top of the car—a predator poised to strike. “You’ve just made my night, old man.”
Sophie
“They’ll be home any minute, I'm sure.”
Bo is just saying things now, having run out of reasons my husband couldstillnot be home.
He promised to pick up every call.
Months. Months Xavier’s made good on that promise.
Something’swrong.
The bench creaks as Bo stands, leaning against the porch rails. I haven’t spoken a word in thirty minutes. My mouth has dried, making conversation impossible.
A group of soldiers pass in front of the house, their daring eyes lingering longer than they would if Xavier were on the grounds. Their bold looks vanish as soon as Bo steps in front of me, blocking their view. He mutters a disgusted curse, not used to it like I am. Men have flashed their teeth in my direction my whole life, wanting a piece of my father’s power.
Now, it’s my husband’s power.
It was easier to accept when I couldn’t kill them with my bare hands.
Whispers herald the arrival of a truck at the gate before its headlights pierce through the bars. When the driver climbs outof the front seat, and I notice the blood-stained on Xavier’s face, I'm springing to my feet, shoving through his men to reach him. “Xavier!”
I surge past the final man, dashing beyond the headlights, leaping right into his arms. His blood-cracked hands gently glide through my hair. “Baby.”
“What the hell happened?” Nowhere near tall enough to inspect the head wound, I paw at the rest of him, searching for any deeper injuries. “Where else are you hurt?”
“I'm fine.”
“You arenotfine?—”
Xavier’s firm look at Dante is brief, but whatever hangs in that silence prompts Dante to open the back seat door with a nod. He pulls a struggling man to his feet, and my fingers slip from Xavier’s chest.
My blood curdles.
Spoils.
Shrinks tonothingwithin me.
As Xavier’s men recover and rush to Dante’s side, taking the prisoner—my father—from his grasp, Xavier’s cold hands redirect my gaze to him. “I need you to listen to me, okay? Itcanbe me. You said you wanted to be the one to do it, but that doesn’t need to happen.”
I can’t believe what I'm hearing. “Xavier.”
We were sorting through tile samples for our unfinished house this morning, lounging in bed. That joy, the laughter we couldn’t contain, echoes in my mind as Xavier brings me back to reality, reminding me of where we are, who is banging on the door of our incomplete home, threatening to tear us from our brief moment of happiness.
He reminds me of the last five years of my life.
No. Even further.
My nails dragging through leather to stay on that bus as Thomas Ritchey bled out. A marble bathtub stained with myblood, and my father heaving like the devil above me as water splashed onto my swollen face. His thick hands encompassing my throat, trying to steal my life on the eve it would begin.
Vengeance awakens within me.
I’m once again the woman who spent countless days and nights training under a punishing hand, conditioning my body forthismoment.
