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“Then why did Elise ditch you?”
Achille slammed his fist against the door frame, making me jump. “Because she didn’t understand. Everything I do is for my family.”
“We can’t change the past,” I sighed, a weariness settling over me. “We can only do what’s best for Jack now.”
He inhaled a deep breath, his jaw unclenching.
“Achille, I meant what I said. He needs you.”
“I need him, too,” he murmured
Tingling pitted my stomach. I flushed and looked down. Part of me couldn’t help but feel drawn to this complicated man. He was a contradiction. A gentle hitman. His softness when he interacted with his son clashed against his ruthless reputation.
“I-I should get some rest.”
He nodded, glowering. I walked by him, my skin flushing as though I stepped into a sauna. I could breathe once I’d shut myself in my bedroom.
I lay on the bed, trying to block him out of my thoughts. The heat of his fingers still burned on my waist. A flame flickered between my legs as I imagined him opening the door. I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow.
Asking him to be faithful was a double-edged sword. He had needs, and so did I. I needed a husband whose arms were my shelter. Who only touched me. Who loved me. I’d given all that up once I put on his ring.
Achille Costa was not a man to fall in love with.
I couldn’t afford to forget that.
FIFTEEN
ACHILLE
As I drove to work, I listened to Dadsplain: A Fatherhood Podcast. I put the earbuds in as I parked several blocks from my target. Then I slid a black baseball cap on my head. The host droned in my ear as I exited the car.
If you want your kid to believe in something fun, lie to them. Santa, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny. Remember, the lies are more about sparking their imagination. Not deceiving them.
I walked the few blocks to my mark. Pulling the cap low on my face, I strolled into the building. A quick swipe of a keycard took me to the fifteenth floor. I pulled on gloves before the doors opened.
But there’s a fine line. Honesty is the foundation of trust, especially with your kids. They need to know they can count on you.
Trust. A concept as foreign to me as a normal 9-to-5 job. Yet, it was what Jack deserved. The thought weighed on me as I broke into apartment 1516. Once inside, I closed the door. The host kept speaking. I searched each room.
Being a dad means being there physically and emotionally. It’s about listening and understanding their fears, their dreams, and being their biggest cheerleader.
Listening. Understanding. Being present. The podcast laid out a blueprint for fatherhood at odds with my reality. I paused in the living room, my target in sight. I fished out my garrote. He sat on the couch, nodding. Another drug addict who’d missed too many payments. He barely struggled as I slipped the wire around his neck.
Every lie we tell carries a weight. It’s the moment they learn the truth that tests the trust you’ve built. How you handle that revelation says everything about the strength of your relationship with your child.
A few minutes later, he was dead. I rolled him up in the carpet. I took care of the body as I finished the rest of the podcast. When I got in my car, I’d completed two episodes. I headed home and switched to First Time Dads. I yawned. It was almost three. I wheeled into the driveway but stopped myself from opening the garage door. It would wake up the kid.
I went inside. After I showered and put my clothes in the laundry hamper, I checked on Violet. I opened the door to her room. A sliver of light stroked her gorgeous curves. She snored softly.
I moved to my son’s room. A nightlight cast a gentle glow over the tiny body nestled in bed. He slept on his side, like me. I sat on the floor, resting my head against the wall. I closed my eyes, the sound of his breathing quieting all my thoughts.
Bright light poked my vision.
I jerked awake in my son’s bedroom. Daylight streamed through the curtains, washing over the neatly made bed. It was empty. The train-patterned duvet spilled off my shoulders. My back protested as I stood, raw from a night sleeping on the carpet.
Did she take him?
I exited my son’s room and crossed the hallway. Then I flung open her door. My gaze landed on a suitcase, its contents unpacked, an unmade bed, and a topless woman pulling on a pair of white panties. My mouth dried at the sight of lace slipping up athletic legs to her bubble ass. I drank in her smooth, flat stomach, her big tits—teardrop-shaped with pink areola.
