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I crossed the short distance to the front door. Carefully, I pulled the handle, hoping to muffle the noise of my entry. I didn’t know who was inside. Or how outnumbered I was. I slipped through the space, moving to a stone pillar to my left.
The sound of Grace’s panicked pleas reached my ears before I saw her.
“Joyce, please.” My stomach dropped as she begged my mother for mercy. “You don’t want to do this. Think about your son. Vander loves me. He-.” The distinct noise of a slap filled the warehouse.
Before she finished speaking, I was around the pillar. “I am thinking about him! I’m his mother. This is what’s best for him.”
My mom had kidnapped Grace. My mom was the one hurting her. Why? She was cold and distant. She’d never liked her, but this. Surely, this was too far.
She knew I’d punish her for scaring my wife. Because she wasn’t crazy enough to do anything else.
I almost felt relief because Grace was going to be okay. Another crime syndicate hadn’t kidnapped her. I could get her out of here.
“Mom, what are you doing?” She whipped around. But that’s not where my eyes went.
I tightened my fingers on the gun, but it was limp at my side as I saw my wife. She still wore the jeans and sweater she had on a few hours ago, but the shirt sleeves and hem were shredded, exposing her skin to the cool air. And her scars.
My jaw clenched as I noticed the drops of blood coating her white bra, and it was obvious they came from a cut in her lip. A red handprint marked her cheek from my mother’s palm. There was also a bruise like this wasn’t the first time she’d been struck.
She was bound to a rickety old office chair. Her wrists wrapped multiple times with rope. But it was her eyes that captured my attention. Those royal blue eyes. They filled with hope as she saw me.
Guilt threatened to tear me in two. I was the reason she was here.
Her perfect pink lips parted, but my mother cut off whatever she was going to say. “Saving you. She’s a black widow. She killed your brother.”
Grace’s eyes widened in surprise at the same time my head jerked back. What the fuck was happening here?
“No, she didn’t.” I rushed forward, trying to get between them. “Gio Di Costa did.”
She blocked me, jumping in front of my wife. Her expression was wild, and her normal, perfect makeup was streaking down her face. “That’s what she wants you to believe. All these lies she tells. About your brother and how he treated her. Making Mitchell sound insane.”
The words tumbled out of her; I had a hard time understanding them. And I didn’t care what her reasons were for this little stunt. All I wanted was to reach my wife.
“He was insane.” I grunted as I grasped her shoulder, pushing her aside.
“No, it was her.” My mother grabbed my arm. Her long nails dug into my skin. Chunks ripped off as I tried to shove her away again, but she held tight. Adrenaline and insanity made her stronger.
“Vander, I love you.” My gaze jerked to Grace’s. No tears fell from her eyes, but her voice wavered as she spoke, like she was saying goodbye. “I should’ve told you before I love you. Vander, I’m—.”
I didn’t get to hear what she said. My mother’s scream drowned out the words. She aimed a kick. Her heel caught my inner thigh as she broke free of me.
“Fuck.” I cursed as I felt the sharp point pierce my skin. I lunged for her, but she was already moving. I hadn’t even noticed the gun in her hand until it was striking Grace along the cheek. “Stop!”
My heart stilled as Grace’s blood splattered onto the concrete. The crunch of bones rang in my ears. As my own blood trickled down my leg, I stood still. I couldn’t move because now my mother had the gun pointed at Grace’s head.
The relief I felt at knowing it was only my mother and her crazy antics vanished in a second. With the flash of the barrel.
Fear, hot and heavy, weighed me down as I stared at the scene. I tried to pull a breath into my lungs, but I couldn’t. Another failure coated it.
I was inches away from Grace, and I was paralyzed. If my mom pulled the trigger, I’d never get there in time. I needed to direct her attention to me.
“And then she killed his child. My grandson.” Her words rushed out in half sentences that made little sense. She swiped at the tears and makeup running down her face.
“Granddaughter,” I said, trying to draw her focus to me.
“Shut up!” She screamed. The gun shook in her hand. My organs tightened because I recognized it. I’d bought it for her for Christmas.
“That’s not what happened.” I stayed calm, trying to control the situation. “Grace wanted that baby. All she’s ever wished for is to be a mother.”
