Demi
As I turn onto the street where Petretti’s Restaurant is located, I drag my hand across my wet cheeks. I’m sure I look like an absolute wreck. I’ve been sobbing for almost two hours straight. When Dimitri called me out of the blue to update me on a conversation Maddox and Rocco had in his presence, in my head, I called him every name under the sun. Nothing he said made any sense. Although Maddox had raised suspicions about our miscarriage previously, not once were his distrusts directed at me, so I was more than confident Dimitri was trying to cause trouble.
I should have left it at that, but over the past two months, Maddox’s annoying traits have started to rub off on me. I told myself a dozen times not to log into the Find My Phone app he installed on his MacBook Air, that it was only to be used in emergency situations, but as Maddox likes the say, ‘curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brings it back.’
It didn’t even take a second for me to realize which direction Maddox was traveling when his cell phone popped up on the map. The blue dot was surrounded by bushland I memorized like the back of my hand while staring out the window, awaiting Maddox’s return every Friday night.
I want to pretend I grabbed my coat and borrowed Caidyn’s jeep because I was keen for a game of naked Twister, but that would be a lie. Dimitri’s words wouldn’t stop playing on repeat in my head.
“He wants to place the burden on anyone’s shoulders but his.”
“When a man is grieving, no one is safe. I never thought he’d suspect you, though.”
“Will you stay with him when he looks at you differently?”
“Every time he looks at you, he’ll remember what he lost.”
That last one killed me the most. Not just because I already see the hurt in Maddox’s eyes, but because it’s there for more than the loss of our baby. He killed for me. He ended another’s man life. The way he looks at me has already changed because our relationship forced him to become someone he never wanted to be.
I push my despair to the back of my mind when I pull Caidyn’s jeep into the lot behind Petretti’s. Since I’m three hours late for my shift, I park in the only spot remaining before clipping Max’s lead onto his collar. “Please behave tonight, Max. I don’t need more trouble.”
He barks as if he understands me before he climbs out of Caidyn’s jeep on my heel.
We make it halfway across the dusty lot before an accented voice from behind bristles the hairs on both Max’s nape and mine. “I should have freed you a long time ago. Butterflies are always more enticing once they’ve been released from the cocoon.”
My uncle hisses at Max as if he is a cat before he paces closer to me. His skin is very white for a man who just spent the last two months soaking up the sun in a coastal community in Italy.
The closer my uncle gets to me, the more vicious Max’s bark becomes. My uncle tries to act unaffected by Max’s foamy growl. It is all an act. The fact he stays a good three to four feet back exposes this, much less his shouted warning, “Shut him up before I shut him up permanently!”
His roar works Max up more. He growls and barks and yanks on his lead so much, it takes everything I have to hold him back, and even then, he gets close enough for my uncle’s goon to punish his disobedience with his boot. He kicks Max in the stomach, breaking my heart and Max’s psychosis at the same time. He whimpers in pain before he shuffles back to stand at my side, but not once does he remove his eyes from my uncle.
With my heart still in tatters from my argument with Maddox, I speak before considering the consequences of my actions. “He’s a puppy! A baby! You didn’t have to kick him!”
My uncle looks torn between laughing and slapping me across the face. He loses the chance to do either of those things when a second familiar voice sounds through the quiet of the night. This one is more Americanized than my uncle’s but just as chilling.
Shit!I inwardly scream when four sets of eyes shift in the direction Dimitri’s voice came from. He isn’t alone. The passenger he’s helping into his car idling at the side entrance of Petretti’s has distinguishable red locks, a traffic-stopping face, and an aura that commands attention.
All the Walsh siblings have soul-stealing characteristics—even the female share.
I return my jaw to its original position when my uncle gabbers out, “That’s an interesting development, isn’t it.”
Don’t misconstrue. He isn’t asking a question. He’d never value my opinion enough to care what I thought.
I feel Max’s growl more than I hear it when my uncle leans in close enough I smell garlic in his breath. “I bet you didn’t consider adding her name onto the list when youwent against me!”He screams his last three words into my face.“After everything I did for you, you turned my own son against me!”
I shake my head in blatant denial. “Everything Dimitri did, he did of his own accord. I had no say about any of it.” If I did, you can be assured Maddox wouldn’t be running drugs for him. Sloane’s safety is my debt to pay, so if I had it my way, only I would be paying it off.
I wordlessly pray for my uncle to take his anger out on me when he murmurs, “You should be more cautious with your stipulations when you make a deal with the devil.”
Dust kicks up around my feet when I follow his race across the shadowed lot. “Justine isn’t a part of this. None of her family is.” Desperate to stop him before he irreparably scars another member of the Walsh tribe, I drop Max’s leash to the ground, then grab hold of my uncle’s hand. “Hit me, mark me, torture me, but please don’t hurt Justine. She doesn’t deserve your anger. I do! Hit me!”
The back of my uncle’s hand only just brushes my cheek when Max launches into action. He clamps his jaw down on his wrist, viciously mauling him as Maddox has dreamed of doing for months.
Just as the tangy smell of copper filters into the air, the ricochet of a gun being fired echoes through the somewhat isolated space. The bang dislodges Max from my uncle’s arm, but it does little to subdue his protective stance. He darts his eyes between my uncle and his head goon, Mario, unsure which is the lesser of two evils—the man carrying a gun or the one glaring at me like he’d sell his soul for the chance to torture me.
“You should have picked your battles more wisely.” My stomach gurgles when my uncle spits out, “Famiglia prima di tutto.”
Family first of all was our ancestors’ motto. My grandfather lived by it, and my father honored it, but my uncle has done nothing but taint it. He never puts his family first. It’s an impossible task for a man as selfish as him.
