Page 87 of From Rome, With Hate

I wanted to fucking kill him right then and there.

I’m washing the drops of dried blood from my hands, scrubbing them until they’re raw, but my mind isn’t only on the dead man it belongs to. It’s on my wife and our daughter. A daughter I’ll never get to hold again. A wife I’ve yet to live a normal life with outside of the bubble we’ve created at the cabin. Although we’ve both graduated high school, it’s increasingly apparent our lives aren’t as easy to walk away from as we hoped.

Case in point, the blood splatter on my hands after watching my father shoot his victim between the eyes.

Once I’ve washed my shaking hands, I pour a large glass of whiskey and toss it back before tugging my phone from my back pocket. I haven’t talked to Julianna since this morning and it’s killing me to not be with her right now. She’s the only person I need, but she told me she wouldn’t be able to escape her dad until after a planned dinner with her father’s colleagues.

It’s taken everything in me not to scream at how helpless I feel. If I’m in this much pain, I can’t imagine what Julianna is going through. And she’s doing it alone.

Aside from a message from Kiernan about a going away party he’s hosting tonight, there isn’t one from Julianna.

I drop my phone and skip the glass this time, fisting the glass decanter of whiskey. I toss it back, allowing it to burn my throat and settle into my empty, disgusted stomach until there’s nothing left.

My father’s apartment in the city is empty. My mother is out and my father is still at one of his warehouses, taking care of his mess. Not even Marcus or our staff are here to keep me company.

Like Julianna, I’m alone.

The air inside our large penthouse is too much. I can’t breathe, so I undo the button around the collar of my white button-down shirt. I can’t stay here when all I’m haunted by is the sight of my wife’s shattered heart and the memory of holding a daughter I’ll never get to see again.

By the time I step into the elevator and stab the button for the lobby, I know I’m drunk. The whiskey has settled into my veins and the line of cocaine my father insisted I take earlier has only intensified. Stumbling out of the elevator, I push through the revolving door and out into the bustling streets of New York City. How is it possible to be surrounded by millions of people yet still feel utterly alone, left to rot in your own torment?

I don’t even bother calling for my driver or Marcus, instead taking a right and heading for Kiernan’s apartment three blocks over. I’m stumbling and weaving through the crowds, hoping this pain will just go away. There’s this black hole deep inside my chest growing like a deadly virus.

I drag my finger along the wings of the lark wrapped around my neck. Tears build behind my eyes, my lungs starving for air. It feels as if I’m slowly decaying, my soul dying with every agonizing second without Julianna and our daughter.

When I look up, I swear I must be hallucinating. Air returns to my lungs when I see her. My wife. She’s sitting inside a small restaurant I’ve passed a million times without a second look. Stopping on the pavement, I catch my breath and smooth my hand over my face. She’s in public, and I’ve never once approached her like this. I’m drunk and high. A complete mess. But so is she, and I don’t give a single fuck. She’s my wife, and we just lost our fucking baby.

Her eyes are vacant, transfixed on the empty plate in front of her. I can tell she’s been crying. Her usual bright eyes are red-lined and sunken in. Her pretty mouth is set into a permanent frown, and my arms ache to hold her. I step forward to open the door to the restaurant but stop cold when William Trent sits down in the empty chair opposite Julianna. I only recognize the asshole because I searched him up after Julianna told me her father has relentlessly tried to set them up on dates before. Her blue eyes lift when he sits down, and so does her smile.

The dark venomous virus building in my chest spreads to every one of my limbs. I stumble backward, the sight of my wife on a date with someone else, in public, without fear, knocks me off my feet. My world spins, and I can’t tell what’s up or down. I just want it to end. My head pounds and I stumble backward until I’m out of sight of Julianna and Will. I can’t watch them talk and laugh, free from the burden of family vendettas and generations-long hatred.

I haven’t doubted my love for Julianna until now. Was this all some sick dream? A fantasy that could never evolve into reality?

The alcohol and drugs in my system propel me to put as much distance between them and me as possible. I don’t know how it happens, but I make it to Kiernan’s penthouse.

I’m a zombie. A shell of the man I’ve dreamed of becoming.

Maybe I am just a product of Dominico Montgomery, never meant to love anyone or live a happy life. I don’t have my wife. I don’t have my daughter. I don’t have a real family.

I only have me.

Shoving my way through the party goers packed into Kiernan’s apartment, I search for a drink. Along the way, I bump shoulders with Kiernan. He tries to make small talk, but I cut him off with a question. I can’t understand the words coming out of dry mouth. It feels as if I’ve eaten a fistful of cotton.

It must be coherent enough because he answers, then grabs my hand and lifts it between us, sprinkling white powder across the back of it. Before walking away, he claps my shoulder and shoves a bottle of beer at my chest. I manage to catch it with my free hand before it slips to the floor.

Kiernan has always been such a prick, but at least he swooped in when I needed something else to numb the pain.

The line of white powder on the back of my hand spins before I lazily bring it up to my nose. I’m so numb, I don’t even feel the usual burn and sting that comes with snorting a line of cocaine. Afterward, my eyes stay locked on my hand and my bare finger. I wear my ring only when it’s safe. At this point, though, who gives a fuck?

I pull my ring from my pocket and slip it over my fourth finger. It takes several attempts before I manage to slip it on. My heart smashes into a million pieces.

My phone vibrates in my pocket as I chase the cocaine with the entire bottle of beer.

Once I’ve swallowed the fizzy liquid, I pull my cell out. There’s an unread message.

It’s from Julianna.

“Lark,” I mumble out loud. Tiny, blurry dots scatter my vision, making it difficult to read her message. But after a few seconds, the text comes into focus.