Page 6 of Fractured Empire

This much space is meant to be shared. Double sink, plenty of room on the counter, extra large walk-in shower, a clawfoot tub that can comfortably fit two. Any happily married couple would love to share this bathroom and the bedroom attached. But Cleo had only ever been in this room to try and make babies with me. Not to have sex because she wanted me, or even because she wanted an orgasm. She wanted to be bred and left alone after, free to return to her own bedroom and ensuite.

More memories sink into the back of my mind, and I’m helpless in shaking them off. It’s like being transported back in time, the way I can hear and feel every sensation that my brain replays unwillingly for me.

The slightly cool touch of a vial of morphine, the sterile scent of alcohol wipes, the sound of the air conditioning blowing at her desired temperature, the beep of her monitors, and the flush from her cheeks dimming with every passing minute.

“Haaaaaa,” Cleo exhales.

Two minutes have passed since her final dose, and it’s settling in.

Her breathing becomes shallow, and I want to look away. I don’t understand why she would even want me here for this. I get not wanting to die all alone, but Cleo has never wanted to spend any time with me. I think if she had anyone else as an option, she would pick them instead. Maybe if she allowed Melani in her life sooner, my brother’s wife would be in my place right now.

Instead, she’s being informed cold turkey like the rest of the family. Cleo wouldn’t budge on the issue, and said that Melani would either forgive her for hiding her illness, or she wouldn’t. But she didn’t want her only friend in the world to have any part of her dying.

Her chest rises and falls with a shaky lift, and her lips seem to tip up into a peaceful smile. Something inside me insists that I should hold her hand, but I think if I did, her smile would vanish. She doesn’t want my comfort, only my presence by her side.

“Fuck,” I grit out, splashing some cold water on my face.

Lingering on the event won’t do me any good. She laid there, blissed out, in no pain, and then she stopped breathing. There’s nothing to analyze, no ideas to be had that could change what happened. I obeyed her last wish, and that’s all there is to it.

I tried for years to understand who Cleo was, and why she acted the way she did. I wanted to dissect her, and discover what was lying beneath the surface—and she wouldn’t dare let me. But after today, I no longer have any reason to keep trying to figure her out. She’s gone now, and I’m a widower. A man who should be grieving the loss of his wife, but one who doesn’t know how to grieve someone who was a ghost.

A man who needs to find a new mother for his children.

The promise Cleo demanded isn’t as easily shaken off as the stubborn memories of her death. No, she drilled her requests into my brain for months before we got to this point. She’s known she would die young since she was diagnosed, and she refused to go out without assurances that things would go a certain way.

“The boys need a mother.”

“One who is in it for them, and not for you.”

“Aunts and uncles are all well and good, but they need someone who is just for them.”

“If you marry some little tart who worships you but won’t jump in front of a bullet for them, I’ll haunt you so fucking hard, Leon Moretti.”

“Don’t wait years to find that someone, either. They don’t need that much time, they need love and they shouldn’t have to wait for it just because I’m dead.”

“She has to speak Italian. Leo’s English is very good now, but he deserves someone who speaks both of his languages. Bastian does too.”

And so, my desire to get a divorce if it meant I could finally share affection with a woman—any woman—was once again pushed to the background. I was no longer a married man who couldn’t seek out intimacy out of loyalty and honor, but a man who was free of wedding vows, now beholden to new ones. My search for a new wife would be about who’s best for my sons, rather than any romantic notions.

And I can’t even begrudge Cleo for it, because I agree. As much as I dreamed of being in love as a young man, and as heavily as I crave someone to be my other half, my boys come first, and I can’t blindly look for a woman to love when I have them to consider. I need someone who loves them first. Maybe, she’ll come around to the idea of me too, but Bastian and Leo are my priority.

Sighing, I get dressed and head back downstairs just in time. My phone has three unread texts from Rayna, all informing me that they’re on the way. The latest from two minutes ago says that they’re pulling onto the property. Between sparring, showering, and staring off into space, I’d forgotten to keep an eye on my phone.

I type out a quick reply that I wasn’t paying attention to my phone, and head toward the front door. She probably doesn’t see my message before the door is being swung open. They didn’t ring the bell for obvious reasons, but my security team lets them into the house.

The sight of my family members all shuffling close together inside, with the night sky behind them, makes my chest feel warm and comforted. They dropped everything in the middle of the night to come be with me, and I don’t know how to thank them without my voice breaking. They don’t even look tired or upset about it, either. No scowls on their faces or dark circles under their eyes.

Well, one of them definitely looks tired, but he’s an infant. Dad is holding a passed out baby Vaughn to his chest while Rayna and Apollo walk in behind him, carrying their smaller luggage. Only a couple of bags between the two of them, and I know they’ll have more. They’re planning to stay for a long time, and the baby alone will need plenty of things that can’t fit in a singular purse and duffle bag. The staff will unload the rest for them, I’m sure.

My eyes gravitate toward my father, and my lips twitch up without my permission. Seeing our father with grandchildren is nothing new, but it’s still always a weird sight to see such a big and dangerous man being so gentle with a baby who’s no bigger than a small animal. He makes the kids look even smaller than they are, though I suppose Apollo and I probably do that as well. All Dad’s children got his genes. We’re all tall, some of us are just bigger than others.

“Did you have to wake him up to come over?” I ask, nodding to the baby.

Rayna brightens at the sound of my voice, her smile contained so that she doesn’t look too happy to be here under such circumstances, but that she still appears glad to see me. “Not at all,” she replies quietly. “He didn’t even wake up to be put in the car seat, or get taken out of it. He’s a sleepy little guy tonight. We upped his ounces just this past week so he’s still getting milk drunk and passing out after his bottles.”

I nod in understanding. I remember those days with Bastian.

“Your rooms are ready, if you want to get settled or get some sleep before the morning. The boys won’t wake up before eight since they got to stay up a little later.”