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“First, you will be sending both to study abroad. You have two choices: London or Sweden.” My eyes widen, a smile curling at my lips. This beautiful man. Christ, I love you. Dad writes it down, his teeth gritting, but I’ll give him brownie points for nodding. “Second, you will end whatever business dealings you have pending with the Gaspar family. I don’t want them near you or the entire Ruben/Martin idiocy. And trust, I will find out if you do.”
“Of course.”
“And lastly…” Callum moves quickly. I don’t see it coming until he slams the butt of the gun on my father’s hand. He does this four times, and only stops because the unmistakable crunch of bone is heard. For his part, the governor bites down hard on his lip and keeps most sounds to a minimum—a low cry here or there while looking at me for help. No part of me wants to. This is his bed. “Lastly, you ever look at her wrong. Put your hands on her. Or use Aliana to do your dirty work again, and I will gut you like the spineless cunt you are. Nothing, and I mean not a bloody fucking thing, will stop me from ripping you open from neck to dick before throwing you in Lake Michigan and watching the fish pick you apart. Nod if you understand.”
He does, and my boyfriend puts his guns away before grabbing my hand and leading me out of the room. I don’t say anything. I don’t look back either.
This is closure for me. I’m ready to start a new life.
We’re almost to the door, though, when Callum stops to look at a scared Rigo. “Stay in your lane, Mr. Martin. I have eyes and ears everywhere, and I am everything you heard me to be.”
There’s a certain beauty in life when you’re happy.
Things seem brighter. People appear nicer. And friendships morph and adjust, creating something special.
Like mine and Aurora’s. It’s been a few months since her kidnapping, eloping, and then taking over Boston with Casper by her side. They’re domesticated now, living and working between Chicago and Boston, while plans evolve and their family grows.
For the first time, I can say that she’s living and not just maintaining her mother’s dream.
I’ve been to the grounds where Conte House #2 is being built in Boston, and the area is huge and will easily double the size of Chicago. This one will also have a few things that we don’t have back home; the expansion of an on-site school for the elementary-aged-kids is one of them.
That, in and of itself, will help the anxiety mothers go through when their children are off to class. Older kids understand the situation and will defy the abuser’s attempt to pull them out of school, while the younger one recognizes a parent or someone close to their mother and can be swayed with something as simple as candy.
We’ve seen it. It’s sickening the lengths an abuser will go to in order to hurt someone.
Then, there’s the original women’s home. My second home.
I’ve spent so many years of my life working there, helping in the day-to-day planning, but my heart just isn’t there anymore. London’s is, though. She’s such an amazing woman and has plans to expand the location, too, but I don’t see myself in those plans. Not because they don’t want me to be, but because the moment I felt secure in her reins, I asked for time off.
No return date. No plans to do so at the moment either.
I came to London, and I found my home.
This is where I live and breathe, especially, with my brothers nearby at a school a short car ride from Callum’s penthouse in the city, where we stay most days.
For their part, my parents have left us alone. No news is the best news in my opinion.
“Miss, your order is ready,” an older lady, who has a crush on Callum, taps the counter and I smile. Beside me, Lindsey snickers; she finds the stink eye I’m getting hilarious. I need a new guard. “Do hurry with those, ma’am. Mr. Jameson is very particular about his afternoon cuppa.”
“Of course. Right away.” Grabbing my items, I keep a straight face until we step outside and then I lose it. Laugh so hard that it starts a domino effect we can’t stop. I laugh, she laughs, and it goes round and round until a throat clears behind me.
When I turn around, a sickening feeling turns my stomach.
“Hello, prima.”
“Jorge, what are you doing here?” Beside me Lindsey moves slightly, the glint of her gun visible, but I shake my head when a group of kids who appear to be on a field trip walk by with some nuns. “Please leave.”
“I can’t do that.” He shows his own piece, a heavy caliber revolver. “You’re coming with me. You both are.”
“No. We’re not,” Lindsey hisses, but then stumbles a bit. My head turns and I notice Alicia for the first time. In her hand is a syringe, the end dripping with some kind of liquid. But when my guard loses strength in her legs, she’s caught by two other people. These men I’ve never seen before, but worst of all, the way they crowd around us makes it hard for anyone to notice what’s happening.
They hold her up while I turn horrified eyes at Jorge. “What do you want? What did you inject her with?”
He shrugs uncaringly. “Your mother simply wants to have a word, and she’ll live. A mild sedative never hurt anyone. Besides, your brothers survived it. You all will.”
“My brothers? What the…you bastard!”
The pinch was sudden; I didn’t pay attention to Alicia’s movements. She smiles at me as the sedative begins to work, my legs feeling weak first and then my tongue is heavy while black dots fill my vision. “He is a bastard, Aliana. You’ve always been too stupid to realize what was happening right under your nose.”
