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For as long as I could turn a blind eye to his ugly side, it didn’t bother me. But even now, after he admitted his crime, I did not condemn him. My husband was a fair man and if he killed someone, then that someone must have deserved it.
Going into our marriage, I already knew what kind of man he was. And while that side of him scared me a little, it was not enough to drive me away.
When you loved someone, you reveled in every tinge of their being.
The way Zeno rejoiced in my colours was the same way I basked in his shadows.
“Why did you kill him, Zed?”
“Because he threatened something of mine.”
“What did he threaten?”
“You.”
I froze.
Sensing my alarm, Zeno grasped my face in his hands. “It’s over, Darla. No one will ever hurt you or take you away from me.”
Shaking my head, I molded my hands over his and gulped. “I-I don’t understand. You need to elaborate.”
Zeno’s robust arms cradled me to his chest. I listened to the cadence of his trotting heartbeat. “His name was Antoine Toussaint. He was an old family friend who held a vendetta against me, so I buried him the way I do all my enemies.”
My brows puckered in confusion, but I remained silent, giving my husband the floor.
He was a man of actions and few words, yet now he openly discussed everything that’d been plaguing him for months.
“Men in my line of business have many enemies. It’s unavoidable,” he started. “In November, I found out someone anonymously tipped the MPD that I murdered Armel Lancaster. I was brought in for questioning but let go when they didn’t find sufficient evidence. I’m sure your mother already told you that tidbit. The case closed, but the person trying to frame me for Lancaster’s murder didn’t stop. For months, I’ve been on a hunt to find the person responsible.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“It wasn’t your burden to bear.”
I tightened my arms around his waist and listened to him explain the series of events that led to tonight. From the death of a mechanic who tipped the MPD, to the De la Croixes’ private investigator murdered in his office, and to my husband receiving derogatory text messages with my pictures after our wedding. I shuddered. Utterly creeped out that someone was watching me in such close quarters without my knowing. Zeno killed the photographer responsible for taking my pictures but not before finding out the identity of the individual messing with him: Pierrot.
“How did you figure out it was Antoine Toussaint?”
“I already had my suspicions. Moreover, I used to call him Pierrot as an insult when he worked for my father. If that wasn’t indication enough, after St. Victoria burned down, I received a letter with another joker card. Antoine basically confirmed he was behind the entire thing.”
Innocent children were in that school when it was set on fire. They could have died and all for what—revenge?
I felt extremely sick. “You should have told me, Zeno.”
“You’re my weakness and everyone seems to know it,” Zeno rasped. “Pierrot—Antoine—knew if he wanted to hurt me, he needed to bring you into my war. Forgive me for not coming clean to you before.Je voulais te protéger.”
I wanted to protect you.
Part of me was annoyed he kept it a secret since this concerned me directly. But I forgave him all the same because I understood why he did it. Zeno upping my security and being on edge every time I left the estate suddenly made sense now.
“You really killed him tonight?” I whispered.
“Yes.” Zeno glanced down wryly at his busted knuckles. “And while Antoine deserved it, I didn’t get the satisfaction I wanted. His death just made me angry—angry that it came down to this.”
“I’m sorry, Zeno.”
He rubbed his thumb over my cheek affectionately. “There’s…more as to why I suspected Antoine.”
“Oh?”
