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I'm going to have to take his word for it. “Does he still consider you a friend?” I can't bring myself to say the bastard's name.
“He's dragging his feet on the deal, but we're cordial.”
“Call him up. Tell him you heard there was an explosion, but you don't have any details on the extent of the damage. I want confirmation, and I want to know where the fuck we can pick them up and yank their beating hearts from their chests.”
“Got it. I'll get back to you as soon as I know something.”
Romero locks eyes with me upon ending the call. “Do you trust him?”
“You heard him. He was ready to piss his pants.” My answer seems to be sufficient enough, as he nods before moving on to the next phone call.
It's only been a few minutes since I watched Bianca drive away. The fear in her eyes, the worry flashing at the forefront of my thoughts when I need to focus on ending this shit.Ending them, both of them, father and son. All the while, though, I receive updates from my men and wonder what the hell is taking Tatum so long.
My thoughts keep returning to my little bird. Is Bianca glad she didn't have the chance to give me an official answer before the bomb went off? I can't afford to think that way, yet I can't help it. She has the baby to think about now, as do I.
But while I want nothing more than to keep her close, she could very well decide this is the final straw. I believe she loves me, that she knows as well as I do that there's no killing what's between us.
However, she's also a realist.
Get it together.Whatever she's thinking, we can work it out, but not until I know both Moroni men are dead and buried six feet deep. I won't be taking chances with my family again.
“Where's Tatum?” Romero mutters between phone calls. “I would like to get out of here with her like five minutes ago.”
“I'll light a fire under her.” I have no doubt she understands how crucial it is to leave now. If I were in her shoes, I'd be packed and out the door by now. This is not the time for her stubbornness.
“Tatum! Let's go!” Her bedroom door is open, and I hear the argument going on inside as I approach. “What is taking you so long?” I demand, entering the room.
“I'm not leaving without her.”
Craig scratches his head, groaning. “I don't know if you can keep it safe. It's better to leave something important like that here for now.”
He reaches for her, and she jerks herself away. “I'll cut your fucking hands off.”
“What the hell is going on?” I bark, startling them both. “We don't have time for this, Tatum.”
She whirls on me, holding Amanda's urn, clutching it to her chest like a shield. “I'm bringing this.”
For fuck's sake. Nobody has ever less deserved this level of devotion.
My jaw aches from the effort of grinding my teeth. “Honey. He's right. What if something happened to it? It's safer to leave it here. And it isn't like you'll never return.”
I shouldn't be surprised when she barks out a disbelieving laugh. “How do you know? There's no such thing as protection.”
I need this like I need a hole in the head. “Fine,” I grit through my teeth. “Take it with you.” The moment Craig grimaces, the look I give him clears it up on the spot. This is not the time for him to be squeamish.
“Where am I going?” she asks, trotting beside me down the hall. With her bag slung over one shoulder and Amanda's ashes still clutched like a teddy bear, she's never looked so much like a little girl. A lost, confused little girl.
“Romero will take care of everything.” At a time like this, I hate to lose him. However, there is no one else I trust more guarding my daughter. “Just do me a favor and go along with what he says. No arguing.”
Romero's still on the phone. He looks her up and down—no reaction to the urn—before jerking his head toward the courtyard. “Go wait in the car. I'll be out in a minute.”
“Is this really necessary? What, are they going to bomb the house again?”
“Listen to me.” I grab her by the shoulders and even shake her a little because, damn it, I need her to understand. “I can't do what I need to do if I'm worried about you being here. I don't know what their next move is, that's the problem. Having you safely tucked away somewhere is the only way I can focus on what needs to be done. Do you understand? I don't ask much from you, but I need you to do as Romero says. Get in the car, and we'll talk it out once you come home.”
Her angry snarl drops away before her chin starts to tremble. “I'm afraid for you. I don't want to leave you.”
“I know.” It's a struggle to stay calm for her sake when what I want is to push her out the door. “It's not easy for me to send you away, either. I need to trust that things will be alright—and they will. You have to believe I'm doing this for the right reason. Can you do that for me?”
