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I killed six people. I should feel worse than I do.
I don’t know if shock is still taking over my mind, or if my subconscious rationalized what I did, but I don’t feel terrible. I don’t feel great either, but I did what I had to do to protect my baby.
It was either me or them, and I asked them to let me go, so it was really their choice how things ended up, right?
I may be battered and bruised, but I’m alive. I survived. I shouldn’t have, but I did.
A sense of pride flows through me. I may not feel guilty for doing what I had to, but I’m still sad that lives had to be lost because they wouldn’t just let me go. And I still have no idea why. Such a waste.
“Why don’t I go start that bath for you?” Salvatore asks, not bothering to wait for an answer as he heads to the washroom.
With a sigh, I start making my way across the room, each step getting a little bit easier as my muscles stretch out.
Soon, the bruising will all begin to fade and I’ll feel better again, but for now, all I want is a steaming hot bath.
The bath is ready and waiting when I walk into the room. Salvatore is looking at me as I strip out of my clothing, guilt flashing across his face when he takes in my injuries.
“How much pain are you in?” he asks, his voice hollow as he reaches out a hand and helps me get in the bathtub.
“Enough,” I say, gritting my teeth as I lower myself into the scalding water. There are bubbles on the surface of the water and the entire washroom smells like a cupcake.
I look around and see one of my favorite candles burning on the counter. The bottle of bubble bath is still sitting to the side of the tub. Fluffy towels are stacked in the corner and the book I’m reading is sitting beside the candle.
“I thought you might want to spend some time relaxing,” he says as he grabs the book and passes it to me. “I’ll be out in the other room if you need anything.”
“Would you sit with me and talk? I don’t think I really want to be alone right now, even if you do drive me insane sometimes.”
“I can do that,” he says softly, sitting down on the bath mat and leaning against the side of the tub. He faces me, a tender expression on his face.
It’s not a look that I’ve seen from him often. I want to ask him what is going through his mind right now, but there is a part of me that is certain I don’t want to know.
“Where are we supposed to go from here?” I ask him, closing my eyes and slipping deeper into the water. “What the hell are we supposed to do?”
His warm hand wraps around mine. As his thumb drifts across the back of my hand, sparks start to fly.
Salvatore sighs and kisses the back of my hand. “We take it day by day until this shit is over and if we’re both still alive by the end of it, we’ll figure it out then.”
18
SALVATORE
Brielle’s eyes widen as we drive up the long driveway of the Russo estate a few days after the attack. The nieces and nephews are playing in the front yard while Tyson watches over them. Aria is running around with trays of food, trying to make sure each kid has something to eat.
“This place is beautiful,” Brielle says, leaning closer to the window and looking at the trees. “You would never know that the property houses a community of criminals.”
I chuckle and park the car. The children start running for the car. “I have to talk to Sofia about something that happened while we were flying here. Are you going to be alright with the others while I’m gone?”
“I’ll be fine,” she says, opening her door and immediately catching one of the kids as they launched themselves at her.
I take my time to get out and greet the children, laughing and talking with them until I can finally get away. Sofia is watching from the front porch, a small smile on her face. It drops when she sees me. She turns and walks inside, leaving the door open for me.
I follow her, closing the door behind me. There are several men stationed around the main entrance, guns tucked in their holsters and looking like they are ready to kill.
My own hand drifts to the gun at my hip, brushing against the metal. I tuck my hands into my pockets as Sofia leads the way into the kitchen. She doesn’t say anything as she opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water.
“Are we going to pretend like you don’t have the bastards behind this in custody,” I ask, referencing the message she had sent me as soon as we landed at the airport.
“Well, I haven’t questioned them yet, but I’m certain that they’re behind it.”
