AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Twenty years later, and just look at us. Look at me,” she says, her hand still at rest on her belly. “Do you still think that? Do you really not see what’s right in front of you? Are you so blinded by hate that you refuse to see that Salvatore’s my husband and the father of my children? That I love him, and he loves me. That we’rehappytogether.”
“Delphine,” Ernest sputters out, breaking his vow. He shakes his head. “You don’t understand. He’s bad for you—”
“No less bad than you’ve been,” she replies. “You’vemanipulated me. You’ve spied on me. You’ve lied to me for years. You took away the one guy who truly loved me because you couldn’t handle that he made me happy. That our relationship was beyond your control. So you tried again and again to break us apart. You’ve resorted to hiring another mobster for anassassination.
“Do you have any idea how much that hurts me? Do you have any idea what Salvatore has done for me? He’s been there for me when I had no one else I could turn to. When I was in the darkest place of my life and I couldn’t pretend to be perfect any longer, he loved me even more. He’s only ever protected me and encouraged me and made me feel sogood. He’s an amazing husband and a father that’s just as devoted to his son. But you still hate him. You still won’t let it go.”
Ernest closes his eyes and releases a deep sigh. “Delphi, sweetie, I… I admit that he’s… he does care about you… but... but his lifestyle—”
“His lifestyle is no less corrupt than yours was. Than any of your friends in the Neptune Society. Salvatore’s onlyhonestabout it. I wish it could’ve been different. I wish you could’ve just… just stopped being blinded by your hate. But you refuse.” Delphine winces as if pained suddenly, and I rush toward her to check on her. “I’m okay. Just a cramp.”
“This is too stressful for you and the baby,” I say. “Phi, you’ve said your piece. You have to go. It’s upsetting you to be here.”
She doesn’t argue with me on it, though there’s a sadness about her. It tugs at me seeing her like this, as she palms her small pouch of a belly and looks at her father with the kind of longing that wishes things could be different.
Stitches and Fabio escort her from the cell.
I wait ’til she’s gone before I speak.
“Enough sentimental talk,” I say. “This ends only one way.”
Ernest glares. Clay’s finally stopped his feeble cries. He cradles his disfigured hand in his good hand and peers over at me with watery eyes and sweat sheening on his skin.
I hold up my bloody knife—the same knife that moments ago was sawing through Clay’s finger—and then I toss it on the floor in between them.
“Only one of you is living through the night,” I taunt cruelly. “Decide for yourselves.”
I step out of the cell. My men slam shut the doors with a resounding clang.
Ernest and Clay are locked back up together. This time with a weapon.
What they don’t know is that they’re under surveillance. Cameras record their every move.
I watch from the control room.
For the first five minutes of my absence, neither one of them does anything. They eye the blade and cast distrustful glances at each other.
Clay tears off part of his shirt and wraps up his bleeding hand. “He’s gonna make us if we don’t on our own.”
“What are you talking about?” Ernest snaps, irritated.
“Somebody’s gotta go. He made it clear. It’s me or you.”
“You’re not suggesting—leave the knife alone!”
Clay lunges for it. As Ernest shouts at him, he does too. The two men collide midway without ever getting their hands on it.
I watch on as their arms wrap around each other and they wrestle much like they had earlier.
It’s a fight for the upper hand, though it’s evident neither man has any professional experience.
They struggle against each other, grunting and grappling ’til Clay manages to flip Ernest to the ground.
I step closer to the monitor as Ernest slams into the ground and the wind’s knocked out of him. Clay rushes for the knife.
The moment’s definitely a test—a chance for me to mull over how I want to move forward considering everything.
Ernest takes too long to recover. Clay, soaked in his own blood, grabs hold of the knife and charges at Ernest as he’s barely sitting up.
