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“I’m sorry. I swear to God, I’m so fucking sorry.” He’s crying now. Whether it’s because he truly cares about Makenna or because he knows he’s about to die doesn’t matter. I can’t let this go. There’s no room for weakness in my world. There’s an order to the system. Without order, there’s chaos.
“No. You’re not.” I grab the gun from the table, then walk back over to him. “But you’re about to be.”
He closes his eyes as I press the muzzle to his forehead, then pull the slide. And I close mine, pinching back tears, as I pull the trigger.
My eyes meet Franco’s face, then my head nods toward Morano. “Give that one a couple of hours to bleed out, then get someone in here to clean up.”
I’m not the man who believes a fewHail Mary’sand some good deeds will wash away my sins. But for the first time since the first soul I stole, I look up to the sky and ask for forgiveness.
46
Callisto
There was no elaborate memorial for Jaxon. There was simply me, Makenna, and Franco. Storm clouds gathered overhead. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Tree branches swayed in the wind. And I was numb. We watched them lower Jaxon’s coffin into the ground, but there were no roses thrown in afterward. Makenna said a prayer because her heart is too kind not to. Then, we climbed into the backseat of a black Denali and let the driver take us home.
That night, she laid her head on my chest and cried herself to sleep. I’d promised Jaxon once that if he ever hurt her again, I’d make him pay. Unfortunately for him, I’m a man of my word.
She’s home now. Her body is healing. She’s safe.
I’ll take my dying breath making sure she stays that way.
47
Makenna
It’s been three days since I got out of the hospital. Six days since I was brutally attacked and violated. My body is healing. My mind will catch up. Some days I wake up with fresh purpose. Some days I don’t want to wake up at all. Sometimes, it feels like I’m drowning in shallow water. Sometimes, my throat closes, darkness fogs around me. I’m awake but scraping at the walls as they close in on me. Then, I look into amber eyes, place a hand on my stomach, and my purpose is renewed.
Sometimes, I stare at bottles of wine, craving the numbness I know the alcohol will bring. But I won’t fall back into the abyss. Not again.
Right now, I’m standing under an umbrella, staring at a fresh mound of dirt. Raindropstap, tap, tapabove my head, then trickle down in a halo around me. It’s a quiet rain. Somber. Mournful. As if the Universe knows all this death has made my heart weary. His memorial was two days ago, but the wounds were still too raw for me to say what I need to say.
“You were supposed to be my friend,” I tell the concrete headstone with Jaxon’s name on it.
I should hate him but I can’t. When I think about Jaxon, I don’t see an enemy. I see the man whose smile lit up the room, who welcomed the awkward new waitress with open arms, who made me wear a birthday tiara and brought me torta tenerina. That man was broken. His pain turned him into a monster. Some might say the same about Callisto, but they’d be wrong. There’s a difference between thriving on the darkness and feeling as though you belong there. Callisto does what he does because he believes he has a debt to pay. His wrath comes in the form of vengeance. Not selfishness or greed.
“You were supposed to behisfriend.” Somewhere deep inside I have to believe it wasn’t all a lie. Anything else was too cruel.
Callisto cared for Jaxon. The fact that he gave him a proper burial is proof of that. His men took Morano’s body to a sugar cane field, burned it, then buried his ashes in the dirt.
The bodyguard, who now follows me everywhere, walks up behind me. “It’s time to go, Miss.”
A tear rolls down my cheek as I press my fingers to my lips then wave goodbye. “I hope you found peace.”
48
ONE MONTH LATER
Makenna
Sometimes when I look at Callisto, I see nothing but love looking back at me. Sometimes I see something else, something darker, something that promises nothing will ever hurt me again. It’sthatlook,thatknowledge that helps keep the nightmares at bay. I see it in the way people look at him when he walks into a room, in the way their eyes hold a fascinated combination of fear and respect—in the way his mere presence commands attention. His eyes can silence an argument before a single word is spoken. Authority. Control. Power. To be obeyed without hesitation. That is Callisto Suppato.
I run my hand over the tiny bump in my stomach while I lie in bed, waiting for him to come home. The cool cotton sheets whisper kisses over my bare legs. Callisto isn’t even home yet, and my body already feels like it’s on fire.
“I can’t wait to meet you,” I coo to the tiny human growing in my belly, and I swear it jumps at the sound of my voice.
The elevator doors open and close, followed by the sound of quiet footsteps across the hardwood floor. He’s kicked off his shoes in hopes not to wake me. Like I’d ever be able to sleep without him here.
“So, that’s what you were excited about. Daddy’s home.”
