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When he pulls his hand away, coldness washes over me. I want to ask him not to go, but I know whatever he’s planning on doing must be done. Instinctively, I know it’s the closure we need.
Without another word, he turns on his heel and leaves the room. My heart hammers in my chest as I wait for his return.
He doesn’t leave me in suspense for long. He comes back carrying a small cooler box. Glancing at me from over his shoulder, he locks the door. My gaze homes in on the action. My pulse spikes as he walks to the bed and puts the cooler box on my lap like a cat who offers its owner a dead mouse. He doesn’t tell me to open it. He simply stands there, letting me decide.
I already decided. I made my decision when I found out I was pregnant. I made an oath when I believed I was dying.
It’s all or nothing now.
I look at his handsome face as I accept his offering and unzip the box. What I see in his eyes are respect and approval. I see the things I thought he’d never give me, things he reserved for other people only. I see us, the way it can be, working a room like the Powells. I see him looking at me like Thomas Powell looked at his wife. Like a man who admires a woman. That is what I hold onto when I lower my gaze and flip back the lid of the box.
The world around me fades away. My thoughts and senses condense into a single awareness. My sole focus is on the object in front of me.
On a bed of ice lies the hand of a man. It’s a hand I’ll never forget, one with dark hair growing from raised follicles and a black picture of a cross and a dagger tattooed on the back. The skin isn’t tanned like in the mental picture burned into my mind but blueish pale. Judging by the shredded flesh and splintered bone, the hand wasn’t neatly chopped off. No, it was hacked off by a blunt or jagged object, maybe a saw or a serrated blade.
Revulsion pushes up inside me, but it’s not due to the gruesome sight. My repulsion stems from my memories. Angelo’s grisly gift fills me with relief and satisfies my dark need for justice. No, not justice. Vengeance. I’m not sure who or what that makes me. I only know I’m not the same woman Angelo married.
My husband’s voice is clipped. His words are cold and hard. “He suffered.”
I meet his gaze squarely, showing him who I am and what I’ve become. I want him to see me. I want to know if he’ll still look at me as someone he admires if he sees into my soul. I want to know if he’ll be able to kiss me and hold me in his arms if he sees the darkness of my mind and the imperfections of my heart.
My reply is simple. “Good.”
The light in his eyes doesn’t change. His opinion of me doesn’t falter. If anything, his respect climbs a notch. He accepts my gratitude for his offering and the warped satisfaction I derive from the vengeance without questions or judgement, taking the box and zipping it up. Strangely, the macabre act ties us closer together, forging a new bond between us.
“I wanted you to see that before I get rid of the evidence,” he says.
“I’m glad.”
“Lavigne is dead too.”
I give a start. “You killed him?”
“For what he did to you.”
“He was a police officer,” I exclaim. “There will be consequences.”
His tone is confident. “There won’t be.”
My mouth is so dry it’s difficult to swallow.
“You need to understand one thing.” He steps closer, towering over me. “This will be the fate of any man or woman who lays a finger on you.” His eyes tighten. “Whether that be with the intention of delivering harm or pleasure.” His touch is possessive as he wraps his fingers around my neck and brushes a thumb over the vein that pulses under my flesh. “Because you see,cara, no one touches what’s mine.”
ChapterThirty-Two
Angelo
Iwake up at the first light of day in my bed with my wife in my arms. Her place was always here. It was always my intention to make love to her between the sheets in which I dreamt of discovering her body. I wanted to conceive our baby here. Instead, it happened somewhere else, in a place of banishment. It ended there too, in a place of lonely solitude. Sabella lost the life of our baby with no one near to save or console her. She almost died alone.
The thought rips though me like a bullet, heating up my insides with hot anguish every time I dare to think about it. And I often do. The flaying of my soul is fair punishment.
I made my vow to Sabella, but I swear to myself as I hold her close that nothing will ever happen to her again. I was a fool. I can’t say I’m wiser now, but I’m fucking determined. I’m like a bull with tunnel vision, seeing nothing but the red flag waving in front of me. I’ll destroy anyone who dares to come near her. I’m still barreling head-on down this road I took when I put my mark on her body, but it’s no longer a path that leads to destruction. For the first time since Sabella walked into a church to marry Colin, I see a different future for us than hatred.
I see hope.
A family.
The kids that wormed their way into my heart.
