Page 49 of Claiming His Baby

“I do miss my family,” she says, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin. She smiles. “Maybe not my brothers. But my mom and my dad and my sister.”

As a flight attendant leans over to collect our trays, guilt clenches my stomach.

I probably should’ve told Grace about this sooner, but it was never the right time.

At first, I thought she was still in contact with her family, which meant she would’ve known. When I found out she had no idea about what had happened . . . I don’t know. I felt like she’d been through so much already, and there was no reason for me to burden her with that knowledge.

But now that we’re going home, she’ll learn the truth sooner or later. There’s no good way to deliver the news, but I’d rather she heard it from me.

The pressurized air is probably not the reason why it’s hard to breathe. And the minimal leg space is probably not the reason why it’s hard to move.

I turn to face her. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

A multitude of emotions flicker across her lovely face. Her voice is heavy with exhaustion, chilly with distrust. “What is it?”

I take a deep inhale and prepare myself for everything to change between us. “Your brother. Gio. He’s . . . he died.”

Grace says nothing, but she doesn’t have to. The shock of the revelation tears down her carefully maintained mask of indifference and shows me everything. Disbelief. Grief. Anger. Distrust.

She twists her hand away from my grasp. When she speaks, her voice shakes—not just with sadness or fear this time but also rage. “What happened?”

I’ve written my lines and practiced what to say. Somehow, it doesn’t make this any less difficult. “There was a shootout at a club. I don’t know how much you know about the conflicts between our families, but one big reason is they can’t seem to agree on a clear division of territories. So when two groups of men see each other in a disputed club, trouble tends to follow. That particular night, it got bad.”

Tears well up in Grace’s eyes, and she quickly wipes them away with the back of her hand. “Did he suffer?”

“It was quick,” I answer quickly.

“You were there?” Her glare stabs a blade through my heart.

I nod. “I was the one who pulled the trigger.”

Grace’s silence says more than words could ever express. Her eyes . . . Fuck, does she hate me now?

“He was pointing a gun at me. It was . . . I had no choice,” I try to defend myself.

“How could you?” Acid drips from her words and burns me from the inside.

“It was war,” I explain. “That’s what it means when I tell you it’s an all-out war between our families. That’s why you’re needed back home. That’s why I—”

“That’s why you . . .?” Grace raises an eyebrow. “That’s why you were so determined to find me?”

I shake my head. “I needed to find you because I couldn’t forget you. You haunted me like a shadow.”

Grace glances away. When she meets my gaze again, she’s regained her composure. Poker face. Perfect poise.

I don’t know what hurts more—the flaming fury in her eyes just moments ago or the utter apathy she’s showing me right now.

“Kitten, I—”

“Don’t call me that,” she snaps, fire launching over our shared metal armrest for a split second before she restores her placid surface, invisible spackle perfectly coating the cracks in her mask.

I measure my words and start to explain myself, hoping she’ll at least consider the circumstances. It wasn’t black and white. Most things in our world aren’t that clear-cut. “It probably doesn’t make any difference to you, but I wish I wasn’t there. I wish I didn’t pull the trigger. But the truth is, Gio was a goner the moment he pointed a gun at my men. Even if I wasn’t the one who did it, someone else would’ve done it.

“Things had been bad for a long while, Grace.” I take a deep breath, but even the air feels like shards of glass scraping my lungs. “Many lives had been lost. On both sides. You know how hot-headed Gio was. He was belligerent. Hurting for a fight. He provoked people. Managed to take a man down with him and put several other people in hospital.”

Grace remains silent. She doesn’t respond to my words, but she doesn’t stop me either. Staring blankly at the black screen attached to the seat in front of her, Grace sits still as a marble statue.

“I’m a killer, Grace. I made peace with that fact a long time ago. It’s something that sticks with me. Won’t leave no matter how hard I scrub my skin.” I lean my head back on the cushioned seat and study her profile.

Grace blinks rapidly as if to push back tears. But she looks so stoic I wonder if maybe it’s just my imagination.

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