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“There’s nothing you could have done. Even if you’d delivered the right information to him, I have a feeling he always wanted this outcome.”
I start to shiver, and he holds me tight. “Nothing but flies trapped in a web. Aren’t we? All our best intentions led to this moment. To nothing. There was never any hope of getting out of this. Was there?”
“You’re right. It’s been an inevitable end,” he replies.
An inevitable end for all of us.
And I’d been too caught up in feeling self-righteous to see it.
How do people hold it together under such immense grief and rage? How do you put one foot in front of the other and think about the next necessary steps? Even considering the next five minutes has me ready to be committed to a padded room and pumped full of mind-numbing drugs.
Drago sold me, no more than the dog I’d called myself earlier.
And whoever is on the other end of my contract now might be better or worse than their predecessor. I wouldn’t know until they came to collect.
Hiccupping sobs turn the inside of my mouth to acid, and there’s no stopping them.
Ricardo makes no noises to soothe me. Nothing beyond holding me, like his caress will somehow make the worst of this go away. But he’s not trying to get me into the car again, and there’s a comfort in that. Comfort in his being there, his strength, while I struggle to hold it together.
“Boss?” Barry hands back my cell before turning to look down the road at the approach of a car.
“Thank fuck,” Ricardo mutters.
I glance up and see two familiar faces through bleary eyes. “Oh my god.”
Mia and Carter pull to a stop beside us, and in the next beat, Mia is out of the car, her small strides eating up the distance between us. I break away from Ricardo's arms into hers with a sob.
“You’re okay?” I stop to search her face, no hint of ash or burns or blood on her golden skin. “You’re all right?”
“We weren’t home.” She’s gone pale, but her hands are firm when they clench mine. “We came as soon as Ricardo alerted us, but we weren’t at the house. Lucia and Mom were both out shopping today as well.”
There’s something she’s not telling me. “Who was home?”
Mia swallows hard. “Just Papa.”
25
RICARDO
No one in the Vittorio/Assante clan, outside of my mom, is prone to dramatic displays of affection. And she manages to control herself just short of eating her children alive, her kisses strong enough to bruise and her hugs on the verge of causing internal damage, but the love is always evident in whatever she does.
She instilled the same unwavering familial loyalty in me, and although I’d never quite gotten the hang of the outward affection, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for the people I care about.
The sight of Carter, alive and unharmed, cracks something open inside of me, and rather than the short, perfunctory hug we usually engage in, or the chop-busting air, the cheek kisses, I grab him and hold on.
His heart is just as frantic as mine. He clutches me to his chest for a long moment.
“You’re okay, that’s what counts.” It takes me a minute to realize I’ve spoken out loud. And Carter isn’t letting go of me, either.
“Whatever fucking godsend had us a little late getting back from errand running, I’m grateful,” he grumbles against my ear. Then clasps me by the back of the head for half a second before pulling away. “We’re fine. I can’t say the same for the house.”
“Have you been there?” I ask.
“No, but the guard at the gate has apprised me of the situation, mentioning that the damage is localized but profound. Well, the guard one who made it out, at least. The men at the house were not lucky.”
AKA, there are bodies.
“Did the guard mention any sign of Edward?” I ask.
