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Don’s bodyguard is trying to disarm me, although I notice no sign of a weapon on him. So Don has instructed his men not to shoot me?
My hand is folded right in front of me, his clenching hands wrestling with my gun. I could do the same as I did to his colleague—but as I learned fast, destroying a stranger is not the same as killing someone I know. I’d killed someone I knew well. It was justified, but I never intended to do it again. I’d taken a life barely minutes ago. It was also a justified killing, but my heart is screaming at me to stop.
I let Don’s bodyguard overcome me. This may be my demise, but my conscience is clear. There’s no way on earth I could knowingly kill a man with an infant waiting for him at home. I have to survive Don another way.
I offer no resistance when he ties my wrists. I can’t afford to get hurt.
As if knowing that everything is under control, Don himself enters.
“Hello, Iz.” Whatever his plan, he’s wearing an ensemble that makes him appear like an actor auditioning forA Walk in the Woods. “Paz!” he calls out—it must be to that dead man. He then takes over me and instructs his bodyguard. “Find the boy!”
So they really have no idea where my son is?
I feel like a terrible parent, yet I’m glad that Raffi isn’t here. When the boy doesn’t want to be found, he’ll find a way to stay hidden—I’m hoping this time that it’ll be long enough for Don to give up his hunt, at least for now.
The bodyguard scours the house, room to room. When he steps into the master bedroom, I hear, “Jesus Christ!”
“What?”
“Paz is fucking dead!”
Don turns me around, forcing me to look at him. “Shit, Iz! So you did shoot that fucking gun? Well, I guess Paz wasn’t your first kill. Getting an upgrade, were you? From a broken mirror to a—” Don peruses my gun. “Glock 43x? Nice to grip.”
He puts it away, then continues, “I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s always been here!” He slaps my chest. “Your killer instinct.”
“I did what I had to do.”
“Now that—” Don points at my bedroom auspiciously. “That will land you in jail for a long time. You know Raffi wouldn’t survive as an orphan.”
An orphan? That was exactly the threat Fletcher Senior posed on my parents before he got us out of Rio. I was in his clutches while my mom and dad begged, guns to their heads.
“Don’t you fucking dare!”
“Or what, my darling?” he snorts. “Don’t you worry. I’ll take Raffi under my wings. He’ll most likely forget about you. If you’re lucky, maybe he’ll visit you in jail. But soon enough, he’ll realize what kind of mother you are. Do you think he’ll still see you after he graduates from high school? From Uni? Or when he’s getting married? I doubt he wants his fiancée to know what you’ve done.”
“Well, as you can see, you’ve won, Don. You’ve won,” I concede, and bitterness coats my lips. “Now, what do you want from me?”
“I could ask you to try again with Hartley,” he suggests. “But it’s too late for that.”
“He still loves me. I can make up a story, and he’ll buy it.”
Don shakes his head. “Too late, Iz.”
His bodyguard comes back. “The boy’s not here, sir.”
“What do you mean?” Don gripes.
I glare at both men with disdain.
Don clutches my jaw. An old threat, but this time he does so tightly that he may break half my face if he goes on long enough. “Where is he?”
I slant my head, and one of his fingers slips enough to let me utter a few words. “What can I say? I’m a bad mother!”
Right then, Don strangles me. “You’re my whore. That’s all you are, and all you’ll ever be.”
He lets go and points my gun instead. “The jail thing… that was a bad idea. You’re well past your used-by date, and you’re getting too dangerous. You need to go, Iz.”
I throw him a glare—not a blink, not even when I hear the gun cock.
