Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“Did he give you any idea of how he felt about it? The mix-up?”
“He swore he was sorry, and part of me believed him. He didn't want to kill an innocent woman. That's not who he was.”
“So why did his guy go through with it?” Romero demands. “I can see running the wrong car off the road, but he had to walk up to that car, open the door, and blow a bullet into her skull. He knew she was a woman when he did it.”
“He gave me some story about his guy panicking because she saw him. And she was badly injured. He figured she would be dead either way, so he wanted to be sure in case she made a miraculous recovery and identified him.”
I can see that happening. I might even do the same thing in that guy's shoes, whoever he was. Sometimes you do what has to be done to ensure your safety rather than leave anything to chance.
“I begged and pleaded for it to end there.” When he lifts his head, his face is wet, his eyes red-rimmed. “I told him Charlie would take it as a warning to back off—and if he didn't, I would see to it that he did. And I kept my word. I was the one who convinced him to back off. He didn't do it all the way, but he wasn't as determined anymore.”
That's the truth. There was a shift in Charlie's attitude after his wife's death. I didn't realize it at the time—Tatum and Bianca hadn't met at that point, and I was unaware of what went on in Charlie's personal life. Although when I look back at the timeline and piece things together, there's no denying he backed off after that point. Not entirely, as Ken said, but a great deal.
If he hadn't, Sal wouldn't have gone through with the deal. When Charlie backed off, Sal's confidence grew.
“If it weren't for me, Bianca wouldn't have either of her parents,” he insists. There's an edge of panic that creeps into his voice. “You can't kill me for this. I did everything I could.”
A glance at Romero tells me he's as confused as I am. “Nobody said anything about killing you, and while I don't particularly like Charlie, I know Bianca cares for you. It would hurt them both if anything happened to you.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“There's a reason I had you here when she was out, remember?”
He lets out a deep, shuddering breath. I can imagine his relief. “Thank you. I couldn't take it. Charlie is like my brother. I couldn't... I can't... If he knew...”
“I was the one who needed to know. I needed confirmation. All these years, he thought I was the one who did it. And you sat back and let him believe that because it didn't matter then, right? I'm an asshole, so why not let him believe I would murder his wife to get back at him?”
A fourth voice chimes in from the doorway. “No. It's worse than that.”
Shit.
My stomach drops at the sound of her voice. I glance down at my dark, silent phone before glancing to the doorway, where Bianca sways slightly, her eyes as big as saucers.
How the fuck did she get here without me knowing? I was either too engrossed in Ken's story to notice the alert when it came through or the app failed.
Fuck me. Fuck everything. She wasn't supposed to find out this way.
“Bianca.” Ken's chair almost tips over when he stumbles to his feet before lurching toward her. “Kiddo, what did you hear? It wasn't my fault, I swear. I never. I wouldn't have ever—”
She cuts off his panicked rant with a sharp slap that snaps his head to the side.
BIANCA
My hand stings.
I let it fall back to my side, where it throbs in time with my fast, pounding heartbeat.
I can barely look him in the eye, so I focus on the palm print I left on his cheek. It stands out redder with every second, while the rest of his face is as white as a sheet.
“Bianca...” Callum's somewhere behind him, though it's like everything around me is muffled, like I'm underwater.
“How could you do it?” I don't feel anything besides the stinging in my hand. There's no anger, no rage, no grief. I'm cold. Disconnected.
“I didn't have a choice.”
And I used to respect him so much. I looked up to him the way Dad did. Now, here he is, crying and shaking, a fucking blubbering mess. I can feel it coming. He's going to start begging for me to forgive him. I don't know if I can handle that. I really don't.
“You didn't have a choice?” I whisper. “You had no choice but to let him believe he was going crazy? You had no other choice?”