Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
I can’t help but think of her as a mother, guiding our children in the way only she can.
Nobody could change her with the crosshair on her wrist, could make her less… her than she is.
She’s unbreakable, stronger than she’ll ever know.
I wish I could turn back time. Make it so Max knocked a minute later.
Even now, I ache to kiss her for real.
“Uncle Nick?” she goes on. “After what they did to you, how can you say that?”
“They could’ve killed me, Liliana, and then made it look like I disappeared. We all know they could do that.”
The fact of it sits in the silence. A light breeze blows outside a few moments later, stirring branches against the window. There’s a weightiness in the room like everybody is accepting how genuinely evil this all is.
“I never was much good at politics,” Nick says. “That’s the thing. I was a soldier. I knew how to follow orders.”
“I’ve heard about your service record,” I reply. “Back in the war. I researched as many of the Cartel members as I could. I know you were more than a mindless drone. No soldier is, and you definitely weren’t.”
Liliana smiles at me, a message in her eyes. But I can’t look, not for too long, unless she melts my defenses and makes me leap at her.
Nick sighs. “What I’m saying is, I could do with your help.”
“Do you want to stay at the safe house?” I ask.
The question comes before I can think of the consequences. But it’s too late. It’s out there.
That means Nick will be under the same roof as Liliana and me.
That means we’ll have to tell him. Or sneak around.
Feel like thieves for doing what’s right, what we feel deep down, and what neither can fight.
Careful, a voice growls. She isn’t feeling all that. It was just a near kiss for her.
“Would that be okay?” Nick says. “Just until I heal up.”
“It’s fine,” I say, nodding. “It’s less than I owe you, Nick. And we both know that. We can dance around it all we want, but we both know the situation here.”
The anger in my voice is misplaced. It’s not him I should be aiming it at, not anybody.
“I know,” Nick sighs, meeting my eye fleetingly. “But it is what it is, Mr, uhh Damien. It’s the way this life goes. My brother knew that. He knew what talking to the cops meant.”
“But I could’ve done more,” I press. “Ended the war sooner. Saved more of my own men, more civilians, and more Cartel men who wanted nothing to do with all this shit.”
“Anything could’ve happened,” Nick says, his shoulders slumping.
I’m sure there’s more there, but it’s clear he doesn’t want to share it.
A deep rage boils in the pit of my stomach when I think about what happened to him as I study the cast, the bruises, the cuts. Several men jumped him. Most Cartel men would say that, even if it were a fair fight, but Nick’s not that sort. He was telling the truth.
Several men, against one, all kicking and punching when he’s on the ground.
Goddamn cowards.
“Are you okay to travel?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little banged up. I need to change out of this gown. I feel like an ass.”
Liliana chuckles. Like in the car before, I’m swept up in her laughter, unable to stop myself from joining in. A second later, Nick laughs, more with Liliana than with me.
But at least there’s this, the laughter before he learns about my need for his niece.
Liliana looks at me, her smile faltering.
I know, I want to tell her. Things just got more complicated.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Liliana
“He could’ve done more,” Uncle Nick says, shifting in his seat as he glares out the window.
My hands are over my middle, my heart thumping so that it’s pretty much trying to choke me. I feel like I’m wedged into the most uncomfortable seat in existence, squashed into place.
“Liliana,” Uncle Nick says. “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, I heard. Why didn’t you tell him that?”
“He’s the Bratva boss,” Uncle Nick says, then suddenly, his gaze flits forward to the screen separating us from the driver.
He looks more like himself in his leather jacket, but the cuts and bruises on his face make it difficult for me to look at him. I want to cry every freaking time.
When Damien said he was sending cars, I thought he meant one for Nick and one for him and me. Outside the hospital, I realized how crazy that was, the cars pulling up, me and Nick walking toward one, and Damien toward the other.
Of course. Nick is my uncle.
Damien’s the man I met last night.
His silhouette in the rain didn’t count, as he stood at Dad’s grave, staring with that grim-set face of his. He doesn’t remember me, never thought of me.