Chapter Nineteen

It's been a few days since Arlo gave me the green light to take care of Savannah, but I needed to step back, gather myself, and come up with a strategy for dealing with both her and Carmella. There's no room for mistake, not with everything on the line. Today feels like the calm before the storm, and I know that after today, things will change. They have to.

As I pull up in front of my parents' house, I kill the engine and just sit there, staring at the familiar structure. Arlo wasn't exactly thrilled, but he reluctantly agreed to let my mom have Lumi for the day. Later, though, I'll need to spend time with his mother, Carmella, which is something I've wanted. He doesn't know the real reason why I did what I did in his office, the stunt I pulled—he has no idea how calculated it was.

I needed him to push me toward Carmella. To get his approval, even if it were devious, so I wouldn't feel the weight of guilt as much when I go behind his back to deal with Carmella. It's wrong, I know that. But I couldn't just sit by anymore and let her toxic presence fester in our lives. She could definitely be the root of all this pain. Arlo's pain. I feel it in my bones.

Yes, it cost me, ending up getting fucked with my own gun, but that moment with Arlo—it was worth every bit of the danger. I'll take whatever he throws at me, suffer anything he needs to do, as long as I can see this through. I need to protect him, protect us, from the twisted games Carmella could be playing.

Arlo deserves so much better. The cracks he tries to hide, the ones he thinks make him indestructible, are the ones that scare me the most. They're barely noticeable to anyone else, but I see them, and I can't just watch him crumble under the weight of everything he's been carrying. That's why I've got to go through with this. Even if it means lying to him now, it's for the greater good—for us, for our future. But it's a dangerous game I'm playing, and I just hope all of this won't be for nothing.

The thought of what might be uncovered haunts me. If my mom is right, and the truth is worse than we imagined, I know Arlo will be devastated, shattered even. But at least in the end, he'll know who he can trust. He'll always have me, and I'll never let him down. No matter how dark things get, our family comes first.

Sliding on my sunglasses, I open the car door and step out, lifting Lumi from her car seat. Her little giggles and tiny hands reach for my face, and I can't help but smile as I fuss over her. She's my grounding force, the reason I have to keep going, no matter how shit everything feels. With Lumi perched on my hip and her diaper bag slung over my shoulder, I head toward the house.

When I knock, my mom swings open the door almost instantly, her face lighting up with a big smile. I smile back before stepping inside and heading straight for the kitchen. I reluctantly hand Lumi over to her, feeling that tight coil of hesitation deep in my gut, but I shove it down.

I trust my mom, I do, but the anxiety of leaving Lumi behind never fades. My mom fusses over her, cooing at her as she bounces her in her arms, and for a brief moment, I can push the worry aside. But it's still there, lurking in the back of my mind.

"I'll collect her this evening," I say, stroking Lumi's hair.

"Of course, sweetheart. What are your plans for the day?"

I lift a brow at her question, and she inhales deeply, her smile weakening, catching on to my silence.

"Oh, I see," she responds. "Well, stay safe. Lumi will be fine here. I promise."

After saying my goodbyes to my mom, I leave as quickly as I can. The unease of leaving Lumi behind tugs at me, but I can't let it linger. I need to stay focused on what's ahead. Sliding back into the driver's seat, I take a deep breath, letting the engine's hum steady my thoughts. I know exactly where I'm going. The spot. To Savannah.

When I pull up to the spot, I turn off the engine and step out with my gun. As I walk toward the door, I slide it in the back of my pants and enter. While walking down the dark corridor, I think about Arlo and how he was too busy to witness me doing this today. Although it's probably for the best. I'm hoping to cox some information out of Savannah before I put a bullet between her eyes. And Arlo isn't exactly the type of man who wants to see a woman be killed. No matter who it is. The harrowing scars of what he witnessed with Bridget, seared deep into his soul.

Once I reach the door, the guard steps aside without a word, and I push it open, the metal groaning against the weight of its own rust. The dimly lit room smells like blood and sweat, and Savannah sits slumped in the chair, her head tilted downward. Without breaking stride, I grab a chair from the wall and drag it across the concrete floor, the screeching sound punctuating the heavy silence. My eyes lock on her beaten frame, not wavering for a second.

I position the chair directly in front of her, close enough for her to feel my presence, but far enough to stay out of her reach. I sit down, leaning back, crossing my legs as I observe her. She's barely holding herself together—her face is a brutal canvas of violence: bloodshot eyes peering through the bruising, a deep cut trailing down her cheek, her lip split in two places. But I keep my expression neutral, unreadable, my face as cold as the metal walls surrounding us.

Minutes tick by, the tension heavy between us. I wait. I want her to feel every second of this. Eventually, Savannah stirs, raising her head slowly. The defiance that used to burn in her eyes is dim now, almost extinguished, but she looks at me. I see the recognition, the realization that this isn't about torture anymore. This is about finality.

I lean forward slightly. "You know why I'm here, Savannah," I say, my tone cutting through the silence like a blade. "So let's not drag this out."

Savannah shrugs her shoulders with a careless smirk, and I tilt my head, studying her. "Are you sure you're not willing to fight for your life?" I ask calmly, my voice laced with an undercurrent of threat. "I could let you go. All I need is who and what." The lie rolls off my tongue smoothly, though we both know how this will end.

Her response is immediate, venomous. "And why the fuck would I tell someone who holds no dignity? You're undeserving, Wren," she spits, her voice raw with hate. "Go fuck yourself."

I don't react. Her words don't sting like they used to. Not anymore. Instead, I watch her unravel, her anger bubbling just below the surface.

"You prance around all high and mighty, sitting on a fucking throne I was promised," she sneers.

"Promised?" I ask, keeping my tone indifferent, though curiosity creeps in.

"Promised," she repeats, filled with bitterness. "I was supposed to be with Arlo the moment precious little Bridget died."

I lift my chin, watching her closely, noting the flicker of jealousy in her eyes.

"But then you came along," she says, her voice shaking with fury. "Fucking up everything. My future."

I raise an eyebrow, unimpressed by her self-pity. "So, you actually wanted Arlo, then?" I ask, though I couldn't care less. I'm just curious to see how deep her delusions run.

She scoffs, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. "Fuck no. I hated that piece of shit. He's dead inside, and you know it."

The way she speaks about Arlo, my Arlo, stirs something dark inside me. My fingers instinctively tighten around the grip of my gun. I fight the urge to pull the trigger but I can't just yet. This isn't over. Not quite.

"But he held everything I needed in the Elite world. We would have been unstoppable together," Savannah continues. "I would've ridden that dick to Timbuktu just to hold his power."

I maintain my expression, cold and unreadable, though the rage inside me tightens like a coil ready to snap. Her words, her fucking audacity—it would be so easy to end her right now, but that's not what I'm here for. I need to hold out just a little longer.

Savannah watches me, her smile twisted, as if she's won some small victory in getting under my skin. But she doesn't realize that she's already lost. She's been lost from the moment she tried to take what's mine.

"I'm sure that was your plan," I say calmly. "But power doesn't belong to those who take it. It belongs to those strong enough to hold on to it, Savannah."

Her eyes narrow, but I don't give her the satisfaction of rising to her bait. Instead, I sit back, the weight of my gun reminding me of how close she is to her end.

"And you?" she mocks. "You think you're strong enough?"

"I know I am." I retort without hesitation. "And you? You're nothing. A footnote in a story you never had the strength to be part of."

Savannah's deranged chuckle echoes in the cold room, but I stay silent, watching her with patience.

"So this ‘promise' you were given," I continue smoothly, "was that from Arlo himself?"

Her laughter dies in her throat, and she sits back, her expression falling.

"You know," she begins slowly, "I talk about Arlo's power, but the more time went on, I realized how weak the man really is." Her words drip with disgust, and my teeth clench, but I hold steady. "How easily manipulated he was. Everyone controlled his life."

I keep my gaze fixed on her as she continues.

"I knew," she says, "that marrying him would mean tying myself to a fucking fool, but it didn't matter. I would've taken it all from under him, just like his parents did. Arlo was always too blind to see it coming."

Her words hang in the air, and then I see it—realization flashing across her bruised and battered face. Her eyes widen, if only for a second, before she lowers her head.

And there it is... She fucked up.

I lean forward slightly, locking my gaze onto her. "So that's it, huh? You never wanted him—you all just wanted to dismantle everything he had, everything he fucking was."

I grip her face tightly, forcing her to meet my gaze. "Who the fuck got that cop involved?" I demand.

She winces but remains stubbornly silent. I release her face with a rough shove, my frustration boiling over. I cock my gun, the metallic click resonating through the room. Her eyes snap to mine, fear finally piercing through her bravado.

"Carter," she blurts out, her voice trembling. "His family. Arlo's family…"

Her words come out in a frantic rush, but none of it makes sense. My patience wears thin, and I slam the flat of my hand against the chair.

"Which one!" I shout angrily.

"I don't know! I was just the one who was there when it all unfolded!" she protests. "I didn't plan it—I just set up shop after he died!"

"Yes, you fucking did help set him up!" I snarl.

"No!" she cries out. "It was Bridget's family who got under that cops skin. They were ready to come for you, to get Cree, to get custody, but when Arlo magically reappeared, they backed off and left the States! Carter stayed with me. He loved me!"

Her desperation is clear, but I'm not fully convinced. I'm on the edge, ready to break her down completely to get the truth.

"Arlo took him from me. He took my father. He took everything," she sobs, her voice trembling with grief.

"Good!" I snap, and her body goes rigid with shock.

"You were all willing to take everything from me, from us. But unfortunately for all of you, the best always come out on top. You all fucking failed. All this pain and hurt was for NOTHING!" I roar, the bitterness clear in my tone.

I stand abruptly, turning to leave, to hopefully push her a little further and finally her words pierce through the pressure.

"This isn't finished," she shouts, echoing off the walls. "The real problem is in the shadows, and they will never go away," she continues. "You both have no fucking idea how much people hated that man from the moment he was born!"

Without hesitation, I stop in my tracks, her words striking a nerve. I turn sharply, lifting my gun with a coldness and her eyes expand in fear for a split second before I squeeze the trigger.

BANG!

The shot rings out, her body slumps, her eyes glazed over with death, wide open and I stare at her expressionlessly, watching as the blood from the bullet hole in her forehead trickles down her once pretty face.

"And now you're one less person to hate him," I mutter.

With that, I turn on my heels and walk toward the door, leaving behind the aftermath as I exit the building.

I pull up outside of Carmella's mention, cutting the engine, but I sit there for a moment, steadying myself. My mind is a mess, conflicted, but I'm just glad Savannah is no longer breathing the same air as me. I unbuckle my seatbelt, and step out, sliding my gun into the back of my pants again, concealing it beneath my blazer.

As I approach the huge door, Carmella's voice rings out through the intercom.

"The door is open, Wren. I am in my office."

I nod, looking into the small camera, then enter the mansion.

After ascending the grand staircase, I cross the marble floors to the back of the building and push open her office door. As I step inside, she rises from her desk, offering a small smile that I return with a hint of unease.

"Come in and sit down," she invites, her tone strangely polite yet formal.

I nod, walking toward the chair and pulling it out before taking a seat. The pressure in the room is clear as I settle in, feeling a wave of anxiety wash over me. She takes her seat opposite me, and for a moment, an awkward silence hangs between us as we stare at one another.

"Arlo suggested I come here to clear the air after our last encounter in his office," I begin, breaking the silence, my gaze unwavering as I look at her.

She nods, her expression softening slightly. "You have to understand, he is still my son. My motherly instincts just kicked in."

I lift my chin, observing her because I've never seen her as protective or maternal before and she continues. "I have been taught different I guess than to wave a gun around in my partners face, threatening him."

"My husband," I assert, my tone calm but firm.

She tilts her head, the smile now replaced by a questioning look. "When did you get married?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "A measly piece of paper with a signature doesn't define the love we have for one another, Carmella. Arlo Hayes is my husband, whether it's documented or not," I reply with defiance.

She studies me intently, her gaze holding mine, before giving a small nod and I continue, undeterred. "I know my husband well enough to understand that, despite any threats or conflicts we face, we would never genuinely harm each other. It's called trust and he definitely feels the same way."

Her brows raise as she leans back in her chair. "You're both very lucky to have that. Unfortunately, I can't relate."

I almost cringe internally but maintain my composure, lowering my eyes as she stands. Her movement catches my attention as she heads toward the drinks cabinet.

"Drink?" she offers, her hand hovering over the selection.

"I can only have the one," I reply, knowing I'm driving.

"Of course," she says with a smile, "Whiskey?"

My gaze sweeps over the cabinet, noting the array of options but searching for something that's not there.

"Do you have vodka?"

She pauses, her hand still on the cabinet door, and turns her head slightly. "I might have some downstairs."

I offer a small, purposeful smile. "Great." I say, giving her no choice but to leave the room.

I watch her every move as she leaves the office, and I quickly get to my feet. I tiptoe to the door, peering around the threshold with one eye, observing her slow strides until she's out of sight. Then, I spring into action.

I head over to the massive cabinets that line the walls, filled with ornaments and old books. I search carefully, lifting books one by one until I find one that looks unusual—bold with black and silver. Something shifts in my gut and on instinct, I pull it out. I flip through the pages until a key falls to the wooden floor at my feet with a metallic clink. I furrow my brows as I lean down, picking up the small, silver key, and inspect it closely.

Why would a key be hidden in a book?

The sound of her heels clicking on the marble makes my heart race and I shove the book back into place while quickly stuffing the key into my pocket.

As her footsteps grow closer, I take a step back and pretend to examine the books, my pulse pounding in my chest. She re-enters the room, carrying a glass of vodka over ice and I force myself to maintain a calm demeanor.

"You like to read?" I ask, not meeting her gaze.

She stands beside me, glancing at the books. "Not really. They're more for show."

I nod, taking the glass from her and sipping the vodka. "This is good. Thank you."

I return to my seat, relieved that she seems unaware of my antics. We continue our uneasy conversation, neither of us getting any closer to resolving the conflict that hangs between us as usual until I feel it's time to leave.

When I finally leave Carmella's mansion, the weight of the day weighs heavily on me. The unsettling conversations with Savannah, her cryptic final words, and Carmella's strange demeanor have left me feeling drained. It's clear that the world I'm living in is rife with lies, but these people are masters at hiding the truth.

I head straight to my mom's house, eager to collect Lumi and enjoy some much-needed cuddles. I knock on the door, and my mom opens it almost immediately, a wide smile on her face. She gestures for me to come inside, then we move toward the bright, luxurious living room. My eyes immediately find Lumi, peacefully asleep in her baby chair.

"How was she?" I ask softly, my gaze fixed on my daughter's peaceful face.

"Oh, she's such an angel," my mom replies with a smile. "She's growing so fast and is trying to communicate a lot now!"

I chuckle, unable to help it. "That's true. She's a little chatterbox."

With my hand still in my pocket, I feel the key and pull it out, holding it in my open palm. My mom's curiosity rises as she looks down at it.

"What's that for?" she asks.

"I found it hidden in a book in Carmella's office," I explain, meeting her gaze. "I can't exactly ask Arlo about it. Can you find out what it unlocks?"

My mom's eyes shift from the key to me, her expression serious. She takes a deep breath and then carefully lifts the key from my hand.

"I'll see what I can do," she promises, tucking the key away.

Grateful, I give her a nod, knowing that with her help, I might uncover something crucial.