Chapter 25

twenty-five

Sergi

Watching Avery walk across the stage was amazing. I'm so proud of my girl. And when she saw us, her emotions shined, clear as day, happiness, love, and awe. She's slowly coming back around, well, at least I think she is. I know I did wrong, fuck, do I know. I regret trying to distance myself from her, I regret making her my whore when she's the only one who holds my heart, I regret how she found out about my identity with the Bratva and Mafia, I regret threatening to reunite her with her parents, and most of all, I regret fucking Mindy. I can't change my actions, I can only try to make things up to her, and I've been trying for months now. I will get her back and when I do, she'll be moving into the seven-bedroom Victorian house I bought for us near Damian and Sofia's.

I'm standing here, watching my family treat her like one of us, hugging her and congratulating her, all while she tries to keep her emotions at bay, which isn't easy with her being pregnant with twins. All of a sudden, she tenses. Dimitri grabs her arm and says something to her, but I can't hear what he says. I look at the others and they're all frowning, too. Just as I walk forward, she bolts toward the back of the field. I follow, confused, with everyone right behind me. As we get near a massive oak tree, I notice Peter leaning up against it, and I hear Phoebe mutter, "Shit."

I turn to look at Phoebe, but her eyes are focused on Peter. I turn in time to see him straighten, and my girl shoves him with all her might. I run toward her, and I wrap my arms around her, careful of the baby bump. I drag her into my chest. I feel her trembling against me.

She points in Peter's face, and sneers, yes fucking sneers, "You're not welcome here, I don't want you here. Leave!" She shouts the last bit, and we all stand with our mouths gaping, while Avery uses my stunned state to get out of my arms, and she shoves Peter again.

"Stop!" he shouts.

Like fuck can he shout at my girl. I go to grab him, but Dimitri grabs a hold of my arm, and shakes his head at me. I quirk a brow back at him. I've never defied him; he's my father in every way but blood. Until now. I go to move forward again but he clamps down tighter, and he says in a whisper, "Trust me, son, she needs this." I furrow my brows at him and look toward Damian and Al. They also look confused. But Maria and Phoebe have pride in their gazes. I nod at Dimitri in understanding; obviously they know something I don't, which pisses me the fuck off.

I turn back to Avery when she speaks. "Funny, that's what I said to my birth mom's druggie boyfriend when he tried to touch me."

We all freeze at her words, Peter pales.

"How does it feel, ‘Dad,' knowing you left your daughter, who is the spitting image of you, with a druggie whore and her pedophile eighteen-year-old boyfriend?" She quirks a brow at him, but he doesn't answer, and its then I realize she called him "dad." I look to Dimitri again, his eyes holding apologies. The meeting we had to confront the parents—this is what they were talking about. He told Peter about Avery. I look to the man again and I see the resemblance, the violet eyes that I noticed that day in the hospital after Phoebe's attack, and black hair. It's so dark it has a hint of blue. Son of a bitch.

Rage flows through me as Avery speaks again.

"You're supposed to be this big badass second to the Greek mafia boss, and yet you couldn't figure out that the DNA test results she gave you were fake. I mean, seriously, you didn't even question how she got a sample from you? The man she tried to pass off as my father would have been fourteen when she had me." Peter pales, what a fucking idiot. "So, while you were living it up, denying your daughter, she was being beaten and burned by her druggie mom, when she did the slightest thing wrong, all while her boyfriend tried to touch me." Fuck. I hear Maria and Sofia gasp, and Phoebe sniffles, but I keep my eyes trained on my girl. Then realization hits. She's about to talk about her past.

Shit.

Avery ignores everyone, keeping her eyes on Peter as she continues, "I was four years old when I had to go to the grumpy next door neighbor's trailer. It was raining badly, and usually my birth mother, Tanya, would wait for me to get off the bus with an umbrella in her hand a scowl on her face. I was an inconvenience for her but kept her drug money coming with the welfare from the state. Plus, her ‘boyfriend' loved that money, too. That day at the bus, I remember dreading it, because last time she had to get me, I got five new burn marks on my back and bruises all on my side." Me, Al, Damian, and Dimitri tense, but Peter looks like he's about to collapse. I hear the women sniffling, but Avery ignores it all and continues, "That day, I went into the trailer wondering if she'd ‘fallen asleep' again." We all knew what she meant overdosed. "But when I went inside the trailer, Tanya was laying on the dirty, torn sofa, with her eyes wide open. There was blood pouring from her neck. I was a kid, so I thought she was playing with paint, I mean I was only 4, how was I supposed to know her boyfriend slit her throat and killed her, and would have probably done the same to me if I was there."

Fuck, no.

"When she wouldn't wake, I ran to the neighbor with my dirty hair and too tight clothes getting tighter in the rain, and suddenly the grumpy old man was extremely nice and sympathetic. He called social services. Mrs. Reeves promised me that my daddy was going to pick me up the next day. I was so excited. In my head I was relieved that I wouldn't be burnt or bruised anymore, and that I got my daddy back…but Daddy never showed. Daddy denied paternity, and I ended up in foster care."

Peter swallowed his throat bobbing slowly. He croaks, "You probably had a better life than you would had with me, Avery. I wasn't in the right state or place to raise a little girl."

She chuckles darkly and my anger grows; how fucking thick is he? When I move to take a step forward, Damian puts his hand on my arm and I growl. He just tightens his hold.

Avery continues, "Probably had a better life…." Her voice is all mockery and disdain. "Right. Okay. Let's start with foster home number one, the Stallions." Fuck, she really is about to tell all. I tense, readying myself while Peter furrows his brows. "I'd only been in the children's home for a few weeks, when I was sent to live with them. They had a daughter who was three years older than me. The parents were okay, kind of, anyway, for foster parents, but the daughter, well she wasn't happy sharing a room with someone. You see, they fostered me for the money; they had gambling issues. I seemed to fix that for a little while. They bought me new clothes and fed me three times a day, so it never looked suspicious. Cherry, that's their daughter, decided to cut all of my hair off while I slept. She was hoping they'd send me back. But no, instead, I got a smack to the face for being stupid. This pissed her off, so she cut all the new clothes up a week later. I was sent back to the group home for being unruly. Fast forward a few months, and I'm five, and the Milson's are fostering me. I was with them for a year. I was forced the strip down to my underwear while they took pictures of me and uploaded them to the internet."

Everyone tenses. Both Dimitri and Damian are now holding me back.

No fucking way, no, she did not go through that, she didn't, please no.

I hear the women openly sob for the little girl, but Avery, again, ignores everyone. She's keeping her eyes on a pale looking Peter as Al holds back a raging Phoebe.

"They had a fifteen-year-old son. He liked to stand in my room at night and masturbate until he came all over my stomach. Every night. Once I hit six years old, they returned me to the group home. I tried telling my social worker and the others, but no one believed me. I was labeled a troublemaker because of who Tanya was. Still think I was better off without you, Dad ?" His breathing picks up, anger showing on his face, but she continues, "Foster home numbers three, four, five, and six…." Fuck, how many did she go to? "In a year, I ended up in all four of these homes. Each one only wanting a child for the money and said money never got spent on said child. They starved me. I was lucky if I ate a piece of bread while in one of those homes. The only meal I got was at school. On the weekends, I'd have to drink water to keep my hunger at bay, because they would have no food in the house. I ran away from each one because, after about a month or so, they'd start to hit me. I already had enough scars to last me a lifetime, so I refused to stay. Each time I was found and placed back into the group home. Still following, Dad ?"

Fuck, please tell me her parents adopt her now, please. I place my fisted hands on my hips and take a deep breath, knowing her parents didn't adopt her yet.

Peter grinds his jaw, so she takes that as a yes and continues, "I'm now eight and had just spend a few months fighting off unwanted attention from boys wanting something I wasn't willing to give in the group home on Franklin Street in Seattle, when the Jenkins' decided I was the right fit for their ‘family.' Foster home number seven. They pulled me out of school. Said they were home-schooling me to help get me settled when instead I was chained to a metal bed 24/7 or until they required me…in nothing but my underwear." I feel Damian and Dimitri vibrate against me as they growl, keeping a strong grip on my arms when I start to try and pull away. I need to fucking hit something. Pain like nothing I've ever felt flows through me for what my strong girl has been through. She wipes under her eyes and continues while Peter staggers to the tree and leans against it. "When they needed me, I was unchained and taken into the dining room. My stomach would always growl because we were only allowed one piece of bread a day. Nothing else. It got so bad that you could see my skeleton through my skin."

She takes off her graduation gown. Her tank top showing off our twins, but it's not the bump that has everyone gasping. It's the scars all on her upper arms. She lifts her top and the stretched skin over our babies show the scars more. She slowly turns. Peter leans forward and vomits on the grass while I hear Phoebe bleat, "Fuck no." Maria and Sofia have tears running down their faces. I look around and see the field is nearly deserted, the people that are left aren't paying attention.

I look back to my girl as she continues, each word tearing me apart inside, "If we tried to steal food, this was our punishment. As you can see, I was caught a few times, although half these scars weren't because I was the culprit. Some children couldn't take it anymore and lied, putting the blame on me so I'd take their punishment. I denied it, geez did I deny it, but they didn't believe me, and I was taken to their basement. Do you want to know what happens in the basement, Dad ?" I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to hear anymore. I can't. "I was stripped bare and chained to a metal table where they'd take pictures of me, then allow their ‘friends' to come down and touch me wherever they wanted, as long as they didn't penetrate, because they wanted my innocence kept intact. Most nights I was put on dinner service. I was their ‘favorite.' When we get to the dining room to serve people, there would be several people all seated at a large table. They were never the same people, and we'd have to serve them in our underwear while they groped us and took pictures of us. When one woman tried to touch me where no innocent little girl wants to be touched, I saw my opportunity, someone forgot to close the door when they arrived. I ran. When I was found four days later, I was nearly hypothermic. I tried telling the police why I ran but they didn't believe me; the Jenkins got away with everything. They accused me of being a cutter and unstable." She wipes her tears, her eyes staying on Peter who has tears running down his cheeks. I wipe mine, my breathing shallow, hoping that's it, fucking praying my girl didn't go through anything else, but she dashes them with her next words.

"Foster home number eight, the final one, with Hannah and Ben Whitmore. I'm now nine years old. I was only with them for two months. They lived in a small bungalow, and it was filthy. My job was to keep it clean. If I failed even the littlest bit, Hannah would whip me while Ben would watch and smirk. About a month in, he got drunk while she was at her day job. I walked out of the kitchen after doing my ‘chores' at the wrong time. He said I was too loud, so he hit me with a baseball bat, hard. Broke my ribs. When he the authorities asked him what happened, he told them I fell down the stairs. They all believed him, and I was sent home with him. After that I made sure to stay out of his way. Didn't stop Hannah from coming into my tiny box of room—that was really a storage closet—and whip me every night, though. A few weeks later, I came home, and he was watching his hockey game, it was an old one, and they lost. He kept rewatching them, not caring that it got him angry, and he came after me. He was drunk but I still couldn't move quick enough. He grabbed his bat and he hit me on the head, so hard that I passed out. I don't know how long I was out but when I woke up, he was trying to take my pants off. To this day, I don't know how I managed it, but I saw his bat next to my head, I grabbed it, and hit him. He fell, and I managed to run. I hid in the food storage cupboard. There was a space in between the cupboards that they didn't know about, and I stayed there until I heard Hannah come home. I knew they'd argue, they did every day, and as soon as I heard her voice, I ran for the backdoor, all while Hannah was shouting about losing money from the Romanians, because they are selling me to them."

My knees give out.

"When I ran out the door and down the alley, the best thing happened to me; I ran into Officer Tony Gibson. My real dad ." Peter flinches. "He took one look at me, blood dripping from my head, tears running down my cheeks, and he broke protocol. He took me to the hospital. He didn't contact social services until the doctors looked at me. And when social services came to collect me, he made sure I told my side of the story. H-he believed me. He s-saved m-me. H-he took me h-home with him and his wife, my mother, Natalie. T-they adopted m-me." I shove both Damian and Dimitri off me; I can't sit here any longer, watching my girl break as sobs shake her body. I wrap my arms around her. She flinches but doesn't push me away. "I only h-had Natalie as a m-mom for a few years before cancer took her from me. She taught me h-how to dance. How to read. H-how to c-cook. She was m-my angel. And instead of pushing me away when he lost his s-soulmate, Daddy pulled me closer. He made up a game. W-what would I do if h-he died." She hiccups, and I squeeze her tighter, hoping to give her the strength she needs to continue. "He had everything set for me. He e-ensured I knew ho-how to access his safe, the storage unit to store all our b-belongings, and access the cards he had in a fake name with enough money for me to get through college and medical school. He made sure I had enough to keep a roof over my head and food in my belly until I was nineteen. You see, he made sure I knew how to survive without him, because he knew, if I lost him before I turned eighteen, I would run. I wouldn't go b-back into foster care again. And he knew he would leave me because he had a heart condition that he never told me about. Coronary heart disease. I was sixteen when my father died. M-my family. He laid in my a-arms, clutching his chest, telling me how much he l-loved me, and reminding me about our game. I tried to give h-him CPR, but it, it didn't work; he left me."

She sobs harder and I nuzzle her and whisper, "It's okay, baby, I've got you, I've got you."

She shakes her head and wipes her tears, and points at a grief-stricken Peter. "Where were you, huh, when I went through a-all that? Where were you ? Where were you when I lived in my dad's car for m-months before I could g-get an apartment? Where were you nine months ago when my professor nearly killed me?" she screams as my heart instantly sinks; she lied to me. She didn't fall down the stairs at school and hurt her ribs.

She breathes heavily and moves out of my arms and turns toward me, her angry glare piecing my soul as she admits, "I lied to you, I knew how hard you were working and how much stress you were under, so I lied to you. Professor Whitmore. He attacked me. I always got a bad vibe, so I stayed out of his way until that day when he asked me to stay behind. That day I finally looked at him properly and realized he was a spitting image to Ben. He told me I had to retract my statement from years ago to get his brother out of prison. He's currently serving forty years for what he did to me, and I refused! He caught me off guard, and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor, and he was kicking my ribs. Melanie saved me. Whitmore tried telling the dean I came on to him and wouldn't take no for an answer, and the dean believed him. Melanie played the recording I made when he asked me to stay behind. The dean got fired and Whitmore is now in prison, too. But I lied to you because of how much I loved you. I nearly died; he broke my rib, and it nicked my lung. I had to have surgery, but instead of adding more stress and worry to the man who became my everything, I put him first. Yet you couldn't return the favor, could you, Sergi? Instead, you pushed me away and turned me into your whore. Instead, you cheated on me!"

My heart thumps in my chest at the hate in her eyes. We were getting better, I knew I had a long road ahead, but we were getting there, now we're back to square one. I can hear the women cry but I can't focus on them.

Avery shakes her head at me, then looks at her father and sneers, "You're not my father; my father died seven years ago. Stay away from me."

Then, without a backward glance, she leaves us all standing there, watching her hurry away. When I look at Peter, who is watching Avery, I vibrate with anger. Avery, his daughter, who he denied, abandoning her to go through hell on her own.

Dimitri tries to grab my arm but he's not quick enough. I smash my fist in Peter's face, and blood spurts from his nose. He hits the floor, out cold. I turn, taking off in a sprint to reach Avery before she does something stupid. I can hear footsteps behind me, and I know instantly its Damian and Al.

When I get to the parking lot, I see Avery's taillights.

"Fuck!" I scream, grabbing my hair tight. I link my fingers behind my head, breathing heavily. Al grabs my arm and drags me to the car Damian brought round. I get into the back while Al gets into the passenger seat. Phoebe's already in the seat next to me. She grabs my hand and squeezes it as Damian takes us to Avery's apartment.

Forty minutes later, no thanks to traffic, we pull up out front of Avery's, and we all jump out and run inside. I grab my key and open her door, but it's completely silent. My breathing picks up when I head to her room. Pictures of us are scattered on her nightstand and dresser. Nothing looks out of place. I head back into the living room and see Phoebe staring at a picture of me. It was from the beach, and I'm grinning widely at the camera, my black shirt unbuttoned. I rub the side of my neck, making Al walk over to me and grab my hand. I turn and furrow my brows at him but he's not looking at me, he's looking at the tattoo I got months ago, before Phoebe was attacked and everything was perfect.

"You got her name tattooed on your neck? How the fuck have I never noticed that?" Both Phoebe and Damian look at me in shock.

I sigh. "I got it about a year ago. Avery and I hadn't been together long, but I knew she was the one. She never noticed it."

Damian leaps from the sofa, declaring, "I found her."

We all crowd around his phone, and I breath out, "Shit."

Al furrows his brows. "Why has she booked a flight to Seattle?"

I rub my hand through my hair and reply, "She's going home."

I'm heading toward the door when it opens. Sofia, Dimitri, and Maria walk in, her eyes red and Dimitri states, "Basil picked up Peter. When he woke up, Basil tore into him. Look, son, she never wanted you to know about her past. She thinks she's tainted and dirty, she thinks you'd leave her."

I hang my head. Fuck.