Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

Saverio

C radling Claire’s little body against my chest is one of the most profoundly beautiful moments of my life. She still raises hell with those small lungs, crying until her face goes red, but I’m determined to get this right, to do this right, because Anya did something for me. She took an incredible risk. So I want to do this for her. And because of her bravery, there may just be a future for us. Although, after that stunt, I still want to lock her up forever and keep her here where she’s safe.

“Hush, angel.” I rock Claire in my arms. “It’s all right. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Be a sweet girl for a few more minutes, and I promise, your tummy will be full.”

“She just needs to get used to you,” Livy says behind me.

I turn to find her standing in the door frame of the nursery, wrapped up in a fluffy yellow terrycloth bathrobe with a matching turban on her head. Banana charms hang from her ears, and her feet are shoved into canary-yellow kitty-heel slippers with feather trimmings.

Claire continues to cry, but when I cup her head and let her soak up the warmth of my chest, the sorrowful bawling turns to sad sniffles, and I’ll be damned if her tears don’t break my heart.

“Anya is having a shower,” I say. “She should be done any minute.”

Livy studies me with intelligent, blue eyes. “The more time you spend with Claire, the better it will get. She can’t see very well yet, but to her, you smell and sound different from the people she knows. She needs to learn you’re one of her clan.” She adds with meaning, “It’s important. It’ll help her feel secure in her family circle.”

“Got it.” I inhale Claire’s baby scent, reveling in the miracle of the small person I hold in my arms. “I’ll try to do better.”

“Good.” Livy nods with approval. “I knew you’d come around. Anya is a great mother, but Claire will do so much better if she has a father she can depend on too, a father who loves her as much as you do already.”

I give her a half smile. “You’re a great aunt or grandmother or whatever title you prefer.”

“I’ll do anything for that little girl.”

I look down, stroking my palm over her soft, strawberry-blond hair. “So will I.”

“Then make sure she knows that.”

I pin Livy with a look. “Did you know what Anya was up to?”

She lifts her chin, making the bananas in her ears swing. “That she was going to meet Elena? Of course. I was there.”

“Livy,” I start, my nostrils flaring when I think about the danger they put themselves in. “If you ever?—”

“Now’s not the time to throw threats around.” She nods at the baby I’m holding. “You need to learn to live in the moment. As long as you’re taking care of Claire, she should be your only focus.”

It’s not easy to swallow the warning I was about to make, but Livy is right. “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“I can’t do that.” She meets my gaze head-on. “Like you, I do what I believe is right. It’s called acting with integrity, and I’ll continue to do so just as I’ll continue to make my own decisions.”

Fuck. These women will be the end of me. I love all three of them more than life itself, but why do I get the feeling they’re running the show in this house? Despite my orders, they’re going to do whatever the hell they please, and they’re making damn sure I get that.

Claire starts crying again, no longer content to be pacified with my rocking.

Point proven.

“I better take her to Anya,” I say. “She seems really unhappy.” And it hurts me to see her like this.

“I’m going to make some tea.” She asks sweetly, “Can I bring you anything from the kitchen?”

I hold Claire in one arm and use my free hand to lean on the cane. “I’m good, thanks.”

Anya steps out of the dressing room wearing an oversized T-shirt when I enter our room. Her red hair hangs wet down her back. We’re going to have a talk about drying her hair after her shower. I know she’s always rushed, but I don’t want her to catch a cold. A fresh bout of guilt hits me in the gut. If I were more helpful with Claire, Anya would’ve had more time to take care of herself.

“Poor baby.” She rushes over. “I’m sorry for making you wait, sweetheart.”

I place Claire in her arms, making sure Anya has a good grip on her before I let that tiny being go. Instead of going to the nursery, Anya settles down in bed with her back braced against the headboard to feed Claire.

She gives me an uncertain look. “You don’t mind if I feed her here, do you?”

“Of course not.”

I suppress a flinch as I put my weight on my leg. Using a cane instead of crutches takes its toll, but I’m impatient to walk on my own two feet again.

I go over and sit down next to them. Claire quiets immediately, greedily latching on to Anya’s breast.

Reaching out gently, I brush a hand over Claire’s small head. She makes little gulping noises, drinking as if Livy didn’t give her a bottle just four hours ago.

Anya lifts her gaze to mine and offers me the sweetest of smiles. With my hand on Claire’s head, the three of us are connected, and it feels so right, so precious, that unfamiliar emotions clog up my throat. At the center of those strange sentiments, utter contentedness settles in my chest. It feels a lot like peace. And it’s then that it hits me. I’ve never felt at peace before.

This is new, just like my perfect, instant family. This, right here—Anya, Claire, and Livy—is everything I’ve always wanted, and I’m petrified that they won’t let me keep them safe, that they’ll do something that’s going to allow someone to rip them away from me. The thought leaves me sweating, my skin cold and clammy.

Anya chuckles. “I think she fell asleep.”

Indeed. Claire’s rosebud lips are slightly parted around Anya’s nipple. Her long, rose-gold lashes brush her soft, white cheeks.

Despite the anguish, the picture of mother and baby mesmerizes me. It’s a pure and beautiful sight. Painfully so.

A smile splits my face. “I think you’re right.”

Anya lies Claire down in the middle of us, making a nest for her between our bodies. “Do you mind if I let her sleep here for a while? If she wakes up again, I don’t have to get up to go to the nursery. I can feed her here.”

And fall back asleep straight after without dragging herself between the two rooms.

It only dawns on me then how selfish I’ve been, how much easier I could’ve made things for Anya if I weren’t so fixated on my physical drawbacks. Claire could’ve slept here right from the start, protected between her parents. Anya would’ve been less tired, and she wouldn’t have had to worry that Claire wasn’t welcome in our room—in my space and in my presence.

I swallow away the thickness of my throat. “Let her stay as long as you like if it’s easier for you.”

Anya’s smile is grateful. She shifts down, settling on her side next to Claire with her hand resting protectively on her baby’s stomach.

I do the same, stretching out on the other side of Claire. Her soft, even breathing has a strangely calming effect on me. I’m not keen on disturbing the agreeable moment, but I have things to say, and Anya’s eyes are already drooping.

“Your mother came to the house,” I start carefully.

Wide awake now, Anya’s golden gaze flares with alarm. “What did she want?”

“To see you and Claire, but something about the whole thing seemed off.”

Anya frowns. “She probably wanted money again.”

“She said she had a job.”

“Really?” Anya raises a brow, a look of hopefulness flashing across her features. “Doing what?”

“Typing.”

She observes me for a moment. “You say that as if you don’t believe it.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what to make of it.”

“What did you say?”

“That I wanted her employer’s details and to see her rental contract.”

“And?” Anya asks with futile optimism.

Her hope is about to be squashed, and I hate Mary for it. “She left.”

“Oh.” Anya’s face drops. “How did she look? I mean, was she okay?”

“Good, actually.” Surprisingly, because Mary hasn’t changed overnight. She didn’t go from vindictive and destructive to a cleaned-up, doting mother and grandmother in the span of a few weeks. “You didn’t tell me she showed up here before.”

Anya strokes Claire’s chest. “So many things were happening. You were still in the ICU. Later, when you were getting better, I forgot.” She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth. “I’m just glad she’s not dead. I call the morgue and the hospitals every day, and each time, I expect the worst.”

Reaching over Claire, I rub Anya’s arm. The comfort is measly. I’d much rather fix this for her, but I have a feeling there’s never going to be any fixing Mary. “What do you want to do?”

“Nothing.” Anya’s pretty mouth hardens. “For now. I’m willing to help her if she proves she’s ready to change.”

“That’s more or less what I told her.”

“I offered to pay for her stay at the center until she’s showed me that she’s clean and sober. If I give her money, she’s just going to end up spending it on pills and alcohol. It sounds mean not to trust her, but she’s only disappointed me time and again.”

Resting my head in my hand, I study Anya’s pale skin and those cute freckles on her nose. I want to kiss each one. Unable not to touch her, I hook a stray curl behind her ear. “It’s not mean. It’s responsible. She’s proven she can’t be trusted. Until that changes, you’re right to be careful. She’s put both your lives in danger in the past. That’s not something anyone can take lightly.”

She nods, averting her eyes.

“There’s something else,” I say.

At the graveness of my tone, she looks up.

“When the attacks on Raphael start, you, Claire, and Livy are staying in the house. I want you here where you’re safe and protected. I won’t risk you going in to After Dark.”

“What if I go with the guards?”

My answer leaves no room for argument. “No.” In this, I’m not willing to budge, no matter how much they defy me.

“How long do you think it will last?”

“Three weeks. Four max.”

“Okay,” she says, looking brave and scared and so fucking pretty at the same time.

So mine .

Grateful that she’s not making an issue out of this, adding to my worry, I give her a sincere, “Thank you.”

We fall quiet after that. I watch over my girls, waiting until they’re asleep before I take my cane and go to the study where I sit down behind my desk and wake up my laptop. There’s an odd tremble to my hand when I take the USB key from my pocket. Whatever is on here is serious. Otherwise, Lewis wouldn’t have gone to the lengths of hiding it in his locker at a golf club.

Curious as well as nervously excited, I insert the key into the slot reader and open the single folder it holds. Inside are several spreadsheets. I click on one after the other, my stomach bottoming out as understanding blooms.

Fuck.

The evidence is damning.

If Anya wanted to, she could’ve buried me. She could’ve burned me alive. If she’d taken this to the cops, they would’ve put me away for so long I’d never see the sun again. If Anya wanted to escape me, this would’ve been the perfect blackmail material. If she wanted to condemn me, she had the means in the palm of her hand.

Yet, she’s here, sleeping in my bed. Our bed. She didn’t go to Switzerland. She didn’t leave me. Out of all the people I cared about in my life, she’s the only person who hasn’t abandoned me. Not even my parents stuck around when they discovered who I truly was. But despite knowing the darkest corners of my soul and the blood that stains my hands, Anya stayed. She gave up freedom for a dangerous life with half a man, a man with a face that’s been through a blender . It’s only then that I get why she said what sits in front of me is proof of her love.

If that doesn’t convince you that I love you, nothing will.

I got what I wanted. I should be smug if not ecstatic. Let’s face it, I worked hard for that goal. My seduction and actions were shaped to make her physically and emotionally dependent on me. Even though I executed every well-designed gesture because I liked to take care of her, they weren’t without ulterior motives. Yet as I wait for the victory to set in, for that sense of completion to fill me, the joy doesn’t come. Something is missing. It’s not the fulfillment I expected to experience at her complete submission and total surrender.

The problem isn’t my wife.

It’s me.

I sit back as an old, familiar pain spreads through my chest. The hurt isn’t for me. It’s for Anya. I fear she was right. I told her she mistook guilt for love, but this changes everything. This gives a different perspective on things. She does love me, more than anyone has ever loved me, and the reason I denied it so hard up to now when it’s all I thought I ever wanted is because I can’t reciprocate.

It’s not her fault that I can never trust or love a woman again. My heart is like a plant that died too long ago. No amount of watering can resuscitate the dead roots. Besides, it’ll be dangerous if I give people the impression that I love her.

It’s not fair. It’s less than she deserves. Yet I can’t let her go, and now that she’s made her choice, she’s mine forever, mine to cherish and care for, mine to protect, and mine to soothe for all the hurt I’m yet to cause her.