Chapter 10

TEN

Angelo

Igo after Sabella with long strides, intent on talking this through even though I have no idea what to say, but when I spot her entering Sophie's room, I pause at the bottom of the stairs.

Everything she accused me of is accurate.

The punch I can't deal with is that she would've said yes. If I'd pursued her like a normal man chasing after a beautiful woman, would she have accepted my advances? Probably. Yet Edwards would've done everything in his power to prevent the marriage from happening. He would've poisoned her thoughts and turned her against me. He would've still paid the mechanic to cut the brake cables on the car. What she can't see is that nothing would've been different. I would've still had to steal and kill to make her mine.

"Fuck."

I rub my palms over my face. I have to end this. I delayed as much as I could. I can't take the uncertainty any longer.

Taking my phone from my pocket, I dial one of my informants in the force, someone I trust. When he answers, I say, "Get a message to Lieutenant Lavigne. Tell him my wife has the information he wants. Make sure it looks authentic, like the message came from her."

"That's easy enough," he says. "What's her number?"

"I'll send you a burner phone number."

"Consider it done."

A weight rests on my shoulders when I end the call. If my suspicion is right and Sabella made that deal, we're stuck in this fucked-up living situation. Either way, Lavigne is dead for what he did to Sabella. That was always a given.

"Dinner will be ready in five," Heidi calls, popping her head around the doorframe of the kitchen. "I'll tell the boys to wash up."

"Thanks," I say, my voice sounding defeated to my own ears.

I brought Heidi to help with the cooking and cleaning to allow Sabella time with Sophie. I don't know what the hell I was thinking. I was hoping for a miracle. Sabella always seems to know how to handle Sophie.

"I made spaghetti," Heidi says as I mount the stairs. "The kids love it." She disappears back into the kitchen, her words drifting up to me. "There's steak and vegetable stir-fry for you and Sabella."

I walk onto the landing and head down the hallway. Sophie's door is open a crack. I'm about to enter when I hear Sabella say, "Come here. Give me a big hug."

I pull back, leaning against the wall.

"Why don't you like me anymore?" Sophie asks in a small, quivering voice.

"Oh, sweetheart. Of course I like you. You're my favorite little girl."

"Then why don't you want me to stay with you?"

"Remember what I said? This house is as much Mr. Russo's as the old house. You'll always have a room in both houses, but Mr. Russo is your guardian. Do you know what that means?"

"That he can say what I must do?"

"No." Sabella chuckles. "It means he's responsible for taking care of you. It's a big responsibility, and he takes it very seriously. He wants to make sure you're safe, well cared for, and happy. You know why? Because he loves you very, very much. You're part of his family, and nothing is more important than family. Do you understand?"

My wife's words make me feel as if my heart is trapped in the too-narrow confines of my ribcage.

"But I miss you, Sabella. Beatrice does too. And Alison."

"You're here now, and you'll come visit again. So why don't we make the most of the moment and enjoy it instead of locking ourselves in your room?"

Sophie's question is hopeful. "Can we watch television?"

"You bet we can."

"With popcorn?"

Sabella laughs. "After dinner. And then you can tell me about school. I'm dying to hear everything."

"Angelo doesn't want me to take Beatrice. He says I'm too old for imaginary friends, but she's not imaginary."

"How about we ask Mr. Russo if you can take Beatrice if you leave her in your backpack? That way, she'll be safe and warm, and she can listen to your lessons. When she gets bored, you can leave her at home with Alison."

"Do you think so?" Sophie asks, drawing out the words.

"I do, but remember, Mr. Russo must agree. He's not trying to be mean, sweetheart. He's just trying very hard to do what's best for you."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

"I don't know," Sophie says meekly. "I want to stay with you, Sabella."

"You know what? I don't have a Beatrice, but I do have a sea turtle."

"You do?"

"You bet. Do you want to see it?"

"Uh-huh."

"Look. Let me take if off." A moment later, Sabella says, "Here."

"It's very pretty."

"It's my lucky charm. I tell you what. You keep it, and that way, I'll always be close to you, no matter where you are."

"Really?" Sophie asks, sounding a little more upbeat.

"Turn around. I'll fasten it around your neck. There. It fits you perfectly."

"Do you think so?"

"I know so."

"Is it a gift?"

"It's yours to keep, sweetheart. Whenever you miss me, it'll remind you that you're always in my heart."

"Thank you, Sabella," Sophie says, putting emphasis on the words like she does when she gives one of her generous hugs.

"Now come. Let's wash your hands before dinner. I think I smell spaghetti."

"Spaghetti," Sophie exclaims. "That's my favorite." She adds quickly, "After your grilled chicken and chocolate cake, Bella."

Sabella's laugh is soft. "I told you Heidi was a great cook."

Their conversation fades as a door opens and closes—the en-suite bathroom.

Downstairs, the front door slams. Boisterous laughter barrels through the lounge. The three boys charge up the stairs, shoving each other.

"No running in the house," I say, making my voice hard.

They fall in line, watching me with dirt-streaked faces as they file past. Guillaume is last. He scurries sideways like a crab, holding his arms behind his back.

"Guillaume," I say.

He freezes.

étienne and Johan run to the end of the hallway and dart into their rooms.

"What are you hiding behind your back?"

"Nothing," he says, trying to pull off such an exaggerated innocent expression that I suppress a laugh.

"Let's see it."

Sighing, he brings his arms from behind his back and shows me two halves of a ceramic flowerpot.

I motion at the shards. "How did that happen?"

He shrugs. "I don't know."

I raise a brow. "Try again."

"I don't know," he exclaims.

Crossing my arms, I lean a shoulder against the wall. "Then we're just going to stand here until you remember."

He stomps his foot. "I'm hungry."

"All the more reason to remember quickly."

He huffs and drops his shoulders in a dramatic gesture while rolling his eyes. "I kicked it."

"Why did you kick the flowerpot?"

"Because."

"That's not a sentence or a reply."

"I don't know."

I shake my head. "That's not an answer either."

"I got mad," he cries out. "étienne and Johan wouldn't let me kick the ball."

"That's no reason to kick the flowerpot. You need to learn to control your frustration."

He only looks at me.

"What were you planning on doing? Hiding the shards in your room?"

More silence.

I jut my chin toward the incriminating evidence. "What did you do with the plant?"

"Left it there," he says in almost inaudible voice, fixing his gaze on a spot on the floor.

"What's going to happen to it if we just leave it there?"

He cocks a shoulder.

"It's going to die," I say. "If we replant it, it may survive."

He sticks his tongue in his cheek.

"Your punishment for breaking the flowerpot on purpose is washing the kitchen pots after dinner."

He cuts his gaze to me quickly and opens his mouth to no doubt argue, but I hold up a finger.

"Because you tried to hide it, you'll also load the dishwasher and unpack it when it's done. And, seeing that your brothers knew but decided to say nothing, all three of you will rake the pine needles in the backyard tomorrow."

He exhales through his nose, making his nostrils flare. "That's not fair."

"That's more than fair. I can always add chores to the list if you'd like to argue further."

He clamps his lips together.

"Go wash up." I take the broken shards. "This needs to be wrapped in paper before we put it in the trash so that no one cuts their fingers on it. We better repot the plant after you've tidied the kitchen."

He pouts but turns to follow my order. I watch him as he walks off with heavy steps and inward-curling shoulders, imitating a sulking hulk. I heave a sigh of my own. Can we just have one day without incidents?

The ringtone I reserve for the school sounds in my pocket.

Apparently not.

I pull out my phone and swipe across the screen before pressing it against my ear.

"Mr. Russo? It's Mrs. Nieddo, the principal. My apologies for calling so late, but one of the parents just contacted me about an incident that took place at school today."

"What happened?"

"Johan sold drugs to one of the pupils."

I blow out a long breath. "What kind of drugs?"

"Marijuana."

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I say, "I'll take the issue up with him. How would you like to handle it from your side?"

"I don't have a choice but to suspend him for a couple of days with a written warning. If it happens again, he'll be expelled indefinitely. Social services may suggest a school for children with behavioral problems." She hesitates. "The parents may decide to file charges. In that case?—"

"Yeah. I know. Drug dealing and selling to a minor."

She clears her throat. "We take this very seriously at my school, Mr. Russo."

"Understood," I bite out. "It won't happen again."

"Let's hope so." She hesitates.

"Was there anything else?" I ask with impatience, eager to end this conversation.

"I, um—I don't know how to phrase this, but you're not going to, eh-hem, make problems for the school or the parents of the plaintiff?"

Meaning, am I going to shoot anyone? "No," I drawl. "I'm not going to make problems."

"All right." She sounds relieved. "That's good to know. It's my duty to deal with this, but I don't want trouble."

"You won't have any," I say in a dry tone. "Good evening, Mrs. Nieddo."

Her voice is high-pitched. "Have a good weekend, Mr. Russo."

"I'll try."

Her swallow is audible on the other end of the line.

Sabella and Sophie step out of the room just as I swipe the button to end the call.

"Trouble?" Sabella asks, placing a hand on Sophie's shoulder.

I look at my wife and my niece. I love both of them but each differently. My affection for Sophie runs deep. I love her like I loved Adeline and my mother. I understand that kind of attachment. I have a framework for classifying it.

My love for Sabella is unlike anything I've experienced. It flows through my veins and beats in my heart. It's as if we're the same being living in two bodies. Without her, I'll be like that plant in the broken pot. If she's ever ripped away from me, I'll shrivel up and die. Not physically. But in every way that matters. That's why I need her. It goes deeper than sex. I can't do this without her. I can't handle the kids alone. I can't live like before when she was nothing but a concept and a vague idea in my head. And yes, a part of me fucking resents her for reducing me to a man who's no longer whole.

But I don't tell her this. I can't make myself that vulnerable. I have too many people depending on me now—the children, employees, and family.

Instead, I say, "I'll tell you later."