Chapter 12

12

Creed

“ C reed, there’s something I need to tell you,” Zara declares.

Her serious tone and the use of my name, possibly for the first time, momentarily distract me from the stench coming from the cargo area.

The sight of her in that sexy as fuck dress is also distracting, which is why I keep stealing glances at her.

I can’t help but try to lighten the mood by using her own words from earlier. “Let me guess. You’re also in the mafia?”

With a puff of laughter, she says, “Ha! Funny, but no. I’m just married to the mafia.”

I know without looking that she’s staring down at her new ring with a frown like she has since we got in the SUV. She hates it. And I’m not entirely sure why. Because it’s heavy? Because it ties her to me?

“I should’ve told you sooner. I know… ”

She makes it sound like it’s something awful. When she leaves me hanging, I grit my teeth and take a guess with the worst thing I can think of at the moment. “You knew Izaiah was going to try to get me and my brother killed that night?”

“No, it’s not that.”

I make another guess, relieved she said she wasn’t in on Izaiah’s plan. “You’ve helped killed someone before?”

“Izaiah was definitely the first.”

“Then what are you so afraid to tell me, wife?” Using that word for a woman I just met feels strange but right for Zara. “It can’t be that bad, since nothing is worse than murder.”

“The reason I didn’t tell you before the marriage ceremony was because I thought you may change your mind and go with the easier option.”

“Okay.” My curiosity may kill me if she doesn’t spit it out soon. “So just tell me now. I can handle it.”

“I have a daughter.”

“You what?” The SUV briefly swerves to the right when I glance over at her too fast. Wrecking the vehicle with a dead man in the back would be less than ideal.

It takes me several long moments to straighten the SUV and come to terms with just finding out that Zara has a daughter.

I recall a birth certificate in the document file the PI emailed me, but I barely glanced at it as I scrolled past, assuming it was hers and not giving a shit about what day she was born.

“You have a daughter?”

“Yes.”

“What’s her name? How old is she? Where is she?”

If she has a daughter, then now that we’re married, I guess that makes me the girl’s stepfather.

“Her name is Oriana,” Zara informs me. “She just turned three on July fourteenth. She’s bossy and loves Disney princesses, but that’s about all I really know about her. Bringing her into this world was the best day of my life, the most amazing reward for surviving the hottest summer ever when I was gigantic. But…”

When I glance over, Zara is staring down at the diamond ring she’s spinning around and around her finger. My ring that makes her all mine now. “But?” I prompt after she abruptly halts her explanation.

“The Rovinas took her from me the day after she was born, when we were both released from the hospital.”

Jesus H. Christ.

“The Rovinas have sole custody of your three-year-old daughter?”

“Yes. Although, it’s nothing official that I know of. I never tried to fight for custody because I can’t afford an attorney, much less one to go up against theirs. I don’t even have visitation rights. I-I’m only allowed to see her for an hour or so per month with their permission. Permission that I usually had to earn by fulfilling favors first…”

Fuck. That explains her connection to Izaiah Rovina. I thought they were lovers and hated the idea. I had no fucking clue they shared a child, a daughter.

“I never knew…they’ve never mentioned he was a father…” I trail off.

“They keep Oriana and me both a secret. I don’t think the rest of the family even knows about us, just Izaiah and Emilio…”

I’m so hung up on the fact that she has a kid with Izaiah that it takes several moments for the last part of her previous comment to sink into my skull.

Favors? She said she had to earn visitation by fulfilling favors. “You…you had to fuck Izaiah to spend time with your daughter?”

As soon as she nods, my eyes return to the road in front of me, not really seeing the lines or other cars through the rage.

I welcome the stink of that bastard now and wish I had killed him slower for Carmine and for Zara .

“Oriana is the reason I did what Izaiah asked me to do that night at the club. He told me that if I gave the manager the message warning you and let him know when you showed up, then I could spend that Sunday morning with her at the zoo. I swear I had no idea it was a setup to try and kill you or arrest you. If I did, I wouldn’t have agreed to do it, not even for a morning with her when I barely get to see her once a month.”

“Jesus, Zara. Why didn’t you tell me about this shit before?”

“I wasn’t sure if you would want to marry me because it complicates things with the Rovinas. And I know you could still change your mind even now, but I wanted you to know, to understand why I did it.”

“I wouldn’t have called off the marriage for anything,” I admit to her. “I manipulated you into marrying me…”

“It was a fair offer after what I did,” she says, making me feel like shit.

“You should’ve told me you had a daughter the second you saw me sitting in your apartment.”

“Have you forgotten how furious you were with me last night before Izaiah showed up? Do you really think you would have believed me if I had told you then?”

“I don’t kill mothers. That’s one of my hard and fast rules. No exceptions.”

“There was no way for me to know that, or to know if you were cruel enough to hurt her just because of the Rovinas!”

“I don’t hurt or kill children either,” I tell her. “Fuck, Zara. That’s what you think of me?”

“Do you blame me after I watched you put a bullet in Izaiah’s head without flinching? People call you the Accabadore , the angel of death.”

“Izaiah was a piece of shit who deserved to die for killing my brother!”

“For all I knew, you could’ve enjoyed killing just for fun. ”

“I don’t kill for fun. Most of the time, I even hate myself afterward.”

“Oh,” Zara whispers.

Neither of us speak for several miles. Eventually, she asks, “Do you hate yourself for killing Izaiah?”

“No. I’ll never regret that decision or feel guilty.”

“Good. Because I don’t regret it either,” she whispers.

“You don’t?” I ask in surprise.

Leaning her head on the window, most likely to gulp down some fresh air, Zara smiles when she says, “I can’t wait to throw him in the ocean and watch him sink to the bottom.”

Looking at this beautiful, happy woman in my passenger seat, wearing her satin and lace gown, her loose auburn strands of hair blowing in the wind, I can’t help but feel that despite our many differences, we share plenty of common ground.

The enemy of my enemy isn’t just my friend.

Now, she’s my wife.

I killed for Zara when I hated her. Before I ever knew the reason why she lured me to the club that night, I protected her.

Hearing what she’s been through, that she has a daughter she loves and would do anything for, I know I won’t just kill for her again.

I’d go to war for her.