Chapter 36

36

Creed

“ I wish I could’ve been the one to enlighten Izaiah with the truth about Oriana being your daughter,” I say to the psychotic monster. “I’m surprised Zara never informed him of what you were doing to her.”

“She didn’t say a word because I threatened to never let her see Oriana again if she told a soul.”

I fucking hate seeing Emilio Rovina touching Zara, holding his knife to her throat like it’s all that’s keeping her upright. My beautiful wife looks like she’s barely hanging on, so weak she’s about to fall apart. I can’t tell how bad her injuries are from ten feet away.

I have to keep my gaze solely focused on her face instead of the bloody, burnt mess spread across her chest. I can’t afford to think about how much pain she must be in right now when I need to finish setting up Emilio, but I have no doubt she’s in agony and trying not to show it .

“She’ll do absolutely anything for her daughter, and I do mean anything .” Emilio chuckles while every word out of his mouth is sealing his fate.

Keep talking, motherfucker. You’re going to be dead soon enough.

“Those first few months after Oriana was born, Zara was enthusiastic in performing any act I demanded,” Emilio says, driving the knife he’s holding to her throat into my chest. “And when she was a week late delivering, well, we had a marathon of fucking until she finally went into labor.”

“You’re a disgusting son of a bitch,” I tell him.

“She’s just as filthy as I am. Do you really think she’s worth starting a war with my family? How many of your men do you think will die for her? You’ve already lost your brother and four men. I’ve lost a son and four men as well. We’re even. Let me walk out the door with her, and we’ll call a truce.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind. And you’re a pussy for using a woman as a shield. And I know for a fact that you won’t ever slit her throat. Just like you could never slit Martha’s.”

Emilio visibly flinches at the mention of his dying wife.

“Does Martha know about Oriana?” I ask him. “How about Saint, Stella, or Cami?”

“Will you enjoy telling my Martha and my children about my bastard before or after Zara’s funeral?” Emilio asks.

“I’ll make you a deal, Emilio. Type up a little goodbye note to your family, slit your wrists with that knife instead, and I swear to you that Martha and your children won’t ever learn the truth. Your wife can die in the dark, without knowing you’re a nasty piece of shit. Wouldn’t you rather she thought you died from the grief of losing Izaiah rather than trying to save your dirty little secret?”

When he doesn’t respond, I continue, “You’ve got three seconds to choose. Either you go out by your own hand and keep your secret, or I’ll make sure they all know exactly why I put a bullet in your head while we’re at war. Of course, I’ll have to kill Saint first to end it before he comes at me.”

Lifting my gun, I line up my shot, aiming for the center of his head, and start counting down. “Three, two, one —”

“Wait!” Emilio shoves Zara toward me and holds up his palms, the knife still clutched in his right hand. Zara drops so hard, I can hear her knees hit the floor, making me furious. But I don’t go to her just yet. With her on the ground, I have a better shot at Emilio. “I’ll do it. Just don’t tell them about Zara or Oriana. Promise me you won’t hurt any of them, that this bloody feud ends here.”

“I won’t hurt them. There won’t be any more bloodshed between our families,” I agree. “Now, where’s your phone?”

“In my pocket.”

“Put the knife on the table and keep your hands up.” Once he complies, I yell out, “Dre!” When he’s next to me, I tell him, “Give me your gun, go type out the message in an email, and have it sent to himself.”

“Yes, sir,” he agrees, handing over his Glock to keep it out of Emilio’s reach.

Since Dre is wearing leather gloves, he grumbles, “Fucking mother fucker,” when it takes him a moment to retrieve the phone from Emilio’s pocket. Holding it in front of Emilio’s face, he unlocks the device, then it takes several more minutes of him tapping the screen repeatedly to pull up the mail app thanks to the leather.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

I begin slowly dictating, “To my loving family, I’m sorry for any pain I’ve caused. I wish I had found Izaiah the help he needed to get him sober. He was taken from us too soon because of his addiction, and for that, I cannot ever forgive myself. To my Martha, live out your final days in peace, knowing our son and I are both waiting for you, darling. Saint, take care of our family and your sisters. I know you’re strong enough to handle whatever may come. Stella, I have no doubt you’ll do your part to protect our family as well by strengthening it with an unbreakable alliance. The Ferraros will help you get through hard times. Cami, I hope you find happiness in whatever you do. I love you all. Please forgive me, Emilio.”

“Does that sound like something you would write?” Dre asks the stronzo as his fingers finish typing in what will be the man’s final words.

“Yes.”

“Send it.”

“Done,” Dre agrees once it goes through.

I have to give it to the bastard; Emilio doesn’t shed a tear as we wind down the end of his life. Despite all the awful shit he’s done, the fact that he actually loved his family and didn’t want his wife to learn his secret or his last son to die, will make my life easier by framing his death as a mourning father’s suicide rather than vengeance.

“Can we trust you with the knife or do you need help with that too?” I ask the bastard.

“You swear they won’t find out?”

“I swear it on my father’s grave.” While I could easily break that promise, since I don’t give a shit about my old man, I won’t tell his family. Only hurt will come from the disgusting truth. Not to mention, it would raise more questions about Izaiah and Emilio’s death possibly causing them to point fingers at Zara.

“Then do it already,” Emilio grumbles.

“Dre?” I ask, since he’s already over there. “Will you do the honors?”

“The honors of slicing up my future wife’s asshole father? Sure, why the hell not,” he mutters, sounding more put out about this than Emilio.

“Make it look real.”

Nodding, Dre picks up the knife in his gloved hand, then wraps Emilio’s right hand and fingers around it. As he places the sharp edge to the man’s wrist, Zara turns around on her hands and knees to watch.

“Good riddance,” she says, having the final word before Dre makes the cut with one hand, then the other. All that’s left is to wait.

“Oriana?” Zara asks me, as if we’re not watching the life drain from the son of a bitch. Dre lets go, and he drops to the floor, the knife clattering.

Putting the guns down on the table, I take out my phone and check my messages from Tristan as I go over and kneel in front of Zara, glad I can give her more good news. “She’s on the way to the penthouse with the nannies, Tristan, and several of my men.”

“I’m so glad the nannies are okay too. And the guns…?”

“Not a single shot was fired in front of her.”

“Oh, thank god. No, thank you, Creed. I knew you’d save her for me.”

“You can see her safe and sound back at the penthouse soon.”

“Good. Thank fuck you were nearby.”

“I had a cop trace Emilio’s phone, narrowing down the location,” I explain.

“I hoped you were coming…but wasn’t sure how long it would take.”

I gently grasp her face between my hands. “How badly are you hurt? What the hell did he do to you, baby?”

“He wanted me to admit that you killed Izaiah. I didn’t, though. I wouldn’t…”

“God, I’m so fucking sorry, micetta mia .”

It’s my fault he hurt her. And my sweet, beautiful wife refused to give in, to give me up, even though she knew he’d keep hurting her, knew he already suspected me. That’s how damn strong this woman is; she refuses to let anyone break her.

Zara takes a deep breath and winces. “It’s just a few broken fingers and toes.” Holding up her right hand, it’s clear two digits are curled in the wrong direction. “This is the worst, only because it may never heal.” She gestures to her tattered shirt, revealing her mangled chest... and that son of a bitch’s name written, burnt , into her skin.

“Fuck, baby. Fuck,” Tears well up in my eyes now that it’s all over. I blink them away, refusing to cry for her when she’s the one who endured the pain and survived it. And I sure as hell don’t want her to know how much I loathe seeing Izaiah’s name on her beautiful, perfect body instead of her cute freckles.

“We’ll find you a doctor tonight. Then get a plastic surgeon to fix the damage. Or a tattoo artist. We could get a design drawn to cover it.”

“You don’t want to touch me while his name is on me, do you?” she whispers.

“Oh, micetta mia . I’d want to touch you if his name was written in your skin a million times over. I’m just so damn relieved you’re alive. I’m so sorry, baby. I wish I could kill Emilio and Izaiah over and over again for all the pain they caused you.”

“Thankfully, it’s all over now.” Her shoulders slump, and my entire body tenses.

“I wish it were that easy.”

“What…what do you mean?” she asks.

“We’re going to make this look like a suicide, but if anything goes sideways, it will start an all-out war. I hope not, but if it comes to that, the bloodshed may never end until all of us are dead. I don’t want you or Oriana anywhere near that shit.”

“So…what does that mean for us?”

“I’ll make new arrangements with Gideon to get you and Oriana out of the country. I’ll try to get you on a boat first thing tomorrow morning.”

“So, after everything, you’re just going to send me away? That’s it? It was all for nothing? ”

“All for nothing?” I repeat in confusion. “You’re alive. Oriana is going to be with you. The safest thing I can do is send you away. You know it’s not because I don’t love you.”

“If you loved me, then you would want us to stay.”

“It’s not safe. I’m going to prison soon, and if anything like this happened to you again while I was away...”

“It wouldn’t be your fault, Creed. Why can’t we talk about this? Why can’t it be my decision too?”

“Because you don’t know how fucked the streets of New York could get.”

“And neither do you! Maybe the Rovinas will buy the suicide and not question it.”

“We both know that’s probably not going to happen. Saint already hates me. And it’s not just the Rovinas. If Bowen Bertelli is a traitor, then his father might still protect him when I try to take him out. Don’t you see? My life is going to be dangerous all the damn time now, and it always will be until I’m dead.”

“I understand the risks.”

“No, Zara, you don’t. And if anything happened to Oriana, you would blame me, and you’d be right to do so. I don’t want that to happen. I couldn’t stand it if you hated me. So please, baby, just let me make the arrangements for you to leave.”

A tear slips down one of her cheeks and then the other. “You promised me you’d never force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. Well, I don’t want to leave you. If you send me away, I will never forgive you.”

“Good,” I reply, even if her words feel like daggers shoved between my ribs. “Don’t forgive me. You shouldn’t. I don’t deserve to be with someone like you. And you, you deserve to have a peaceful life where nobody manipulates you or forces you to do anything to be with your daughter. I’m so sorry you’ve spent all these years being under Emilio’s thumb. But you’re free now. Take it. Enjoy it. ”

Her shoulders slump. “You still don’t trust me, do you? Or is it you still don’t think you deserve good things because you blame yourself for your brother’s death?”

“Zara, I trust you and love you more than anyone else in this world. That’s why I’m letting you go.” Even though my next words will no doubt hurt her, I still say them, wanting to make this separation easier for her. “You got exactly what you wanted from me all along — I stole back your daughter for you and killed Emilio and Izaiah. You’re free now; you don’t have to keep pretending you want to be with me.”

Pressing her palms to the ground, she pushes herself up, wincing and gasping in pain to get to her feet. Then she hobbles toward the door.

And I don’t try to stop her, even though I want to chase after her and beg her to forget everything I just said and stay with me.

But I can’t do that.

Not after all she’s been through the past seven years. It wouldn’t be fair to her to convince her to stay when I know the future is going to be rocky, starting with three and a half shitty years behind bars.

“You good, man?” Dre asks.

“Yeah. I’m good,” I lie as I get back to my feet and glance over at the corpse on the floor. “Thank you for taking care of him. I’m sorry it ended this way.”

“Me too,” he agrees. “But I’m relieved we found Zara in time. You can relax now.” He pats my shoulder before picking up his gun from the table.

It was stupid for me to ever doubt Dre, to think that he wanted me out of the way, so he could take my place.

Nobody in their right mind would want my job as the capo dei capi.

This lifestyle is so fucked up, it constantly has me questioning who I can and can’t trust to kill me or rat me out to the cops. Or who will die next because of me.

“How is Zara?” he asks.

“She’ll have some scars, some bones that need to heal, but she’ll be okay.”

“Well, you look like someone just ran over your puppy instead of scooping it up and saving it from the middle of the street. You’re serious about sending her away after everything?”

“I hate it. I do. Of course, I want her to stay. But I can’t. Our necks are all on the line now. Shit is going to be tense for a while, then we’re all going to be locked up.”

“Yeah, I doubt Stella will take the news of me killing dear old dad very well either.”

“She won’t find out,” I assure him. “We’re taking the guards with us. Emilio’s death will look like a suicide. As long as we don’t leave any breadcrumbs behind, we might be okay.”

“You’re not going to be okay without her, man. Admit it.”

“Zara’s been through hell. It’s time for her to be free and live her life on her own terms for once. She told me...”

“Told you what?” he asks when I hesitate.

“She told me I was the first man of her choosing she’d ever slept with.”

“Fuck. That’s brutal. Especially when you didn’t believe she actually wanted you.”

“No, I didn’t. I should’ve, but everything was so fucked up. Even with him torturing her, she was determined to make sure I knew Bowen Bertelli helped Izaiah with the raid and gave her up today.”

“That fucker’s funeral is next on the agenda,” he remarks.

“We’ll have to be careful about how we handle it. The last thing we need is to have two families coming after us. One is plenty.”

“That little figlio di puttana is going to pay for killing Carmine and Jasper one of these days, though. ”

“Yes, he will,” I promise him. “I’m sure we can come up with something in a few months to make it look like an accident once all this dies down.”

“Of course we can.”

“Just as soon as things are settled with the Rovinas. And before we go to prison,” I tell him. “For now, we need to clean up any trace of Zara in this building and get a doctor to the penthouse to clean those wounds.”