34. Alexis

34

I… I just killed someone.

Again.

But this time, I meant to do it.

My hands tremble as I stare down at Scarlett's lifeless body. I can't believe I just killed her. The gravity of my actions is only beginning to sink in.

But then, an even more shocking revelation comes crashing down on me. The Don of Invicta is my father.

How could this be happening? An Invicta member held me at gunpoint all those months ago when I first escaped from the Carter house. Did my father know who I was? Why didn't he try to rescue me?

I feel utterly disoriented, as if the world around me has shifted into an alternate reality. One moment, I'm a woman about to be sold in a human trafficking ring. The next, I'm a killer learning that my father is the Don of a criminal empire.

This can't be real, I tell myself as my eyes dart around the room, watching as Iacopelli and Invicta men round up the rest of the remaining Brotherhood members. I'm going to wake up any minute now in my bed at the mansion. This has to be a nightmare.

But the stark, unforgiving truth refuses to fade.

My father—the man I assumed had abandoned me and my mother—is the very embodiment of the darkness I have been running from.

A million questions swirl in my mind—was he involved in Invicta when I was born? What unspeakable acts has he committed? Did he truly love my mother? Why did he leave us?

I feel like I'm drowning, the weight of this revelation crashing down on me. I open my mouth, desperate to scream, to purge this nightmare from my mind, but all that escapes is a strangled sob, tears streaming down my face.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

Damian wraps me in his arms, the smell of his cologne enveloping me as he murmurs something about my being safe into my ear. Vaguely, I can feel him pry the gun from my hands, but I feel so cold.

Safe? How can I be safe when I've just taken another life? I was the one who pulled the trigger, who purposefully ended Scarlett's life. I'm the reason she's lying on the ground, dead.

A thought horrifies me. Am I more like my father than I ever realized? Does that make me just as much a monster as him?

The guilt and anguish threaten to consume me. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing this all to be a horrible nightmare that I can wake up from. But the stark reality refuses to fade—I killed Scarlett Rafa.

Damian's arms tighten around me, and I can feel the concern radiating off him. "Alexis, look at me. You had no choice. She would have killed you."

His words do little to ease the turmoil within me. I may have acted in self-defense, but that doesn't change the fact that I've taken a life. I'm no better than The Brotherhood.

"I'm a monster," I whisper brokenly. "Just like him."

I know Damian is trying to comfort me, to reassure me that I did what I had to do. But in this moment, all I can see is the darkness that now resides within me—the darkness that links me to my father, the Don of Invicta.

How can I ever be safe when I'm capable of such violence?

Damian's lips press against my temple, and I sag against him, watching the scene unfold before me with dull eyes.

Iacopelli soldiers capture a screaming Emma. She's thrashing and begging them to let her go, insisting that she's done nothing wrong, that she's innocent. But I feel nothing for my foster sister. I simply watch as they drag her away, her cries echoing in the ballroom.

Is this how she felt when Mark and her parents dragged me to the basement?

I should feel something—anger, sadness, maybe even a lingering twinge of protectiveness? But all I can muster is an eerie detachment, as if I'm watching this all unfold from the outside, disconnected from the gravity of it all.

Damian murmurs soothing words, trying to pull me back, but I can't seem to focus on anything beyond the hollow sensation coursing through me. I've taken a life, and now I'm witnessing the aftermath, yet I feel nothing.

Am I truly becoming like my father? Cold, calculating, unmoved by the suffering of others? The thought should terrify me, but it only serves to deepen the emptiness I feel.

Emma's screams fade as she's escorted out of the ballroom. I find I don't care what happens to her.

My father—Bobby—appears with a bound, gagged, and battered Vincente. He glares at us through bruised eyes with a mix of rage and fear. His gaze is especially pointed toward Damian.

Bobby yanks Vincente closer. "Found the rat trying to escape," he says grimly before turning to his men. "Take him and that screaming girl to the basement."

I shrink back as Bobby tries to approach me, pushing myself further into Damian's arms. The numbness I felt moments ago has given way to a deep sense of unease. This is all becoming too much to bear.

"Katie," I murmur. "Where's Katie?"

"Who's Katie?" Damian asks, smoothing my hair.

"The little girl—the one who was going to be sold" —I choke on the word— "like me. I promised her I would get her home. Damian, please, you have to help me get her home."

I can't bear the thought of Katie being caught up in this twisted web of criminal dealings. She deserves to be safe, away from this nightmare.

I promised her. I promised her I would get her back to her mom and dad. I'm not going to break that promise—not like all the other adults in my life did to me.

"We'll find her," Damian promises, stroking my cheek. "We'll get her home."

The Don of Invicta watches me impassively, his gaze unwavering. His hazel eyes—my eyes—bore into mine, seemingly searching for something.

I turn my head away, unable to look at him any longer.

All I'm focused on is finding Katie, even if it means risking everything. Katie's wellbeing is the only thing that matters. I will move heaven and earth to protect her, to make good on the promise I made to reunite her with her family.

Damian and I quickly begin our search for Katie, our eyes scanning the chaotic ballroom as we step over the bodies of fallen Brotherhood members.

"Katie!" I call out, my voice tinged with desperation. "Katie, honey, where are you? Please come out!"

The longer we search and can't find her, the more my panic builds. How can I ever be a good mother to my baby if I can't even keep this young girl safe? The guilt and self-doubt threaten to consume me.

Suddenly, Damian shouts from across the room. "Alexis! I found her!"

I rush over to where he's crouched, and there, huddled in a tiny space beneath the stage, is Katie. Her eyes are wide with terror, her small frame shaking uncontrollably.

"Katie," I breathe, my heart aching at the sight of her obvious distress.

Without hesitation, I reach down and scoop her into my arms, holding her close. Tears stream down her cheeks as she clings to me, her tiny fingers grasping at my clothes.

"It's okay, Katie," I murmur, my own tears falling as I rock her gently. "You're safe now. I've got you."

The relief I feel is palpable, but it's tinged with a deep sorrow for the trauma this child has endured. She shouldn't have to be this afraid, this broken. It's a harsh reminder of the horrors she's faced—the horrors she almost just faced.

Damian places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Let's get her out of here," he says softly. "She shouldn't see the carnage."

I nod, tightening my embrace around Katie as we make our way out of the ballroom. The young girl's trembling subsides slightly, but the haunted look in her eyes is a reminder of the scars she'll have to carry.

As we step into the main hallway, Katie lets out a shuddering breath and looks up at me. "You found me," she whispers, her voice laced with disbelief and relief.

I press a gentle kiss to her forehead, unable to help myself as my own tears flow freely. "I promised I would, didn't I?" I murmur.

As Damian moves closer, Katie suddenly clings tighter to me, her terror returning. I can see the alarm in Damian's eyes, but he quickly recovers, holding up his hands in a calming gesture.

"Katie," he says gently, "my name is Damian. I'm one of the good guys, I promise."

I can't help but find a touch of irony in the fact that the Don of the Iacopellis is calling himself a "good guy", but I'll let it slide for now. The most important thing is making Katie feel safe and comfortable.

Damian pauses, considering his next move. Then, a small smile plays at the corner of his lips. "Hey, Katie," he says softly, "would you like to see a picture of my dog, Biscotti?"

Katie's eyes widen slightly, but she still refuses to let go of me. Damian simply nods and pulls out his phone, beginning to scroll through photos and videos of his girl.

As Damian narrates the pictures, his tone warm and inviting, I can see the tension slowly start to leave the child's body. She doesn't release her grip on me, but her eyes are glued to the screen, mesmerized by the images of the dog.

Damian chuckles as he shows a video of Biscotti chasing one of the Iacopelli soldiers, and I watch as a flicker of a smile crosses Katie's face. It's a small, fragile thing, but it fills me with a sense of hope.

"Biscotti looks like a fun friend," Katie murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

Damian nods, his expression one of genuine warmth. Is this how he was with Alessandra?

"She is," he says. "She's my best girl. She'd love to meet you, if you'd like."

Katie's gaze flits between Damian and me, as if seeking my approval. I offer her a reassuring smile, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

"I think that would be nice," I say softly. "Biscotti is a very good dog. She would like you."

The tension in Katie's shoulders eases slightly, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Though she's still clinging to me, the sight of her relaxing, even if just a little, is a testament to Damian's compassion and patience.

He'll be such a wonderful father, I think to myself, imagining him holding a little girl with dark, curly hair and hazel eyes. It warms my heart.

As we continue to sit with Katie, sharing stories of Biscotti's antics, I can't help but feel a surge of love and gratitude toward Damian. In the midst of this chaos, he's found a way to offer comfort and solace to a traumatized child, proving that there is indeed a glimmer of light in the darkness.