Chapter 47

47

A week later

Axel

I walk up the path that leads to my new home. After the Sovranos left with Theresa—I didn't see her after that insulting goodbye that she didn't deserve. Call me a coward, but I knew if I saw her face again, I'd haul her to me and ask her to forgive me, and I couldn't let that happen. For her own safety, it's best that I maintain my distance from her. At least, until I untangle this mess that is my life. I marched into the police headquarters the next day and met my boss. I gave him the abbreviated versions of events—it's always best to stick as close to the truth as possible—and shared just enough information on the Sovranos so he wouldn't suspect that I was trying to hide anything from him. It was helpful that I had information about Trinity and their efforts to move everything toward the right side of the law. Everything was going swimmingly. Well, until I told him I wanted to resign. James was suspicious, of course. He's a cop, and his instincts must have prompted him to ask me if I had fallen in love with the woman I married.

I didn't deny it, nor did I answer the question. I slipped my hand into my pocket and toyed with the ring that I had taken off before walking in there. Yeah, I wasn't able to take it off earlier, nor could I bring myself to start divorce proceedings. I mean, it's only been a week, but yes, I still have feelings for her. Turns out, I can't just stop myself from thinking about her, dreaming about her, wanting her, needing her, tasting her essence on my tongue, sensing her curves under my fingertips. Goddamn it, I'm a goner. I know I hurt her with what I did, but damn, if I didn't hurt myself more.

James refused my resignation. He told me I was too important of an asset. He told me to debrief the assignment to the rest of my team, then to make sure I had written up my notes, including any incriminating evidence to help them crack down on those within the organized crime groups with which I had interacted. Then, he ordered me to take some paid time off, as much as I need, until I've cleared my head, and think about whether I want to continue with the assignment or not. I was too exhausted to argue with him, so I complied. At least, I no longer have to keep in touch with my team and send them updates on my assignment. One less lie to live, for which I am grateful.

I decided to move out of the house which I had occupied throughout the time I was undercover. I had gotten used to the place, I admit, but the fact that Freddie was able to get through my guards and my security left a bad taste in my mouth.

I opted to move into an apartment block in an upcoming suburb of London. Now, I push the door open and walk in. The floor-to-ceiling windows at the end of the living room frame the view of an illuminated London Bridge, and beyond that, the lights of the city spread out. Without bothering to turn on the lights, I walk toward the view. My footsteps echo through the empty room.

I moved in, but I haven't had the motivation to furnish it yet. I left everything in the house when I moved out, since it was all a part of the undercover fa?ade and didn't belong to me. The only furniture I have now is the mattress in the bedroom. I mean, I need a place to sleep, right?

I slide my hand in my pocket, and my fingers brush the hair tie that I've never stopped carrying around with me. I pull it out and stare at the sparkly purple color. So like her—vivacious and full of life. And I sent her away. I'm responsible for hurting her again… And after I swore that I'd never do anything to harm her. I did the right thing, so why am I still carrying around her hair-tie like a love-sick fool? You know why. I slide the hair band into my pocket.

A slight noise behind me makes me stiffen. The hair on the back of my neck prickles. Every muscle in my body tenses as I force myself to breathe… I raise my gaze and take in the shadow visible in the glass pane in front. He draws closer … closer… When he reaches for me, I swerve, then turn and grab his outstretched arm, flip him around and lock him in a chokehold.

"Fuck," he swears, "let go of me, you stronzo ."

He's my height, built like me, and wears a tailor-made suit. He also swears in Italian… Fuck. I release him, and he spins around to face me.

"The fuck, you pezzo di merda !" Christian scowls at me.

"That's what happens when you sneak up on me, you wanker," I snap.

"I wasn't sneaking up?—"

"You broke into my apartment?—"

"The door was open," he points out.

"Fuck." I drag my fingers through my hair. Clearly, I was seriously distracted if I forgot to shut and lock the door to my own apartment. "Fucking, fuck." I brush past him and head for the breakfast counter and the bottle of whiskey that I had placed there. I open it, then chug down a mouthful straight from the bottle.

"Classy," Christian murmurs, as I turn to face him.

"The fuck you doing here?" I growl.

"More like, the fuck you doing here?" He slides his hands into his pockets, and goddamn, but his stance is so similar to what mine was just a few seconds ago. A hot sensation stabs at my chest. I raise the bottle to my lips and take another swig of the alcohol.

"You going to share that?" He jerks his chin in my direction.

"No," I say through gritted teeth as the alcohol hits my stomach. Warmth radiates to my extremities; too bad, my heart is still encased in ice.

He laughs. "Goddamn, but you are stubborn."

"Why did you come here?" I wipe the back of my palm over my mouth.

He widens his stance. "I could say that it's a social visit, but both you and I would know that I was lying."

I tilt my head.

He moves forward and pauses on the other side of the counter. "What are you doing, Axel?" His blue eyes, almost the same color as mine, meet my gaze.

"What does it look like?" I crack my neck. "I'm living my life."

"Not much of an existence, is it?" He glances around the space. "Is this how you plan to live the rest of your life, alone?"

"It's how I've lived thus far," I retort.

"Doesn't mean it has to be this way moving forward."

"So, what, you want me to return to the bosom of the family and embrace my Mafioso roots?"

"I never said that."

"You're beginning to bore me." I pretend to yawn. "If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, get the fuck out." I raise the bottle of whiskey, and he swoops out and grabs it. The whiskey spills over my sweatshirt, and some of it splashes onto the counter. "Fuck," I swear, "that's good whiskey, man."

He yanks at the bottle again. I release it, and it crashes to the counter. Pieces of glass scatter from the point of impact and crash to the floor.

Anger squeezes my gut, and my heart slams into my chest. Adrenaline laces my blood, and with a growl, I throw myself across the counter and at him. He moves aside, and the momentum carries me over the counter and toward the floor. I manage to twist my body and hit the floor on my back. The back of my head crashes against the wooden planks, and bursts of starlight flash behind my eyes. The just-healed wound at my temple protests, and my stomach churns.

"Fuck." I lay there winded as my asshole triplet stands over me.

"Still not recovered fully from being shot, eh?" He holds out his arm. "Come on; let me help you up."

I grab his hand and tug. He loses his balance and falls toward me, but I roll aside. It's his turn to hit the floor, only he falls on his front, managing to turn his body enough at the last minute so that his cheek smashes into the floor.

"Stocazzo!" he growls, then jumps back to his feet at the same time that I do. We circle each other, and I notice that he's bleeding from a cut on his temple.

"You're not strong enough to take me on, you testa di cazzo !"

"Try me, you piece of shit." I bare my teeth as I rush toward him at the same time that he moves toward me. We crash into each other and end up with our arms around each other as we grapple. I manage to grab the back of his neck and squeeze. He grips my shoulders and applies enough pressure that pain shoots down both of my arms. Chest to chest, we grunt and try to push the other off his feet. Sweat pours down my temple, my T-shirt under my sweatshirt clings to my back. His gaze narrows; his color is high as he bares his teeth.

"You pulled a gun on my wife, you bastard." He snaps his head forward, and his forehead connects with my nose.

"Fuck," I yell as pain slices through my head. Blood spurts from my nose. "Why the hell did you do that!"

"You shot me, motherfucker," he growls.

I hook my leg behind his knee and yank it forward. He loses his balance and falls back. The impetus carries me along, and we both hit the floor and roll over before we come to a stop, both on our backs. My chest heaves as I draw in a breath. Every bone in my body seems to hurt. A headache builds behind my eyes.

"F-u-c-k!" I curl my fingers into fists and slam them into the floor. "Fuck this shit!"

Next to me, he lays on his back, his breath coming in pants. For a few seconds, we stay where we have fallen, our breathing gradually returning to normal. Finally, I force my eyelids open, ignore the pain that thumps at the back of my head, and stagger to my feet. I shake my head to clear it, but that only makes it hurt more. I hold out my arm.

He raises his gaze to my face and must see something of my inner turmoil there, for he nods, then grabs my hand. I heave him to his feet, and for a few seconds, we stare at each other.

"You okay?"

"You okay?" I say at the same time.

We both laugh, then break apart.

"I'm not sorry I punched you." He jerks his chin.

"I'm sorry I had to blackmail Aurora and pull a gun on her," I offer.

"I haven't forgiven you for it; I may never forgive you for it," he warns.

"Understandable." I shuffle my feet. "You have to understand that I was only doing my job."

"So a cop, eh?" He scratches his chin. "Somehow, I'm not surprised."

"No?"

"Nope. I never questioned that it was my duty to follow the path of the Mafia, but Xander was torn about it. It's what happens when you're an artist, you know. He thought too much. Philosophized a bunch of shit in his head. He questioned himself a lot. It stands to reason that you would be the one to go straight."

"I'm not sure I'm going back."

"No?" He scowls. "Why not?"

I turn away, head toward one of the kitchen shelves, and pull down a bottle of ibuprofen. I shake out two and swallow them with some tap water. Then reach for the spare bottle of whiskey—one of the few things I managed to stock up on. It seemed more of a priority than furnishing the place. I grab two glasses, pour out the whiskey, and walk back to offer one to him.

"Not good to mix alcohol with painkillers," he points out.

"Fuck that." I toss back the alcohol, then pour more into my glass.

Christian takes a sip, then nurses his glass. "That's how I used to think, before I got married. It changed everything." He laughs.

"You love her?"

"Love her?" He chuckles. "I can't live without her. Even now, as I'm talking to you, my mind is on her. I can't wait to get back to her."

"I know how you feel." The words are out before I can stop myself. Fuck. I raise my glass to my mouth and drain it. The liquor burns its way down, and the harshness of the world seems to recede a little. I sway as I slam my glass onto the counter. "Uh, I think it's time you left," I blurt out.

"Hold on, back up." He shakes his head. "Did you just say what I think you did?"

"Yeah, I told you to fuck off." I reach for the bottle, and this time, he snatches it away before I get to it.

"You want to fight again?" I growl, then reach for the bottle, but he evades me.

"You can't change the topic of conversation, fratello," he mutters. "I know you miss her."

"You don't know anything," I growl.

"That may be the case," his lips kick up, "but I do know what it is to stay away from the woman you love because your ego doesn't allow you to return to her."

"I'm doing the right thing." I grip the edges of the counter. "She deserves better than me."

"No argument there from me." He smirks. "But for some inexplicable reason, Theresa is in love with you."

"Not after how I treated her." I rub the back of my head. "I broke her heart and sent her away."

"Nothing that a bout of groveling won't fix."

"You don't understand." I squeeze the bridge of my nose. "She can do better than me. It's best if I start divorce proceedings and set her free to pursue a future different from mine."

"Oh?" He tilts his head. "So you'll be fine if she decides to fuck someone else? If she meets someone else and decides to share her life with him. If she?—"

I lurch forward and grab his collar.

He chuckles. "That's what I thought."

I glare at him, and the motherfucker laughs in my face. "You're a goner, man. You're so fucking pussy-whipped that you're standing here in the darkness thinking about her instead of manning up to your mistake and returning to her and asking her to take you back."

"Fuck." I tighten my grip on his collar. "Fucking fuck."

"You know I'm right." He brings his glass up to his mouth and takes a sip.

"Bloody fucking hell." I release him and lower my chin to my chest. "I'm so fucked."

"Welcome to the real world, brother," he agrees.

"What the hell am I going to do?"

"You're going to clean yourself up and put on a fresh set of clothes, then you're going to return with me to Palermo and throw yourself at her mercy."

"I can't do that," I push away from the counter and begin to pace. "I'm a cop. I don't think you realize what that means. I'm a cop, and you guys are?—"

"The Mafia? Thanks for pointing that out." He smirks.

"Though, I may not be one a few weeks from now," I raise a shoulder, "maybe that will make things easier."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm going to resign from my job."

"Why would you do that?" He scowls.

"Because we're on the opposite sides of the law?"

"So?"

"So?" I turn on him. "Aren't you listening to me? I can't remain a cop and be part of only the most notorious criminal family in all of Europe?"

"Why not?"

"Jesus, fuck!" I glare at him. "Are you listening to yourself? I'd never be trusted if it came out that my brother was the head of the Cosa Nostra."

"Why not? A lot of the fagmilia are in law enforcement, as well as in the judicial and political system."

I stare at him. "So you want me to become a spy for the Cosa Nostra and tell on my friends inside the workforce?"

"It's an opportunity, though I'd never force that on you, of course," he says seriously.

"Thanks," I retort.

"Of course, even if you stay on in the workforce, you can't continue to be undercover. There'd be a conflict of interest."

"I won't be able to turn on my colleagues," I snap.

"You were ready to turn on your family," he points out.

"I was undercover then. Also, I was hell-bent on revenge." I rub at my temple.

"And now?"

"Now, I've accepted that my ties to the Sovranos can't be broken that easily. Especially not, since my wife considers you assholes as being like her brothers."

"We're your brothers by blood; nothing changes that," he says in a soft voice.

"Which still doesn't change the fact that I'm going to have to resign." I rock back on the heels of my feet.

"Perhaps this is a chance to do something totally different," he offers.

"You mean, like start my own security company, or maybe go private?" It's something I've been thinking about lately. I drum my fingers on my chest. "That way, there is no conflict of interest or any such bullshit. I could spend time between London and Palermo, spend time with you guys, while also growing my own business."

"It would pay much better, of course. Not to mention the fact that you are one of the Sovranos, which is going to attract clients who know that you mean business," he adds.

I drag my fingers through my hair. "It could work."

"It will work." He slaps his palms on his hips.

"I'll have to give up being a cop," I say, almost to myself. Of course, I'd already considered it when I offered to resign. But talking about it and realizing that it's imminent, that it's the only way out, to give up the way of life that has defined me so far… Well, it's sobering.

"How do you feel about that?"

I crack my neck, grateful that the ibuprofen has kicked in and my headache is almost bearable now.

"Axel," he prompts, "how does the thought of quitting the police force make you feel?"

"Good." I blow out a breath. "It's the right thing to do."

"Fucking finally." He drains his glass, places it on the counter, then jerks his chin toward my bedroom. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go pack; we have a plane to catch."