The past three days it’s taken some getting used to having Skylar in my place.
Mostly, she’s quiet like the little mouse she is. She only leaves her bedroom when she has to make food, and I’ve noticed she’ll spare the TV screen no more than five minutes a day. As soon as she gets a glimpse of her father, she’ll return to her room.
She never talks unless I demand a response from her, and dark circles have formed beneath her eyes which have lost their sparkle. Even when I threaten her, they don’t shimmer with fear anymore.
It’s supposed to fill me with satisfaction. This is what I wanted. The Davies family is suffering for the part they played in Giulio’s death.
Still, as I watch Skylar prepare some kind of Asian dish, the thick silence grates against my ears.
The sound of Skylar chopping vegetables is all I hear for a while, and with every passing second, I grow increasingly agitated.
My knee starts bouncing, and my shoulders tense, my eyes following the elegant movement of my little mouse’s hands while she tosses the vegetables into some kind of watery soup.
My gaze creeps over every inch of her, the dark blue dress she’s wearing today looking beautiful on her body.
I love that she wears dresses.
The intrusive thought has a frown darkening my forehead.
Skylar drops a spoon, and I notice she’s started trembling. When she knocks over the salt, she whispers, “Can you stop staring, please?”
The agitation I’ve been feeling morphs into something unknown, and before I know what I’m doing, I lunge from the chair and grab hold of Skylar. I shove her against the counter, and when her hand slaps against the granite top, she knocks an onion to the floor. I hear it roll a few feet away while my eyes lock with her terrified ones.
Still no sparkle.
Gripping her hips, I feel a tremor wrack through her.
There’s no reason for the sudden burst of anger, and I have no words to lash out with.
We just stare at each other for a tense minute.
I feel her breaths explode over my face, her body pressed to mine as I keep her imprisoned against the counter, her chest desperately rising and falling.
When I realize my heart is hammering against my ribs, I yank away from her and stalk out of the kitchen. Reaching the elevator, I slam the button, and the moment the doors slide open, I step inside.
With my hands fisted at my sides, I take the elevator down, and when I step out, Vincenzo and Fabrizio’s heads turn in my direction from where they’re sitting in the Bentley.
“Going out?” Vincenzo asks when I climb into the back of the car.
“Yes. Take me to Franco,” I mutter. “Fabrizio, stay here and keep an eye on the woman.”
As he shoves the door open, he says, “Yes, boss.”
Vincenzo starts the engine and steers us out of the basement and onto the street.
I know my friend has his hands full with the triplets, but I need to see him.
Resting my elbow against the door, I rub my fingers over my mouth, the scene in the kitchen replaying in my mind.
I don’t know why I lost my shit. It’s unlike me. Usually I’m the calm one out of the five heads of the Cosa Nostra.
I’m the chilled and funny friend between Franco and me.
But with Skylar in my personal space, I’m finding it hard to control my rage. One look at the woman has me on the constant brink of losing my shit.
It’s because you’re faced around the clock with the woman who has Giulio’s kidney in her body.
Maybe I should just kill Skylar and Harlan and be done with it.
When Vincenzo pulls into the driveway at the back of the house, I see Marcello and Milo, Franco’s right-hand men, having a cigarette on the patio.
I throw the door open as Marcello kills the cigarette in an ashtray. His eyes lock on me, “This is a surprise.”
I can’t exchange pleasantries right now. “Where’s Franco?”
Marcello gestures to the sliding doors. “Probably in the kitchen or nursery.”
I walk into the house and check the kitchen, where I find Franco downing a cup of coffee.
His eyebrows fly up when he sees me, then his features tighten. “What’s wrong?”
“I just needed a break from my place,” I reply as I lean back against the island, crossing my arms over my chest.
“The woman?” he asks.
I just nod.
We’re quiet for a moment, then he asks, “Want to talk about it?”
I let out a sigh before muttering, “I’m thinking maybe I should just kill them and be done with it.”
“If that’s what you want to do,” Franco says, his eyes locked on my face.
“Dario will be pissed off,” I mention.
“Why?”
“He feels the woman is innocent in all of this,” I explain.
“But you don’t feel the same,” Franco states the obvious.
He sets the coffee cup down, and walking out of the kitchen, he calls out, “Follow me.”
Letting out another sigh, I follow my friend to the third floor and into a nursery that’s decorated with baby animals.
The light is dimmed. Two of the triplets are fast asleep, while the third is making baby sounds. From the blue onesie the baby has on, I know it’s Augusto, Franco’s son.
Franco reaches down and picks up Augusto, then comes closer to me. There’s a proud smile on his face as he stares down at his heir, then his eyes flick to mine.
“Hold him,” he whispers.
I shake my head and take a step back.
Franco gives me a look of warning. “Hold my fucking son, Renzo.”
Reluctantly and very fucking awkwardly, I take the baby, instantly anxious I’ll drop him.
Augusto makes a cute gurgling sound, and it looks like he’s smiling at me.
Weirdly enough, I begin to feel calmer. When I aim to touch his chubby cheek, he grabs hold of my finger. Seeing his tiny hand holding mine, my fucking heart melts.
“You’re their godfather. You should bond with them,” Franco says.
“I know. They just terrify the fuck out of me,” I admit with a soft chuckle.
“You just needed a little oxytocin to make you feel better,” Franco murmurs.
I glance at my friend. “Oxytocin?”
“Love hormones. They release when you hold babies or puppies. Why do you think I’m so much calmer? I’m constantly high on the shit.”
I let out another chuckle and have to admit, I feel better.
When Augusto starts fussing, I hand him back to Franco, who makes it look like it’s the most natural thing for him to hold a baby.
“Being a father looks good on you,” I say.
“I totally agree,” Samantha suddenly says behind me.
Glancing over my shoulder, I smile at the woman who brought my best friend to his knees. “Hey.”
When she comes into the room, I move out of the way. Samantha might have gotten used to me, but I still keep my distance from her so she won’t feel uncomfortable.
Franco told me some of the shit his wife went through before they met, and the last thing I want to do is trigger a panic attack in her.
“Let me take him so you can visit with Renzo,” she tells Franco.
He hands their son over to his wife then nods at the door.
I follow him to the living room, where he pours two tumblers of whiskey. Handing one to me, he says, “Take a seat.”
Sitting down on one of the couches, I sip on the drink while glancing around the room. There’s baby shit everywhere.
“Have you found that guy you were looking for? Castellanos.”
I shake my head, frustration flitting through my chest. “Not yet. He’s all over New York, scurrying around like a fucking rat.”
He takes a sip of his whiskey, then says, “So the woman.” Shaking his head, he mutters, “What are you doing, Renzo? It’s clearly fucking with your head and not good for you to have her around.”
I suck in a deep breath and stare at the amber liquid in my tumbler.
“I get Giulio’s death hit you hard, and you need to deal with it, but is this really the way to do it?” he asks.
Lifting my eyes to his, I mutter, “How would you deal with it if someone killed me for my kidney.”
He thinks for a moment, then lets out a heavy sigh. “I wouldn’t take anyone captive. I’d just fucking kill them all.”
“The woman included?”
Again, he thinks about it before he answers, “No. I’m going to side with Dario on this one. Her only crime is being the recipient of the kidney. She wasn’t the one who killed Giulio, and her father bought the kidney. From what I understand, she was completely unaware of what was happening behind the scenes.”
He sets his tumbler down on the coffee table, and leaning forward, he rests his forearms on his thighs. “I get it must be hard knowing Giulio’s kidney is in her body, but maybe you should rethink what you’re doing.”
I don’t respond immediately as I think about the past five weeks.
The excruciating pain of losing Giulio. The rage. The men I’ve killed and the ones I plan to torture to death. Harlan. Skylar.
“If Harlan Davies didn’t order a kidney, Giulio would still be alive,” I say.
“Then kill him.” Franco picks up his drink again. “Kill him and let the woman go.”
No.
“Because of her, I have no heir,” I mutter. “Because of her, Giulio’s dead. It starts and ends with Skylar Davies.”
Franco lets out a sigh. “What do you want me to say, Renzo? Do you want my blessing to kill the woman? Fine. Off her. It makes no difference to me. I just fucking hate seeing you like this.”
I down the rest of the whiskey, letting the alcohol burn down my throat.
Do I really want to kill her?
No.
Am I going to keep her locked in my penthouse for the rest of her life?
That means I’m stuck with her forever, and that’s a fucking long time.
Fuck.
“Or…” Franco lets the word hang in the air until I look up to meet his eyes, then he continues, “You could always marry her, and she could give you the heir you lost.”
“What. The. Fuck,” I practically gasp.
He shrugs. “Just saying. It’s another way for this thing to play out, and you’ll get an heir from it.”
“Hell no,” I growl, not even willing to consider it as an option.
“Dario says Skylar Davies is beautiful and talented,” Franco mentions. “Isn’t there any attraction?”
I give my friend an incredulous look. “Whether a woman gives me a hard-on doesn’t qualify her to be my wife.”
“Most relationships start with attraction, brother. You just need to get it up to make a baby.”
“You really think an arranged marriage is the way to go?” I chuckle, my tone still incredulous because this conversation is absurd.
“Take a page out of Angelo’s book. It will be a forced marriage because from what you and Dario have told me, Skylar won’t be saying ‘I do’ out of her own free will.”
“Raping a woman just to have an heir is not exactly my style,” I growl. “Just because we’ll be legally married won’t change shit. She’s not just going to lie back like a good little wife and take it.”
Franco shakes his head. “Yeah, you’re right.” He finishes his drink. “Forget what I said. It was a stupid idea.”
We both lean back against the couches and let out sighs.
“So I’m back to square one. I’ll continue to keep her captive.”
