mouth of Devil’s Preserve in silence, but inside my head is chaos. Fury licks every inch of my skin, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to get back in the car, race back to Devil’s Dip and put a bullet in Alberto’s head, just like I did my father.
But I have to restrain myself, because my ruthless actions will have consequences. Now more than ever, I need to think less like Vicious Visconti and more like my brothers. Their rage burns slow like a candle, whereas mine is like a firework. My fuse has been lit but I can’t explode, not yet.
Not without a plan.
The only reason I agreed to go into the forest with Rory is because I hope it’ll cool me off a bit, just enough to form coherent thoughts. But I can’t stop staring at her; stealing glances at that purple smudge underlining her eye, and the bloodied cut on her lip.
It makes me want to burn the entire fucking coast down.
“Stop!” Rory’s dainty fist grips the front of my jacket.
I frown at her. “What?”
She’s looking at me like I’m insane. “Seriously? You’re about to walk straight into quicksand.”
I’m distracted, and it takes me a few beats to realize what she’s saying and follow her gaze. In front of me, there’s a murky puddle of mud. It looks bad enough to destroy my shoes, but that’s about it. “Huh?”
“Christ, did you not study geology at school? Quicksand. The mud is waterlogged, so if you step into it, it’ll drag you under. There’s a lake in the middle of the forest, and when you get closer to it, there’s quite a few patches of quicksand. Be careful.”
The way she’s staring up at me so worried is fucking adorable. She lets go of my jacket and brushes her fingers over my clenched fist. Her hand is warm and delicate, and immediately, I open my hand and slide hers inside. Fuck the “no touching” rule. That went out the window the moment I saw her busted lip.
“All right, David Attenborough,” I grumble, biting back a smirk. “Lead the way, then.”
She does, snaking through the muddy trail, not caring that her bright white sneakers are now shit-brown, or that her jeans are filthy. I don’t care either; all I can focus on is how good it feels to have her hand in mine. To finally fucking touch her, even if it’s in the most juvenile way possible.
Christ. This girl has turned me into a twelve-year-old virgin.
Soon, the trees thin and we reach a lake. I rake my eyes over the water. “Whatever rare bird or fish or fucking insect you want to show me won’t be enough to convince me to let you stay here.”
“That’s not why we’re here,” she says quietly. She tugs her hand back and reluctantly I let it go. She fishes her cell out of her purse and fires off a text.
I study her. “You’re nervous.”
Her eyes meet mine from under her thick lashes. “I’ve never brought a guy to meet my father before.”
I suck in a lungful of air and release it as a small hiss. “Rory, I—”
“Please,” she whispers. Annoyance flickers like a flame in my chest as she twists that fucking ring off her finger and slips it into her pocket. “Just wait.”
Putting my hands in my slacks, I lean against a tree, looking out onto the lake. A few moments pass before Rory’s cell buzzes. She checks the screen, lets out a shaky breath, and nods. “Let’s go.”
She leads the way to a dock halfway around the lake. There’s a small hut on the end of it, and inside, I can make out two figures moving. As we draw nearer, a woman emerges from it and walks down the gangway to meet us. When she spots me, she slows to a stop and her face pales.
“Signor Visconti,” she says slowly, eyes darting to Rory. “I wasn’t expecting…”
“It’s fine, Melissa. He’s with me.” Rory’s tone is clipped. She brushes past her and adds, “Would you mind waiting here today?”
Melissa’s mouth opens and closes just as quick. She manages a nod.
I follow to the dock, falling in step with her. “Who’s that?”
“One of my father’s caregivers. She’s nice enough and my dad loves her, but she was hired by Alberto so…”
Her sentence trails off and I nod. She doesn’t need to explain anymore. But still, I didn’t realize her father needed a caregiver.
At the door of the hut, she holds out her hand, stopping me from entering. Her eyes check the sky and she takes a deep breath, before plastering a dazzling smile on her face. She knocks on a wooden panel and says, “Hi, Dad!”
There’s a grunt from inside the hut, then a man steps out. He’s short and wearing cargo pants and a heavy lumber jacket. A pair of binoculars swings around his neck. He stretches his arms wide and brings Rory in for a big hug.
I hover, trying not to stare at him. He’s…not what I expected. He’s no spring chicken but he definitely doesn’t look old enough to need an attendant. And physically, he seems fine. He spins to face me, his eyes thinning. “And who’s this?”
“Dad, this is—”
“David,” I say, sticking out my hand to shake his.
I can feel Rory’s gaze boring into my cheek, but I ignore it. Her father is old enough to have lived under my father’s reign over Devil’s Dip, and he’ll definitely know who I am. For some reason, I don’t want to be tarnished with the same brush as the rest of the Viscontis.
For some reason, I feel the need to make a good impression.
Which is why I turn on the charm and pretend I’m not a monster.
He drags his eyes over my tailored suit and Italian wool jacket and scowls. “You’re way too old to be my daughter’s boyfriend.”
I laugh. Yeah, if you think I’m old, you should see her real fucking boyfriend.
“Dad!” Rory splutters, face turning an adorable shade of pink. “We’re just friends. He’s…in town visiting.”
“Ah. A college friend?”
“Yes. David…uh, is in my aviation course.”
I keep my smile frozen on my face but shift my gaze to Rory. Her father thinks she’s still studying to be a pilot? Something cracks in my chest, something too foreign to put a name to.
Now, Rory’s father brightens up. “Another pilot! Delightful! Well, I’m Chester, and it’s a pleasure to meet you David. Welcome to the Devil’s Preserve. Come,” he directs as he strolls past me toward the edge of the dock, where a small boat bobs lazily in the water. “Let’s go for a ride.”
I get in first, helping Rory and her father into the boat after me. Chester goes to pick up the oars, but I take them from him. “I insist,” I say.
He glances at his daughter and raises his eyebrows. “Quite the gentleman, isn’t he?” Another fleeting look over my shoulders and chest. “But you’re a very large man, I hope you don’t sink the boat.”
“Dad!” Rory laughs. She catches my eye and shakes her head, a sheepish grin on her face.
I row into the middle of the lake and slip the oars back into the oarlocks.
“Right, then,” Chester murmurs, patting the large number of pockets dotted all over his jacket. “Where in the flamingo did I put the candy?”
I laugh. “You bird-curse too.”
He grins, scooping out a fistful of boiled candies from his pocket and offering the pile to me. I take one, just to be polite. “Before my wife and I had Rory, I had an awful potty mouth. Swore like a sailor. Once she was born, my wife would clip me around the ear every time I cursed, and I soon learned to adapt my language to be more…child friendly.” He nudges Rory with his elbow and shoots her a mischievous wink. “Educational, too.”
Rory rests her head on his shoulder and slips her hand in his. “I think my first word was a bird-word.”
“It was,” Chester chuckles, kissing the top of her curls. “I told you it was bedtime, and you told me to “finch off.””
Rory meets my gaze, smiling shyly. I can’t help but smile back at her like a stupid fool, something warm and soft snuffing the rage in my chest. I can’t keep my eyes off her as she laughs and jokes with her father. As she rocks the boat in her haste to point out fish swimming past, and as she snatches her father’s binoculars to get a better look at birds soaring overhead.
It’s like she comes alive around her father. Like the woodland lights a spark deep within her. But the feeling in my chest is marred by something bitter, something I have no right to feel.
I wish I made her come alive like that.
I swallow the thought with my fourth boiled candy. It seems like bird puns and nature aren’t the only things Rory inherited from her father, and if I eat one more peppermint humbug my teeth are gonna fall out of my head.
When it’s time to row back to shore, I notice Rory grows quiet. It’s me and her father doing all the talking now, while she curls up on his arm and stares through me. I help her out of the boat and whisper in her ear, “Are you okay?”
She nods, but doesn’t look at me.
At the end of the dock, Melissa hovers awkwardly, still stealing sideways glances at me. I wonder what the fuck she’s doing here and why Uncle Al hired her. She doesn’t seem to be a nurse or whatever, and she’s definitely not the other type of caregiver the Cosa Nostra tends to hire. If she was, she’d be a man with a radio in his ear and a Glock in his waistband, not a mousy woman in a beanie hat.
When we reach her, Chester glances up at the sky and claps his hands. “Looks like it’s going to rain. Back to the cabin for tea and cookies?”
Something in the air shifts; I can feel it. Next to me, Rory stills, and she and Melissa exchange a look.
“Rory has lots of schoolwork to catch up, Chester,” Melissa says in a patronizing tone. “Maybe next time—”
“Tea and cookies would be great, Dad.” Rory’s voice is small but firm.
Melissa’s eyebrows shoot up. “Uh, are you sure?”
Rory nods.
“Marvelous, then.” Chester turns on his heel and stabs a finger through the trees. “To the cabin we go!”
Soggy leaves squelch underfoot. Up ahead, Chester whistles an old sea-shanty, and next to me, thick puffs of condensation leave Rory’s lips to a labored beat.
“What’s wrong?” I murmur, bending down so my lips meet her ear.
She shakes her head. “You’ll see.”
I brush my knuckles against hers, then, remembering I don’t give a fuck about the no touching rule anymore, I grip her hand, hard. It’s cold and shaky and I wish I could get her the fuck out of here and away from whatever she’s afraid of.
After a few minutes of walking, the muddy path opens up to a stone driveway. At the bottom of it, a large log cabin spills out over the clearing, its sloped roof dusted in moss, and the windows letting out a warm amber glow. It’s the type of joint Airbnb would list as “rustic” and “charming”, and the three shiny cars parked out front look out of place.
Chester stands under the awning and rummages about for his keys. “I don’t know why I bother locking up,” he mutters, patting his pockets, “it’s not like I have anything to steal.”
Before he can find them, the door swings open and a woman appears in the entryway. There’s another woman behind her too, both wearing nurse scrubs and friendly smiles.
“Why didn’t you just knock, Chester? You know we’re always here,” the one at the front chimes. Her eyes then land on Rory and she falters.
“Rory,” she says softly, stealing a glance at Melissa. “You came to the house.”
“Of course she did,” Chester says, strolling into the foyer. The other nurse helps him take off his jacket, then he sits on the bottom step and starts unlacing his boots. “It’s Rory’s house too, Lizzy! She’s lived here her whole life. Born here, in fact. Right in front of the fireplace in the living room! Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
Rory’s still standing under the awning, shuffling her weight from foot to foot. “Yes, Dad,” she all but whispers.
Chester kicks off a boot and looks up at her. His smile morphs into a scowl.
“Are you lost?”
Instinctively, I look over my shoulder, the harshness in his tone making me reach for a gun I’m not carrying. There’s no one there. When I turn back around, I realize he’s talking to Rory.
Melissa steps between them. “Chester, it’s Rory. Your daughter.” She puts a hand on the banister and crouches down. “She’s come to visit, remember?”
Chester’s eyes dart between all of us, frantic and scared. “I don’t have a daughter.” He struggles to his feet, a frailness to him I didn’t see in the woods. “Get out! Leave!” Melissa reaches for his shoulder but he bats her off. “I’ll call the police!” he yells, voice getting louder and more strained. “Go away!”
Melissa looks up with sorrow in her eyes. “Rory, you should probably—”
But before Melissa can finish her sentence, Rory spins on her heel and takes off running, slipping out of my reach. She disappears between the trees and without hesitating, I break into a run too, following after her. I catch up within seconds but fall back to a light jog, giving her space to calm down. By the time she bursts out onto the road by the church, she’s wheezing.
I rake a hand through my hair. Fuck. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. She doubles over to catch her breath, but her breathing is only getting more labored.
“Rory, look at me.” I grip her chin and tilt her face to mine. “Breathe.”
“I-I can’t—”
“You can.” I run my thumb pad over her red cheek. “Just look at me and breathe.”
Her watery gaze meets mine, working its way to my chest. She takes a deep breath, letting it out in a shaky exhale.
“Good girl,” I murmur, stroking her face before curling my fingers around the base of her neck. “You’re okay.”
Her hand finds my wrist, and she wraps it over my watch strap and leans her face into my palm, her eyes fluttering shut. Fuck. I hate how such a simple movement floods my stomach with warmth, but at the same time, I’d give my left nut to have her do that again.
Once her breathing slows, she looks up at me through wet lashes.
“Environmental dementia. It’s when a patient’s long-term memory only functions in certain familiar environments. For my father, it’s this forest. Walking around the woods or being on the lake, he’s just my dad. But…” I feel her throat bob against my palm as she swallows. “The moment he leaves the Preserve, or even goes inside our own house, his long-term memory goes.”
Her jaw grinds and she catches a sob before it forms.
“He doesn’t recognize me outside of the forest, Angelo. That’s why it can’t be knocked down, and that’s why we can’t leave. What my father and I have, it doesn’t exist outside of it.”
