“Do you want him alive?” I asked, my tone rough, anger still fiercely running its course through me.
“I . . . um.” A pause. “Yes.”
My shoulders fell. “Then I need a phone. The Feds are waiting at his house to arrest him.” I shook my head, shocked at what I was doing. “They need to come here instead.” I lowered my arm and leaned in closer to him. “You don’t deserve mercy,” I told him, “but I’m giving it to you. Consider yourself the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet,” I added just before knocking him unconscious.
“I honestly don’t know how you didn’t kill him.” Ryan had his arms crossed in his kitchen later that night.
I set the knife alongside the cutting board and looked at my two reasons why Thomas wasn’t dead. Maria and Chiara. “I wanted to kill him,” I admitted. “The things I wanted to do to that man are too vile to say aloud,” I added in a low voice, thinking back to the text from Agent Lee after the Feds from the Charlotte field office arrested Thomas, and he’d thanked me for not painting Maria’s bedroom walls with blood.
“I suppose it’d be hard to start a life with them if you killed Chiara’s father.”
I blew out a ragged breath. I was exhausted, in need of a shower and sleep. But more than anything, I wanted to hold Maria and Chiara and protect them and never let go.
I’d also wanted to give Maria a small sense of normalcy after the hell she’d been through, so I’d offered to cook a late meal for everyone.
But today was so far from normal, I doubted a home-cooked meal would change anything.
Maria had to witness the father of her child arrested by the FBI only three hours ago inside her bedroom.
“She’ll be okay,” Ryan said as if reading my thoughts, and I looked at her bouncing Chiara on her leg, sitting by Natalia in the living room.
Maria was tough, sure. But she wasn’t a great actress, and I could easily see her struggling. She’d gone through far too much because of my past, and I had no idea how to reconcile the fact I was the cause of her pain.
I couldn’t let her lie to me and promise me she was okay. What if she had nightmares? Post-traumatic stress?
“I should’ve told her my concerns were about Thomas.” More guilt stacked on my shoulders.
“She’s okay. She was the one trying to beat Thomas up when you arrived. She’s strong.”
Maria had admitted she’d hit Thomas a few times before I’d shown up, and he hadn’t fought back. And that her bloody nose hadn’t been by his hand.
That didn’t change my disgust or hate for Thomas, though.
“The past is the past.” Ryan slapped a hand to my back, trying to ease the discomfort I still felt, and I peeled my focus over my shoulder to look at him.
“And that past came back to haunt me.”
“Thomas was the last loose end.” He set a hand over his heart. “You know I’d be the first one to tell you if I thought you were a risk to my wife and her family.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I hesitantly answered. “Also, thank you for letting us stay in the guest room until we can find a new place to live.”
My apartment and hers were now full of shitty memories I didn’t want surrounding her, and with Thomas more than likely going to prison for aiding the mafia, we had no reason to live in Uptown. It made more sense to be in Waxhaw by her family and the restaurant.
“Of course.”
My eyes connected with Maria’s from across the room, and she stopped talking and went quiet as I peered at her. And for whatever reason, this moment had me thinking back to Hudson’s bar six years ago when we’d exchanged looks before that kiss.
She’d been a virgin then. Hadn’t met Thomas. And still believed in fairy tales, searching for the kind of love she read about.
And I wanted that storybook ending for Maria, the one Bianca had written about just before dying. I blinked, realization hitting me at what I needed to do. “Can you watch the stove?” I asked without waiting for an answer, starting for Maria. She lifted her beautiful eyes and peered up at me as I said, “We need to talk.”
Worry passed over her face, but she quietly nodded and handed Chiara over to Natalia. I took her hand, and we went upstairs to the guest bedroom.
Once the door was shut, I motioned for her to sit on the bed. Chiara’s travel crib was set up by the bed, and I swallowed at the fact that what I was about to say would mean I wouldn’t be sharing a room with them tonight.