Total pages in book: 197
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Her life.
“You’ve waited a long time for this, haven’t you?” Kate taunted. “Why are you just standing there?”
Antony stepped forward and Kate shrunk into the bed. “Because I can. And you’re right, I have waited a long time to finally end this. You had a good run, Kate. But my son? That wasn’t just a line you crossed, that was fence jumping.”
“He’s not your son,” she spat. “He’s the grown bastard of a man who was worthless.”
“Spoken from the mouth of a woman who would know first-hand how it feels to be exactly that—worthless.”
Kate’s bottom lip trembled.
Antony just grinned. “Are you going to cry now? I always liked it when they cried.”
“No,” Kate mumbled.
“Too bad.” Antony withdrew the needle from his jacket pocket and popped off the cap. “I had to lie to my son tonight. He wanted to do this. Perhaps I should have allowed it after all the hell you put him through over the years. But I’m selfish, Kate. I needed to do it. I’m sure you understand.”
Antony stood beside the bed, ready to grab Kate if needed. Kate clutched her blankets with a white-knuckle grip.
“Go to hell, Antony.”
“I’ll meet you there, Kate.”
With that, he struck. The needle disappeared into Kate’s scalp, a place where tracks could rarely be seen without shaving the head. Kate screamed and clawed at his arms.
Antony pushed the plunger down and kept on smiling.
*
Antony didn’t expect to find his wife awake and waiting for him when he returned home. Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised. Cecelia sat on the edge of their familiar bed with a family photo album in her hands and tears in her eyes. Antony took note of the fact that the photos were the ones he’d found in Lina’s apartment of Lucian, his father, and his mother.
“There was a time once,” Cecelia said quietly.
“When what?” he asked, pulling off his leather gloves and then his jacket.
“When Kate was different.”
“I can’t remember one.”
“Me, either, really. But she was.”
Antony sighed as he dropped to his knees in front of his wife. Silently, he closed the album and tossed it to the side before squeezing Cecelia’s thighs gently.
“I’m not sorry,” he murmured.
“I am,” she whispered.
“For what, Tesoro?”
“For not asking you to do this sooner.”
Never Ends
Cecelia lifted her head a bit at the sound of footsteps echoing from ... somewhere. That was one of the only problems with having a home as large as their mansion. No matter how much stuff she used to fill the nooks, crannies, corners and walls, well, any noise still echoed. It sometimes made it hard to distinguish how close someone was to any one spot or where they were coming from.
And then again ...
Cecelia knew her home.
That’s why when the footsteps came a little closer and began to thud a bit more with each one, the noise getting progressively higher and higher, she knew. It was Antony taking the staircase that led to their floor and master bedroom.
This wouldn’t be the first night she waited up far beyond a decent hour for her husband to return home from ... work. Over the years, it had become slighter harder for her to call the mafia work, as though it was just another nine-to-five like everyone else’s. Because it wasn’t and she was unwilling to pretend like it, either.
They couldn’t play make-believe.
Nobody won in the mafia’s games.
At the edge of the bed she shared with her husband, Cecelia sat while tapping an envelope against the palm of her hand. Inside the envelope, waited a letter that she had already read, but that Antony didn’t yet know about. She had a feeling she knew what his response would be, and how he would deal with it because he always did.
Whenever their boys had issues—problems with school, people, or even the law ... Antony dealt with it. When they were younger, it was always Cecelia handling out lessons to their boys whenever they stepped out of line.
Time in a chair. Extra chores. A hand-written letter to apologize for one thing or another. A hug and a handshake when things had gotten a bit too rough. She was the type of mother who parented with a tone and an expectation.
Her kids tended to get in line.
But then the boys got older. They started following their father around more and more; or other men that stuck close to Antony. Accordingly, their actions and behaviors started to mirror their father’s and he stepped in where Cecelia could no longer manage with three teenage boys who only wanted to walk the same path as their dad.
She decided a long time ago ...
She loved her boys—they could be whatever they wanted to be and she would support them, no matter what. It was one thing her sons would never have to worry about.
“You’re still up?” Antony’s cheery tone dipped a bit at the end, making Cecelia glance toward the bedroom doorway where he stood. His gaze was locked on the envelope in her hand. “What’s that?”