Page 85 of Vicious Redemption

I lead the way into the row, allowing Tia to follow me so one of her sisters will get to sit by her. Behind us, Don Guerra filters into the seat behind me. Then Signora Guerra, followed by Anna and Maria.

The box seating is a cozy space and a perfect view of the stage, along with the aisles leading up to it. Beside me, Tia whispers softly to Sofia, who managed to guilt-trip Vienna into letting her sit beside Tia for the performance.

If I were a selfless kind of man, I might have relinquished my seat on the other side of Tia so both sisters could spend time with her. But tonight isn’t just about spending time with family. Tonight, I’m also following through on a promise I made to myself that I would bring Tia back to the theater now that her family no longer has her locked away.

I’m doing this so I can see the joy on her face that she hasn’t known since she was around Sofia’s age. And though I will behave myself for Tia’s sake, I refuse to go an entire evening without being by my wife’s side.

Selfish, I know.

Shoot me.

In the meantime, I make myself feel better by making a new promise to myself that I’ll bring the Guerra family back to the theater soon. That’s enough to assuage my guilt.

And as the lights start to dim, we all settle in.

Tia reaches for my hand almost without thinking it would seem. Because her eyes continue to soak up the details of the theater, even as her fingers twine with mine.

Then, the heart-stopping first notes of the performance break across the theater, and Sofia’s gasps of awe mingle with Tia’s as they both stare transfixed upon the stage. Warmth floods my chest as I take a moment to study Tia, to admire the beautiful angles of her face.

She’s brimming with enthusiasm, her body almost humming with excitement as the performers’ powerful voices fill the room with beautiful harmonies. Beneath us, I know the animals are just starting to slowly make their way to the stage. The hint of moisture that shimmers along the bottom row of Tia’s lashes tells me she finds it as moving as she said she did the first time her parents brought her to see the show.

I should let her watch the show in peace, but I just can’t seem to help myself.

Tia’s so incredibly beautiful, and the captivated way with which she follows the movement with her eyes makes it impossible not to kiss her.

Lifting our interlaced hands, I twist Tia’s wrist to kiss the back of her knuckles. She turns to smile at me then, and the love in her eyes fills me with a contentment that seems deep into my soul.

I lean in to press a second kiss to her knuckles, this time allowing my lips to linger against her skin. And in that instant, the joy falls from her face, replaced by horror.

40

TIA

Icy terror grips my chest at the sight unfolding before me—my father sitting with a pistol in hand, his eyes alight with hatred, his lips twisted in a silent snarl as he raises the gun toward Leo.

“Father, no!” I scream, the sound ripping from my chest in sheer panic. But over the production’s rafter-shaking song filling the theater, I doubt he can hear me.

I doubt anyone can except Leo, and now, as his expressive brows press into a confused frown, it’s too late. He’s open, vulnerable, utterly exposed.

My father sneers violently as he levels the gun point blank at Leo’s head. My husband is helpless, his back to my father in a display of trust that makes me suddenly want to vomit. Leo won’t have time to react. I barely have time to think, to process the horror of what I see. And this is all my fault because I’m the one who spoke up time and again in my father’s defense.

Now, I’m going to lose Leo.

Oh god, I can’t.

He’s going to die because I wouldn’t let him listen to his instincts. He told me so many times that there was only one sure way to deal with traitors like my father. And now, when I finally believe him, I can’t fix my mistake.

The world seems to pause as my father takes aim. And in that second, Leo turns slightly, confusion taking over his handsome features as he comes face to face with the gun pointed at his head.

He stiffens, his shoulders tensing, and as Leo shifts, the butt of his gun peeks out from beneath his suit jacket. Like an invisible extension to his hand, it’s always there, nestled in its holster in case he should need it. But there’s no way he’ll get to it in time. Not when my father’s gun has already found his target and is ready to fire.

Leo’s several seconds behind me in processing my father’s plan.

The sound of my father’s hammer clicking into place seems to echo in my head, and all I can think about is that Leo will be dead—I can’t just sit by and watch it. The finality of the gun cocking spurs me into action.

Desperate to do something—anything—to deter my father, I lunge forward and snatch Leo’s gun. And as I bring it out, turning to aim it at my father, to my immense relief, both he and Leo pause.

Leo stiffens beside me as my father watches me closely, disappointment and disgust raging in his eyes. And when I put my father in my sights, his hatred swells as he glares down the barrel of my gun.

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