Page 149 of Manacled Hearts

“In some twisted way I understand. I realized it’s what I’m doing with Ronan, and I’m definitely projecting on Aaro.” He shakes his head. “And now? Do you have the same feelings about these men?”

I swallow the lump in my throat, questioning if sincerity is the right course of action. He cocks his head ever so slightly, urging me on.

“No,” I answer.

He nods once, the movement free of hidden meanings.

“I will bother you with this question, over and over again for a while, Evelyn, and I’m not gonna apologize for it—how are you feeling, are you okay?”

I like that he doesn’t dwell on what I’ve done, on the guilt or lack thereof, he doesn’t insist.

“Better, honestly.”

I thought I was handling my emotions well, especially with therapy too, but I was wrong. I was just seeping through the seams, letting out only enough to function, and held onto the full brunt of the heartache, pain, and the real tears that come from my hidden scars.

“I know you feel no regret for the men you killed, no matter the impeccable job you did.” The little smirk at the end of that gives me an odd sense of pride, “But what you did was still significant, because one of them was Frankie B. Talk to me about it. Don’t hide or bottle up any emotions or conflicts you might feel. Something like this, no matter your past, can eat you up from the inside without even realizing. We’re not all built to be killers.”

Christ, this is a rather odd conversation. The crime lord is basically giving me murder aftercare. Well, how can I complain about that?

I nod, and grab the glass of straight-up vodka, drinking a quarter of it, following up with the orange juice to soothe the burn.

“Come here.” He drags me against his side before he finishes the request, wrapping his arms around me and burying his nose in my hair.

It takes me a few breaths to relax into his hold. I’m not sure I deserve the comfort, but his warm body against mine feels so right. I wrap one arm around his middle, and when his dark chocolate and sea salt scent invades my senses, I nestle deeper into him.

Mmm… I could make a little tart that tastes like him. Cacao crust, dark chocolate and sea salt cream, piercing blue baroque swirls blooming around a skull in the center, to match his eyes. My mouth already waters. One deep yawn and my eyes drift close. The man is so comfortable. I could climb on top of him and fall asleep.

“I think it’s time for a shower and bed.” He shifts to rise, but I tighten my hold.

“There’s something else.” I stop him. “Frankie—it’s just a nickname.”

“Yes, I know. We haven’t found out his real identity yet.”

“I did.”

With rigid, coiled muscles he leans back and looks down at me, loosening his hold as I tip my head to meet his eyes.

“His real name is Franco Bartiste.”

Finnigan’s eyes widen as his mouth falls open before he spits a long series of vulgar curses.

“I killed Roberto Bartiste’s son,” I add.

“His son…” he whispers, processing the information. “I guess this is when we find out if Bartiste gave a shit about him or not. It will either drag him out of hiding, or we simply continue with our plan.”

He tries to downplay the magnitude, but it shadows over his features still. Before I can say anything else he grabs his phone, typing vigorously, then rises, pulling me with him and toward his bedroom.

I don’t protest. My lids weigh heavy, and the dried blood is too itchy on my skin. I need to get rid of it and burn these damn clothes. The last thing I need is more Frankie B on me.

FINNIGAN

I lay awake for most of the six hours she slept, watching her like she was going to disappear on me once more if I blinked for too long. I thought I knew fear, experienced the broad spectrum of it, but I was wrong. This isn’t fear of loss as I thought, of Evelyn being taken away from me. This is fear of abandonment. She chose to leave and take on Frankie B, no matter if she lived or died at the end. No matter if she saw me again. I’m afraid she’ll do it again, not forced like this time around, but by her own volition.

That is fear.

Of course I’ve never felt anything like this before, how could I when I’ve never experienced this intense, heart-wrenching emotion for someone. I’m afraid to give it a name. What if I do and I’m left with just that… a name? No Evelyn. No object for my desires, for my heart to cling to.

She said she hasn’t decided if they’re going to stay in Queenscove. I’m struggling to understand why the decision is so hard to make. Do we frighten her so much? Do I? I’m trying to be a good man and allow her space to make her choice, but goddamn it, I’m not a good man! And I certainly don’t want to give her a choice in this. She simply cannot leave. Evelyn belongs in Queenscove. With me.

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