Page 87 of The Wages of Sin

With two dead bodies on the floor of my apartment, I had the feeling that my streak of outrunning legal consequences was finally coming to an end.

But Gabriel shook his head.

“No one’s going to jail,” he said with certainty.

Though I appreciated my brother’s optimism, I couldn’t agree. “Kiera’s wanted by the FBI for murder, and no cop is going to believe that I killed those two in self-defense.”

“They will after they hear Sal’s tape,” Gabriel said. “I’ll call Matteo and have him edit out the end before he brings it over. Once the cops listen to what really went down in there, they’ll have no choice but to exonerate you both. Especially after our lawyers sit down with them.”

Damn—just minutes after being confronted with shattering truths, Gabriel was already thinking like the new head of the family, speaking with the authority of the boss he was born to be.

“Is that true?” Kiera asked, staring up at me expectantly. “Are we really going to be all right?”

I nodded. “We are.”

“Oh, thank God,” she sighed…just as the elevator doors opened, letting out a flood of first responders.

As the paramedics quickly pulled her to one side of the apartment to fix her arm and the cops dragged me to the other for questioning, reality finally started to sink in.

We were going to be all right.

Not just for right now…but forever,

Chapter Thirty-One

KIERA

“Oh my God, she’s calling again.”

The sharp electric notes of my ringtone clashed with the warm, rich sound of La Tosca playing over the kitchen speakers.

Seeing my mother’s face pop up on the screen, I instinctively pushed the phone away. It skidded over the counter tiles, stopping only inches from the stove where Dorian was busy making dinner.

Even though it had been over a month since the FBI had listened to Hollis’ taped confession and officially cleared me of all wrongdoing in Deena’s murder, my family had only started reaching out to me a few days ago.

It had started simply enough with a handful of calls from my cousins. Apparently, the bureau had given them my number.

After accepting their calls, the floodgates opened. My phone rang non-stop. Aunts, uncles, friends, and relatives I hadn’t seen in years—suddenly, all of them couldn’t wait to talk to me.

Some were apologetic, swallowing their pride as they begged my forgiveness for ever believing I could have committed such a horrendous crime. Other conversations were far more difficult to sit through as I listened to people awkwardly ramble about how they’d never liked or trusted Hollis to begin with.

In both cases, I was careful to keep the conversations short. As friendly and contrite as everyone sounded on the phone, deep down, I knew their words weren’t for my benefit. What they were really doing was assuaging their guilt for being so quick to throw me under the bus.

But while I sympathized with the more distant branches of my family tree, the thought of having to endure that kind of mea culpa from my own parents made me sick to my stomach.

Dorian turned away from the Cacio e Pepe he was finishing just long enough to glance at my phone.

“You can’t put off talking to her forever,” he said the moment it stopped ringing.

He turned back to our dinner, giving the pan one last toss to completely coat the pasta inside in the thick, creamy sauce before taking it off the heat and pulling down some plates.

“I don’t see why not.” Grabbing hold of the open wine bottle in front of me, I refilled my glass. “They’re the ones who went on television to say they never wanted to talk to me again.”

“And I’m sure your mother is calling to say how sorry she is about that.”

That was exactly what I was afraid of.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to hear that right now,” I told him honestly. Listening to their apologies was the first step on the road to forgiveness, and I wasn’t there just yet. “Maybe someday I will be, but not today. If they’re truly remorseful, then they’ll understand that.”

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