Page 8 of Under His Embrace

And once I cleared my vision to focus on the people leaning over me, I felt more confident than ever that I was dead.

I had to be.

Because the man standing to the left was none other than my biggest regret.

It can’t be. It can’t be him.

The man who looked like Franco was a cruel reminder of the mistake I would never be able to apologize for.Hewasn’t my regret. I hated how I’d left him and rejected his life.

I was just thinking of him, clinging to the disappointment that I would never be able to fix things between us. Those men were coming into the room to kill me, and in the clarity of the moment before my death, as my life proverbially flashed before my mind’s eye, I had thought of him. I’d missed him one last time. I mourned the loss of him in my life for just one more moment.

He couldn’t be here. It wasn’t him. There was no way.

Unless I’m dead. And he is? And we’re seeing each other in another plane of existence? Or nonexistence?My thoughts grew jumbled as I tried to latch on to what—or who—I was looking at.

“Chloe.”

Oh, God.He spoke my name just like I remembered. The sound of those syllables rolling off his tongue took me back to over ten years ago. When he begged me to understand how much he loved me. That he’d never stop loving me.

“I…” I cleared my throat and tried to swallow. Where I had been parched and dry a moment ago, I was now overwhelmed with pending tears. Forcing my mouth to work, I fought past thelump of emotions clogging my throat. Speaking had to be proof that I lived. I couldn’t be talking in my death. Or capable of sight.

“Franco?” I asked, still croaky but able to speak. “Is it really you?”

I felt so dumb, so bewildered, but confused.

“Fuck.” He shook his head, raising his brows to complete the rest of his expression of complete shock. Looking as surprised as I felt, he made no move. He didn’t budge, standing so still and staring at me intensely that I wondered if he was holding his breath in suspense.

“Oh, my God.”

Too many things clicked in my mind. Fear of those men trying to kill me. Franco showing up in the wake of such grisly violence. And now, him staring down at me as I still struggled with the need to run and hide somewhere safe.

Franco.The main reason that motivated me to run from him ten years ago came back clearly. He wasn’t only an ex-lover, the one man I thought I’d cherish forever.

He was a Mafia man. A killer. A ruthless individual capable of unspeakable violence.

I didn’t summon him here by thinking of him as my life flashed before my eyes as I neared death. I wasn’t dead and entering a phase of the afterlife.

Franco was likely here because he was connected to the deli being shot up.

Oh, my God.I feared moving to the city in case I could run into him. But the Big Apple was huge, so large that I could hide among the crowds. That was my first mistake—ever coming back close enough to where the Constella Family ran its businesses.

God, I’m so stupid. I’ve been so damn dumb.I had been so eager to escape and start over with a new life for me and my son, I hadn’t considered how crappy the odds could be for me to see Franco or anyone from his organization.

“I… I can’t do this.” I struggled to get up, helped by the other man frowning at me as he held my elbow and assisted me in getting off the floor.

Dizziness swamped my mind. I blinked, lightheaded and off-kilter from being knocked out. I was hazy, but I saw how my shaky words impacted Franco.

His furrowed brow straightened. Lines dipped on his face as he shifted into scowling. That almost-stoic glower hit me hard, and as I thought back to the little I’d said, I realized what I’d done.

I told him that line before. I said those same words before I ran away from him, from Beckson.

I can’t do this.

I was a strong woman. I had to be as a single mother caught in a twisted role of being a victim of something worse.

But I couldn’t do this. I really couldn’t. I refused to face Franco and suffer through the guilt and heartache of how we’d split. I couldn’t stomach the gut-wrenching pain of knowing I’d hurt him all that time ago.

I broke his heart once. I shattered my own in doing so, and I couldnotlet him get close enough to it again. I hadn’t even picked up all the pieces and stitched them back together. I would need his forgiveness to come close to gluing my soul into one again.

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