Page 72 of A Sinner's Truth

“We just have to be patient,” Santo says.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Santo’s fingers tilt my chin upwards so I’m looking at him.

“This is my fault. I shouldn’t have dragged you and your family into my mess,” I say. “And Drew… Why the hell would he stand in front of me? He should have moved.”

“Like fuck. He saved your life, Aria. And you didn’t drag me into a mess. You pulled me up out of the ashes and showed me how to live again. I’m going to find the fucking asshole who did this…” Santo lets his words trail off. I don’t need him to say the rest, though. I know what he’ll do when he finds the guy.

“Doctors are coming to talk to his parents now,” Gio tells me.

I’ve been avoiding Drew’s parents. Despite what Santo says, this is my fault. If Drew wasn’t there to meet up with me, hewouldn’t have been shot. I walk over to his mother, and she holds her hand out to me. “He’s going to be okay,” she says. I should be the one comforting her, not the other way around.

“I’m so sorry.” Tears fall down my cheeks.

“This isn’t your fault, Aria. Do not blame yourself,” she says.

Santo wipes a thumb over my cheeks. “I fucking hate seeing you cry.”

“Sorry,” I tell him.

The doctor stops in front of us, and my breath gets caught in my lungs, waiting for him to say something. Anything.

“He’s in recovery. We were able to successfully remove the bullet and it looks like he’s going to pull through. You can see him soon. A nurse will lead you back. Two at a time.”

Drew’s mum throws her arms around the doctor. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” she cries into the man’s chest until her husband pulls her against him.

“He’s going to be okay, right?” I ask Santo. That’s what the doctor said.

“He’s going to be okay.” Santo kisses the top of my head. “We need to get cleaned up, Aria. Let me take you home and shower. We can come back.”

“I don’t want to go yet. Can I just see him first? Please.”

“Okay,” Santo agrees.

Chapter Thirty-Three

When I heard the gun go off in that café, my heart stopped. Until I realised the bullet didn’t hit Aria. And then it increased to double the speed. I can’t lose her. I knew putting myself in this position was a mistake. I’m fucking vulnerable. I have a weakness that can destroy me.

Even knowing this, I will not give her up. She’s mine, and God help any motherfucker who tries to take her from me. WhenI get my hands on Oliver Densper, he is going to regret the day he was fucking born.

My only priority right now is keeping Aria safe, and that means I have to find this fucker and end him. I haven’t slept. It’s been three days since the shooting and we still have no idea where he’s hiding his sorry ass. I’m getting frustrated as fuck. Aria is consumed with guilt over Drew taking that bullet.

I’ve found a reason to actually like the guy. He saved my wife. That’s not something I’ll ever forget. I’ve tried to get Aria to see sense, to understand that this isn’t her fault. But she won’t listen to me. Drew has told her that he’s fine. She won’t listen to him either. Instead, she’s determined to blame herself.

She’s also scared. Which I get. She had a gun aimed at her. Someone wanted to hurt her.I’mfucking scared. The thought of losing her has me breaking out in a cold sweat. I can’t let that happen.

It’s been difficult to talk to my brothers about finding Oliver with Aria glued to my side. The only thing we have in our favour is the fact that she doesn’t understand Italian. I know that Aria isn’t stupid. She’s aware of what I do. I’m thankful it’s never really been brought up, though. She hasn’t questioned me or asked me to walk away from everything I know. I wonder if it bothers her, because if it does, I’d rather know now than wait and find out ten years down the track when she tries to leave me. I use the wordtrybecause I’m never going to let her walk away from this.

“Do you have any questions?” I ask Aria. Her head is on my lap. We’ve been holed up in the living room, watching some shitty show that she loves.

“About what?”

“Me? What I do? What our family does?”

Aria looks at me. It’s clear she’s contemplating what to ask, and I’m bracing myself for the answers I’m going to have to give her. “Do you want kids?”

That’s not the question I was expecting. “I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “I did. I wanted the baby I thought I helped create.”

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