Page 15 of Sin and Redemption

That thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. I’d been too wrapped up in the thought that I might see Sara again, and fuck, that possibility scared me more than a possible trap. I could deal with torture, but I wasn’t sure I could face her.

“That’s not Romero’s style.”

“Some things change people.”

Who was he telling? I wasn’t the same person I’d been before. I didn’t want to think of how Romero must have felt watching the recording. Fuck. If he changed his mind and wanted to kill me in front of Sara, could I really blame him? Should I even stop him?

“Don’t even think about it,” Primo warned. “Your death won’t change anything. You can’t undo it. You did what had to be done. Everyone agrees.”

“I doubt Sara does,” I growled.

“She said it’s okay, Max. You killing yourself with guilt won’t make a difference. But you killing every Bratva soldier as brutally as you can will.”

I patted Bacon’s head who’d picked up on my agitation and pressed himself against my leg.

“I need to leave now if I want to make it on time in this traffic.”

“You sure you don’t want me to come?” Primo asked with crossed arms.

“Absolutely.”

I got into my truck and drove off. I could see Primo in the rearview mirror with Bacon by his side, watching me leave. I wondered if this was the last time I’d see my brother. Should I have hugged my mom one more time?

I shook my head. I turned up the music, drowning out my thoughts.

After I’d parked at the curb in front of the Cancio home, a brownstone townhouse in Greenwich Village, I stayed seated for a while. It wasn’t that I was scared of possible retribution. I blew out a breath and got out, then headed for the door.

It opened before I could knock. Flavio stood in the doorway. He was only seventeen, but in the past two weeks since the kidnapping, he’d become a real man. He wasn’t as tall as me, very few were, and not as broad, but from the tension in his body, I could tell it wouldn’t stop him from a fight. “Took you a long time to get out of your car.”

Romero appeared behind his son and gave me a tight smile. They were the same height and looked remarkably alike, with brown hair, brown eyes, and similar facial features. “Maximus, come in.” He opened the door wider and gave Flavio a stern look that made him step back so I had room to enter.

“Should I take my shoes off?” I asked. My boots would probably leave marks on the beige carpet.

“Liliana would rip your head off if you didn’t,” Romero said with a tight smile.

I had a feeling she would do it with or without shoes. I slipped out of my shoes and left them on a mat by the door.

It felt strange being inside their home, as if I were intruding even though they’d asked me to come. Steps sounded upstairs, then Liliana rushed down the wooden staircase and stormed my way. She slapped me hard. I didn’t move, waiting for more of her anger to manifest in violence, but she simply breathed harshly, glaring at my chest. Sara shared similar facial features to her mother, and just that reminder was enough to make me take whatever violence she wanted to unleash. She was a petite woman, but her slap would have made even some men take notice.

“I shouldn’t have done it,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

“No, I understand.” I had expected something like this when Sara’s family had asked to see me.

Romero came up behind his wife and placed his hands on her shoulders. She visibly relaxed under his touch. He gave me a nod. “Let’s go to the dining room.” He steered his wife toward the door to our right.

I followed them into the cozy dining room. Candles cast a warm light on their surroundings, and the scent of fresh flowers filled the room. A large bouquet of wildflowers on the rustic wooden table explained why my nose picked up the floral note. It wasn’t a room used for representation. It was a room where a family lived in. I felt reminded of home, even if I knew I wasn’t really welcome here. I wasn’t sure why they wanted to see me. I hovered in the middle of the room, not sure if they wanted me to sit down. Flavio entered the room. He had more trouble looking at me without accusation. His father hid his feelings better if he had them.

Romero motioned at one of the chairs. I sank down and stared at the quote across from me on the wall: Happiness is homemade.

I waited for the others to sit as well, but instead, they exchanged looks.

Romero let out a quiet sigh. “The past few weeks have been difficult for our family. In particular for Sara of course. Yesterday, we got news that added to this.”

Liliana met my gaze. She folded her hands, her knuckles turning white. Whatever the news, it was horrible. “Sara is pregnant.”

I froze. It took me several moments to realize why they were telling me this—I was the father. Sara was pregnant because of what had happened between us, because of what I’d done. I doubted I’d come, but I had been so deeply in my head, in my fantasy, trying to use the hypnosis techniques I’d learned that I couldn’t one hundred percent be sure.

I didn’t say anything. My thoughts were a jumbled mess.

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