Page 21 of Unbroken Promises

A shaky breath escapes her as she steps out of my embrace and fully into the entryway of my apartment. Looking over her shoulder, I don’t see any bags in the hall. Confusion and a sense of unease fills me as I turn to face her, shutting the door as I go. “Mio passerotto?” She is holding what appears to be a crumbled bunch of papers in her fist, and I move to step closer.

“Don’t.”

I stop immediately, cautious of her tone and the delicate tremor in her lips. Raising my hands in a placating gesture, as if to show her that I mean no harm, as if she were a startled doe about to bolt off and never be seen again. “Baby, what is it?”

“Tell me it isn’t true. That it’s all a mistake.” She steps closer, voice low and edged with hurt. “Tell me that it’s a lie. That I’m wrong. Please.”

Bewildered, I study her face, trying to understand what she is talking about. We just spoke on the phone this morning before I went to practice and everything was fine. We were good. I genuinely have no idea where this is coming from or what this is all about. Cautiously, I take a step closer, hands still raised in a manner meant to reassure her. “I genuinely don’t know what you are talking about. Help me out here, Danica.”

“This!” With a surprisingly forceful tone, she takes the final steps separating the distance between us and shoves the crumpled papers against my chest. Thanks to my quick reflexes, I manage to catch them before they fall to the floor as she turns and storms off into the living room.

It takes a minute of looking over the papers before I fully register what I am seeing, before a wave of ice chills my veins and my vision narrows, making my world spin on its axis. Forensic analysis, autopsy reports, pictures. . . two different versions, one showing the original- albeit heavily redacted, and another, the version that was released to the public, showing the altered cause of death for one Bradley Martin Oakley II.Well, shit!

A sense of numbness washes over me, and I force myself to take deep, even breaths before following Danica into the living room.

“Where did you get these?” My tone is cold, detached, and I almost don’t recognize my own voice as the words leave my mouth.

“Where did I get them?” Her eyes bulge, jaw dropping in shock. “I swear to God, Theo. Tell me the fucking truth, right now. Did you know about this? Did you know that they lied about this? That he was brutally beaten and murdered and then someone covered it up?”

Unable to lie to her face, I remain silent, observing my girl even as she spirals closer towards a meltdown.

“Oh. My. God. It’s true, isn’t it? What the papers show. What it says about you. . . You did this. You . . . you killed him. And then you- you covered it up.” Visibly shaking, she runs her hands through her hair, only to get caught in a tangled mess where the bun meets the crown of her head. “Oh my God. Oh, my God. Theo! You, why would you? How? I mean, I can’t-” With a plop, she drops gracelessly onto my designer couch, and I rush over, pulling her tight to my chest.

“Shhh. Baby. La mia diavoletta. Shhh. It’s alright. Everything is going to be alright.” Frustrated by my inability to calm her, concerned at her unresponsiveness, I grab her and pull her onto my lap, gently rocking as I murmur soothing nothings into her hair. Unsure of how much time passes, I just sit there, rocking my girl, holding her close, whispering words of comfort and my love for her.

I can see the moment when the shock wears off, see the weariness in her eyes as she jolts upright, pushing away from me with a surprising amount ofstrength before jumping up out of my lap and heading to the door. “I’m sorry, I can’t- I just. I need a minute. I’ve got to go.”

Caught off guard by the abrupt change in emotions, I jump up quickly to follow her, even as she yells over her shoulder. “Don’t follow me, Theo! I mean it. I need some space. Please just leave me alone.” She is in the elevator before I can make it to the end of the hall, and I quickly veer to the side, exiting through the staircase.

I am breathless as I make my way down flight after flight of stairs. The burn in my calves matches the ache in my chest after a hard practice but I push through it, racing down each level until I finally reach the bottom and burst, breathless, into the lobby. Frantically, I crane my head from side to side, desperately searching for my girl, and catch the barest glimpse of her just as she is pulling out of the parking spot. Quickly, I race across the lobby, dodging my neighbors who throw irritated looks in my direction as I barely miss crashing into them.

I burst into the rainy, cold parking lot as her car is pulling onto the street.Merda!Running over to my car, I go to get in before realizing belatedly that I left my keys and wallet upstairs.Che cazzo! Fucking shitballs!I pull on my hair in frustration before double-timing it back inside and rushing to the elevator.

ChapterTwenty

Theo

Present Day

Aloud knock pulls me out of my memories, forcing me back to the present and the heartbreakingly beautiful woman standing before me. Seconds later, the sound of the front door opening, and soft voices speaking can be heard from down the hall.

With a start, Danica jumps slightly. She had been staring too, and I wonder if her mind had also drifted to memories of the past. “That’s probably Jonathan. We should-” she jerks a thumb over her shoulder as she nods backwards towards the door.

“Right.” My response is clipped, and I can’t help the stony attitude that settles once more on my features at the mention offucking Jonathan. “Well, I’ll follow you then.” And I nod in a gesture meant to signal for her to lead the way. She turns, and I feel my dick harden as I watch her graceful movements, the delicate lines of her features and the alluring sway of her hips as she leads us back down the hall.

“Finn! Jay!” My eyes narrow as she hugs each man in turn, and I clench my teeth, nostrils flaring, and my hands ball into fists at my sides as I valiantly fight the urge to punchfucking Jonathanin his pretty-boy face for touching my girl. Asshole looks like he’s never been in a fight a day in his life.

Bash is standing next to his brother, Jonathan flanking his other side, as Danica ushers the three of them to come further into the room and settles herself on her cushy reading chair, wrapping Ma’s knit blanket around her shoulders as she sits crisscross, wiggling around until she finds a comfortable spot. Jonathanwastes no time, sitting on the floor at her feet, back resting against the base of her chair as Finn and Bash both plop onto the couch, leaving an open spot for me at the end. Instead, I make my way over to the chair where Danica is seated, and lean myself casually against the wall, hovering inches from where she sits, arms crossed over my chest as I chose to ignore her pointed stare, instead, glaring down at where Jonathan’s head is resting against the side of her leg.

From across the room, out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Bash is wearing a bemused expression, taking in the dynamic between the three of us and, as usual, Finn seems oblivious to it all. Too focused on the matter at hand. Right. “So, you guys wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?” I can’t help the words as they slip out in a rush.

Finn cuts a look to Danica, before turning his gaze to me, and I interrupt my brooding about the new fuckface long enough to return Finn’s pointed stare. Refusing to back down, I sit in silence, waiting. Years of practice, as captain of my team, and with my position in the family business have taught me that nothing is as powerful as a pointed silence can be. It makes people uncomfortable, twitchy. And for people keeping secrets? Well, let’s just say they have a lot to fear from my weighted reticence.

None of that matters to Finn though. Social queues are something that have rarely registered for him; often not being important enough to be worth noting in his meticulously detailed memory bank, his mind always working a thousand miles a minute. Finn deferring to Danica, though? As if waiting for permission or some sort of signal? Now that is interesting, indeed.

“They’re the same.” That’s all he says at first, and we all just stare at him, various versions of the same blank expression on each of our faces. He sighs, running a hand through his hair in agitation. “It’s all connected, don’t you see? It has to be! And we missed it. I fucking missed it! I can’t believe I fucking missed it.” His foot taps absentmindedly against the floor, and he glances once more at Danica, as if imploring her to connect the dots that are flying around in his brain. Danica, for her part, looks just as confused as the rest of us.

“Ugh, dude, you’re gonna have to dumb it down for us simple folk. Not everyone has the inner-workings of a new-age Holmes like you. Care to break it down for all the Watsons in the room?” Bash throws an exasperated glance at his twin as he says this; as if he isn’t just as brilliant as his brother. The difference though, is that Bash has always chosen to hide his intelligence behind hiscarefree playboy facade, whereas Finn could never be bothered with being anything other than his genuine self.

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