Page 54 of As Angels Sin

“I understand,” I say.

We lie together in silence for a while. Until the peaceful night carries me off to sleep and Crue to wherever he goes to get his rest.

***

Crue’s gone by the time the sun’s early morning rays first pierce the double-wide, glass, sliding door that leads onto a patio. But somehow, and without waking me, Crue has managed to leave me a gift.

I approach it slowly, not sure why I’m being so cautious. If it’s anything like the last gift, I know I’ll love it. Maybe the presentation is at fault. It is a brown cardboard box with no wrapping paper and a plain sticky note glued on top.

Thought you could use a hand, it says, with a smiley face drawn in two dots and a skewed mouth.

I scream, when I see the appallinggiftCrue has left on the kitchenette’s countertop. I reach for the wastebin and scream some more, fearing the contents of my belly are about to erupt out of me.

It’s a severed hand, covered in mud and blood, all neatly packaged into a zip-lock bag. My first instinct, helped by the sticky note on top of the box, is that this is a joke, albeit a sick one. In fact, the punchline’s so far over my head, I don’t think I’ll ever get it.

And then I notice the ring. A completely ordinary circlet of gold.

I begin to laugh. It’s maniacal, belly aching laughter. It stings so much I can’t breathe properly, but it won’t stop coming, either. He did it for me. He killed my tormentor, without my having to say a word.

When my uproarious howling comes to an end, I see another note attached to the bag. This one has no smiley face, and the writing is much neater than the pun filled lines before it.

On it, Crue has written an answer to a question he himself asked. Can we change who we are, to watch a Little Flame grow into a blazing inferno?

Yes, it reads,look at what you’ve done to me. You brought meaning to the meaningless. Now, you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire you—

The black ink from Crue’s pen runs off the edge of the sticky note, in a long line. It’s as if he wanted to add the rest, to finish the quote and to saylove you, but didn’t. Couldn’t. I’m not sure what to make of this. Is he too afraid to say it, or is it a lie that he doesn’t want to tell?

Crue will come back. He has to. If not for me, he will do it for our child.

At least, I hope and pray he will.

Chapter Twenty-Four

CRUE

If I knew how, and could love, it would be Fiametta. She’s proven the point time and time again. Hell, I almost blurted those words out while holding onto her last night. But filling her head with the false promise of my making it back would be a mistake.

There’s a strong chance I won’t return. If she must face my death, I’d prefer she do it with me as the monster. Not her dearly beloved.

“Jesus, man, have you gone full batshit?” Mark roars as I step out of my car and take slow, calculated steps toward him.

Okay, enough of dwelling on thewhat ifs. It’s time to get down and dirty.

Mark sent me a text early this morning, long before I woke up, saying he'd found my present. He named a time and a place to meet him, and I have arrived, as always, perfectly on time.

I’m surprised it took him this long to figure out where Tomas was waiting. I managed to get a full day, yesterday, following my normal routine as if my world wasn’t on fire. I went to the gym, bought groceries, which will no doubt spoil in my fridge after today, and even had time to stop in and see how Fiametta was.

Not bad, considering I thought I’d be dead before sunset. That Mark would find Tomas, and this text would come sooner. That I’d arrive at the appointed destination to find that he was waiting, surrounded by Baronne men, and not alone as he stands now. I would have said Napoli’s men, but as two of their dons have died within the span of a week, the name’s reputation has been tainted.

“Probably.” His question was a reference to Tomas. My answer is not.

It’s meant for her. Sitting alone in her log cabin. Without a car, she has no way to follow me, so she must be afraid of what might happen today. It matters little. All of this is for her, and Fiametta probably knows that. She must understand. I can’t risk her life. She’s the best chance our child has to be normal. To be the complete opposite of its dad. Not a perfectly punctual monster, but a perfectly innocent angel.

She can teach it to be that way. It will follow in her footsteps not mine. It will see the light my Little Flame shines so brightly, instead of stepping into my black shoes.

Speaking to her last night, like anormalpersonwould, was liberating. Much of what she learned are secrets I’ve held so close to my chest they might as well be made up.

“Is that all you’ve got to say to me?” Mark’s face contorts into a wicked snarl.

---