Page 40 of As Angels Sin

“Don’t go,” I say, “not yet. I need you here.”

“They want me dead,” he says. “If I stay, they’ll make it happen.”

He takes a step forward and I launch myself off the bed, taking his hand in mine. I use all my strength to pull him toward me, and even then, it only happens because he turns around.

My impenetrable wall.

“You’re going to get through this, Fiametta,” Crue cups my cheek with his free hand. His calloused fingers are incredibly delicate against my soft, aching cheeks. “I’m going to make sure of it.”

He made it clear at the Father’s funeral. It doesn’t matter what happens to him, as long as our child and I are safe.

“What if I can’t do this without you?” I don’t just mean the nonsense with Tomas, but the whole shebang. I’m so used to him lurking around every corner. Watching and waiting for his perfect moment to strike. Every time he does, it leaves me thrilled and satisfied...

But more importantly, we have a child on the way. A child who will need a father. And not some surrogate I find who generates a mere fraction of the passion Crue does. My jewel-eyed stalker.

“I can’t do this alone,” I admit, once the thought grows too heavy to hold it back.

“You’re not alone. I’m always one step behind you.” He leans forward and kisses me, and I kiss him back as the tears begin to roll again.

He finally breaks away and walks out. I let him go, unable to fight for what I want.

It’s too hard and I’m too tired.

***

The next evening, I’m drifting through the mansion, hopeless. I’ve had my cell phone glued to my ear from the second I woke up, stealing Simone away from whatever she’s doing. I need someone to talk to, and with Crue preparing for his battle ahead, she’s the only person I have left.

“If you still want to go through with it, I’m all set on my side,” Simone whispers. She is trying to be covert, as if we’re two secret agents on a mission. And, in some ways, I guess we are today.

“I don’t see any other way.”

Everywhere I look I am reminded of Father. The dining room where he insisted upon having dinners together in my youth. He always apologized for being late, even if he was a minute overtime. Or there is the grand piano downstairs. I never could wrap my head around it, favoring art over music, but he reassured me that someday I would. He told me that with enough practice and determination, I could do anything I set my mind to, and nothing could stop me.

I see us at the fireplace on Christmas Eve, opening presents. Then we are in our kitchen making my first self-cooked meal — an egg, hard boiled to the point of rubber, but Father ate it anyway.

And finally, his bedroom. It’s cold now. Not like the memory I have of it, with him deeply asleep in bed. One time I came barreling in, weepy eyed and screaming that there was a ghost in my room. I insisted it was watching me sleep. Father kissed me on the forehead and pulled me into bed beside him. He whispered that in the morning he’d rid my room of the foul demon and then he held me tight as I drifted off in his tender, fatherly embrace.

The next day, he did rid me of that troublesome ghost, by moving the floor-to-ceiling mirror that stood in front of my bed over to the side. It took me years to realize I was staring at my own reflection, distorted by the darkness to appear nightmarish. Father never made me feel bad about it, either.

He always insisted that these would be the memories that I would someday hold dear. How true it turned out to be. It’s funny, how a person’s death can put life into perspective. There were good times among the bad. Mostly when I was young, but isn’t that the right time for them? When you are young, ignorant and free things look better than later, when you have becomeold, bitter and calloused because you’ve found out the world’s a terrible place.

“Have you told him?” she asks, hesitating.

“No, and I’m not going to. He’s doing his own thing.”Heis being Crue, andhis own thing, murdering two men. I can’t tell Simone about that. She’d never understand.

“Have you decided when?”

“Now?” I shrug, retreating from Father’s bedroom. I’ve had enough of memory lane for one day.

“Say the word and we’ll do it.” She’s serious. God, I love this woman.

“Give me a day. Maybe two. Things are... complicated,” I head back to my bedroom, keeping my eyes focused straight ahead, so as not to bring on any more memories.

“Is it dangerous?” Her voice picks up enough for her concern to be clear in my ear.

“No,” I lie. She’s carrying enough of my troubles already, and she’s putting herself in danger just by helping me. The less she knows the better. “Just complicated.”

“I’m only a call away. Anytime you need me.”

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