Page 18 of Assassin's Heart
And she had every reason to blame us, but that wasn’t what I saw in her eyes when they met mine.
“It is what it is, Remi. I just want my daughter back.”
“So we hand over the recordings and you get Brooke back safe and sound,” Levi said.
“Do you really think it’s going to be that easy?” The look in Leah’s eyes said she didn’t.
Levi’s brow scrunched together. “I think your brother came here instead of sending mafia thugs to kill his sister and niece and take what they want. Ross obviously doesn’t want the two of you hurt; some protective instinct still lives in there. Just give him the recordings.”
“I can’t.”
The four of us glanced at each other before staring back at Leah. “Why not?” I asked.
The arms around Leah’s middle clenched, holding her together. “Because I don’t know where Angelo kept them. I never have. And they’d never believe that. That’s why I had to run.”
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Chapter Eight
Leah —
It was past midnight before I insisted everyone leave. We weren’t going to figure out in a few hours what I hadn’t figured out in seven years, and I’d spent plenty of time thinking about it. Sometimes I wondered if the recordings had even existed.
I hoped to God they did; otherwise Fiori would never leave us alone.
Remi was the last to go. “Call if you need me during the night,” he said, pointing to the house intercom near the door.
“I won’t.” Need him, that was. I wouldn’t allow it. I spent years handling things on my own. I wasn’t calling in backup to help me sleep at night.
Not that I’d be thinking about sleep if Remi were here during the night. All the more reason not to call.
Remi’s jaw ticked in that way he had when there were things he wanted to say but wouldn’t. Good.
“We’ll talk more in the morning,” he finally said.
I gave him a big smile and shut the door in his face.
The possibility of sleep was unlikely, but the nurse in me knew rest was essential if I wanted to think clearly, if I wanted to go after Brooke when the time came, so I went through as much of my nighttime ritual as I could, then crawled into the bed. On my side, a pillow hugged tight to my chest, I closed my eyes and forced some of my tension out with a hard sigh.
And another.
And...
I knew it was a dream the minute I saw Angelo’s face. It was always Angelo in my dreams—the bad ones, at least. For the past year another face had invaded the good dreams, the sensual visions that snuck into my sleep. Remi’s face. I knew I shouldn’t think about him, dream about him, but found it impossible to stop.
This wasn’t one of those dreams. I looked around at the pale walls, the brick of the old warehouse that had been converted to create the apartments Angelo had lived in on the farthest outskirts of DC. Our safe haven. The place he’d wanted me to share as his wife, with the extra room we’d planned to convert into a nursery.
Those walls were splashed with red. Angelo’s blood. My blood.
My chest hurt, feeling like I’d run a hundred miles, my heaving breath doing nothing to fill the lungs in desperate need of air. Heavy cords bit into my skin, holding me down, the perfect target for every punch that came my way. And Angelo’s eyes… They burned with anguish, with remorse. The most powerful man I’d ever known, helpless. The knowledge was killing him almost as surely as the blood loss stealing his strength.
“Look at this, John! We’ve got a pink room with a crib.”
Bile rose to the back of my throat. Angelo had been so certain the baby was a girl. It had been too soon to know for sure, but he’d insisted on the pink. We hadn’t had time to put the crib together yet.
We should’ve had time. All the time in the world. Now there was no more time.
“Stand her up,” the man said, polishing the brass knuckles gleaming on his fingers. “He might not talk for her, but maybe he’ll talk for it,” he said, jerking his chin toward my slightly rounded stomach.
