Page 119 of Single Mom's Daddies
“I think you’re a mom who fiercely loves her daughter and will do anything for her.”
“You’re right about that. Iwilldo anything for her.” She looks at me then, and her eyes are fire and iron. “I have fought for my daughter every day of her life. The heart thing…I have almost no control over that. What I can control is whether she’s happy, and she’s happiesthere. Happy in a way I never thought was possible.” She pauses as her eyes line with silver. “So, today, I fought for this place. This family. We’re not going anywhere.”
And for the first time in days—maybe longer—I let myself believe that we’ll be okay. That no matter what storm comes next, we’ll meet it. As a family.
35
VICTOR
The house is still.
Outside, the last of the federal SUVs rolled out an hour ago. The spotlights are gone. The gravel drive is quiet again. Inside, the blood’s been scrubbed from the marble, but it’s still soaked into my sleeves. I haven’t changed yet.
I sit in the study with the lights off. Just the fireplace casting slow gold across the wood paneling. A bottle of mineral water sits untouched on the desk. I’m nursing a dislocated knuckle and scrolling through the report from Ruger’s office.
Four men on our side and twelve men from Costello’s side are dead. Twenty-six more of theirs are in custody. Joe’s under heavy federal guard, and for once, the feds aren’t bullshitting. They want to bury him.
It should feel like a win.
But the echo of automatic gunfire still rings in my ears. The way Ivy looked when we shoved her into the panic room. The way Saffron didn’t flinch when I put a loaded gun in her hand.
They attacked ourhome.
My fists ball when I think of that, but then that knuckle screams at me to stop. Times like these, I curse having a body at all. My ribs throb in time with my cheek. Doctor Vlad stitched up what he had to, but I declined the rest. A man should have scars, and credit where it’s due, Joe is a hell of a fighter.
If any of it had gone sideways, even if only for a second…
My phone buzzes once. Incoming call. Unknown number, but I know who it is. “Ruger.”
“You sound tired,” he says. His voice is rough, low, like someone who’s had too many cigarettes and even more regrets.
“It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah. You did well.”
“You say that like it was a choice,” I say, rubbing a hand over my face. “We didn’t want this.”
“No one ever does,” Ruger replies. “But if it makes you feel any better, Joe Costello’s not walking away from this. Not ever. We’ve got enough evidence to bury him and the rest of his little family for the rest of their lives.”
I grunt. “Assuming they don’t get the needle.”
“That’s being floated too.”
Silence stretches. I feel my pulse ticking behind my teeth. “And if the mafia takes him out while he’s in custody?”
Ruger sighs. “I’d like to say Costello will face justice, but neither of us are naïve enough to buy that. We’ll keep him on lockdown, do the best we can. But these things happen.”
The realistic answer? From a fed? Wonders will never cease.
“And Milwaukee’s seedy underbelly will continue to thrive, right?”
“Someone’ll fill the gap,” Ruger says. “Power doesn’t just disappear.”
I can hear it in his tone. The suggestion beneath the surface. Not quite bait, but not entirely innocent either. “So I’ve heard.”
“You ever think about stepping in?” he asks, too casually.
My mouth twitches. This has to be bait. Is he recording the line? He can’t think I’m dumb enough to incriminate myself on the phone to a federal agent. Even after all we’ve been through today.
