Page 225 of Never Die for a Sinner
“So what, you guys are big, bad mobsters?”
Donovan doesn’t appreciate my sense of humor.
“Something like that,” he says, but there’s a faint smile at the corner of his mouth, like he wishes it were that simple. His eyes aren’t cold—not right now. They’re far away, somewhere I can’t follow.
“As you know, I own the Tomb. I bought it as a way to break off from my—ourfather and do something that no one else was doing. An outlet.”
“Okay?”
“And that’s how I met Cross. Our family comes from money, Ava, but one thing it’s lacking is stability. I never knew my mother.”
The admission tugs at something in my chest. “Why not?”
He shrugs, but it’s not careless. It’s tired. “She died during childbirth. A few years before you were born, I guess.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The room feels smaller somehow, wrapped in the weight of things neither of us got to have.
“I didn’t even know about you,” I say quietly.
Donovan’s gaze finds mine again. “Yeah . . . I know. But I knew about you. I always knew.”
There’s no accusation in his tone—just a kind of wistful sadness, like he’s mourning something that never had the chance to exist.
“Why me? I didn’t even know about you. Or Nolan, for that matter.”
Donovan chuckles under his breath.
My throat feels tight, a sharp ache pressing against my ribs.
Donovan smiles faintly, but there’s no joy in it. “You were the only thing he ever kept close that didn’t have a price tag on it.”
I look away, blinking hard as tears threaten to spill. I don’t know what hurts more—the thought that my father cared, or that I never got the chance to see it for myself.
“I don’t understand. Why would he think Alex would come after me if the deal went bad? I mean, you’re the one he chose to stay with.”
“And yet, the only picture in his wallet is of you.”
Something hot pricks at my eyes, and I press my lips together to keep them from trembling. I don’t know if the tears are for the father I never knew . . . or the pieces of him I’m only just now finding.
“I hated you,” Donovan says, as if I need to be convinced. “I hated himbecauseof you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”
“Because you got all the best parts of him, even if you never knew it.”
And for the first time, I realize we’re not just two strangers bound by blood. We’re two people who grew up missing the same thing.
Donovan shifts, his tone gentling. “We didn’t get to choose the family we were born into, Ava. But maybe . . . we can choose what we are to each other now.”
Donovan stands, the chair scraping lightly against the floor. He holds out his hand to me, palm steady, fingers open. I hesitate for half a beat before taking it. His grasp is firm but not crushing, warm but not lingering—like we’re just any two strangers passing in the street, and not a half-brother and sister meeting for the first time under the shadow of a man we both have reason to hate.
And maybe . . . maybe I wouldn’t want it any other way. A clean handshake feels safer than a hug I’m not ready for. Forgive me, but I’m still tainted by the way our first meeting unfolded.
“Whatever happens from here, Ava . . . you’re not alone in it.”
The words are simple, but something in the way he says them makes them feel like a promise. And for some strange reason, I believe him.
Donovan lingers for a moment in the silence of the room. Then, finally, he heads towards the door and leaves without another word.
