Page 36 of Devour
“Just as you asked. Do you think she’ll sign them?”
“She will.”
A commotion at the door interrupts us. One of the guards' knocks, then steps inside.
“Mrs. Ariel is at the door. She’s demanding entry.”
“Let her in.”
As the guard opens the door to leave, she forces her way in. The second guard outside tries to stop her, but the one stepping out motions for him to let her through. Both men leave, closing the door behind them.
I turned my attention to her. She’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling from the effort. She looks better than she did in the last few days—stronger. I’ve seen the joy strip from her piece by piece during Noah’s chemotherapy.
Watching him suffer broke me just as much as it broke her. But that part is over now. The doctors say he just needs time—time for his body to adjust.
As long as he’s kept in a controlled environment, he’ll recover. He’s strong. That strength runs in his veins. He gets it from the Falcone blood.
“What’s going on?” she demands, her voice sharp, eyes blazing. “Why won’t your men let me see my son?”
“Because I gave the order,” I say flatly.
She stares at me like I’ve grown two heads.
“Why would you do that?”
“He’s my son just as much as he is yours,” I say, my voice laced with steel. “You kept him from me for years. I kept him from you for a day, and you can’t stand it.” That stops her. Her lips part, but no words come. She pauses, caught between fury and guilt.
“I admit I was wrong,” she says quietly. “I should’ve told you.”
“Why didn’t you?” I ask, my voice low but firm. “You had so many chances. Or did you want to run again?”
“No,” she whispers, and I hear the crack in her voice, like something breaking beneath the surface, but I don’t stop there.
“The only thing that kept you here was my son’s illness.”
My son.The word still feels foreign on my tongue… but saying it out loud stirs something warm in me, something dangerous.
“I was scared.”
“That I’d hurt you?”
“No…” She shakes her head, slow at first—then faster.
“My son…”
Her voice breaks again, trembling.
“No.” Her head shake becomes frantic. “I was scared you’d take him away from me,” she breathes. “And… I didn’t want him growing up in—”
“In the mob,” I finished for her, stepping closer.
My voice tightens. “You were afraid he’d grow up like me. Like a man whose father kills anyone who crosses him.” “He is my heir. My firstborn. The first of many you’ll give me.”
“I watch her eyes grow wide with shock.”
I don't know why I said that, but it just feels right. From the corner of my eye, I catch Marcel watching us, amusement flickering behind his otherwise impassive expression. He’d better not screw this up for me. I stopped a few feet from her.
Without looking, I extend a hand toward Marcel. He already knows. Wordlessly, he passes me one of the documents.
