Page 125 of Dirty Game
"Will you stay?" I ask. "Both of you? Here, with me?"
"Try to make us leave," Varrick says, and for the first time in days, I see him almost smile.
We sit in silence, watching Dante sleep.
He's wrapped around the wolf and pressed against my side like he's afraid I'll disappear if he lets go. Maybe I would. Maybe we all would, without each other to anchor us.
"Sienna's still downstairs," I realized suddenly. "Waiting for him to come back."
"Let her wait." Varrick's smile is sharp now, dangerous. "Let her realize he's not coming. That her leverage is gone. That her last card has been played."
"She'll run."
"No, she won't. She'll come up here, furious and ready to fight. And she'll find me waiting." He pulls out his phone, texts something quickly. “Gomez is clearing the building. Just Sienna and whatever security she brought. No civilians to worry about."
"You're going to kill her."
"I'm going to end this. Forever. So our son never has to look over his shoulder. So you never have to wonder if she's coming. So we can be a family without the ghost of my past haunting us."
Our son. We. Family.
The words settle over me like a blanket, warm and terrifying and perfect.
"I love you," I tell him, because I might not get another chance. Because if this goes wrong, if Sienna has one more trick, I need him to know.
"I love you too," he says, leaning over to kiss my forehead, careful of the bruises. "Both of you. My family. Mine to protect."
Dante stirs in his sleep, mumbles something about wolves and Daddy and being safe.
His hand finds mine, small fingers wrapping around my thumb with surprising strength.
"When this is over," Varrick says, "we're leaving the city for a while. Somewhere warm. Somewhere Dante can just be a kid. Where you can heal without looking over your shoulder."
"That sounds nice," I admit. "Like a dream."
"Then I'll make it real. After I handle the nightmare downstairs."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Varrick
It’s been a few days since we’ve had Dante, and things have been moving along since Rosalynn was discharged from the hospital.
We’re at a different safehouse now, Rosalynn’s been cleared by the doctor, and I just want to fucking move on with our lives.
The office is fucked with paperwork.
There’s no way I’d beat Sienna in a court to legally take my son from her.
The system is rigged against fathers, even if this one happens to be the King of Vancouver.
This has to be done the old-fashioned way.
It’s barely five in the morning, and the city’s blackout is mirrored in the glass, my own face a ghost behind the array of screens.
The only color comes from the blue glare of monitors, every inch mapped with ledgers, camera feeds, and photos of men I mean to erase.
The centerpiece is Rosalynn’s work.
