Page 86 of Psychotic Faith
She laughs and kisses my cheek while I still pin the PI. "My psycho protector. What would I do without you?"
"Probably kill people less efficiently," I respond seriously.
She can tease me while I hold a man's life in my hands, calls me 'psycho' as endearment when anyone else would die for the insult. Her unique privilege.
I systematically destroy his surveillance equipment. Memory cards crushed to powder, phone shattered. "Your employer will receive a message. Faith Winters is under Rosetti protection. Permanent protection."
"He skinned the last PI," Faith adds cheerfully. "Well, partially. Started with the fingers. Did you know each one makes a different sound when separated? I interrupted before he reached the wrists."
The man goes pale, looking between us like trying to decide which is worse.
I release him completely. "Tell Judge Winters his daughter is exactly where she wants to be."
He runs, abandoning his destroyed equipment. Faith watches with satisfaction.
"You've gotten soft," she observes. "Old Luca would have broken something."
"You're a terrible influence." But she's right. I don't torture for minor infractions anymore, only real threats. She's given me purpose beyond empty violence.
We settle beside her mother's headstone, morning sun warming the granite. I study Faith in the golden light.
"I was wrong about you," I admit.
"Wrong how?"
"At first, thought I was drawn to your innocence. The church girl performing children's songs." I touch her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone. "But that wasn't it. It was the darknessunderneath. Could see it that first day. How you held yourself apart, watched everyone like threat assessment."
"You saw through my performance."
"And you saw through mine. The psycho brother act."
"Oh no," she corrects. "You're definitely psycho. Just not only psycho."
Both true. I'm the psycho who found purpose. She's the killer who found permission.
My hand goes to the collar of my shirt, adjusting it. She glimpses what’s beneath—the purple bite mark she left last night when she made me come with just her mouth and teeth.
"Does it hurt?" she asks innocently.
"Every time I move." I lean in close. "I want more."
She giggles. “Any time.”
A soft breeze plays with her hair, pulling wisps of blonde around her perfect face. I could stand here forever watching the strand of hair tickle her full lips.
"Marco thinks we should marry," I say.
Faith goes still. "Because I'm pregnant?"
The words stop everything. I turn to stare at her, processing. Pregnant. The data reorganizes in my mind instantly. Dozens of tiny changes I tracked but didn't connect. The way she's been turning away when Dante lights cigarettes, something she never minded before. How she tensed when Maria mentioned the smell of coffee yesterday. Her breasts fuller, more sensitive when I touch them. All the evidence was there. I saw it all, filed it away, but didn't make the connection because I was too drunk on finally having her to analyze properly.
"How long have you known?"
"Three days."
Three days. While I was documenting every breath, every movement, she was hiding this. Not through deception butthrough my own blindness. Too focused on external threats to see the change happening inside her.
"And you didn't tell me?" The words burn. Not anger at her, but at myself for missing something so crucial.
