Page 137 of Toxic

"But Sean. He's always saying—"

"I will take care of it. Now, what can you tell me about these men? Until I know for certain they are all dead, I won't rest, dolcezza."

"I-I only recognized Lorenzo. It was dark. I-I only remember their smell. An-and one of them had a tattoo," she manages to reply.

I give her a chaste kiss on the lips, praising, "Good. That's good, Bridge. Tell me about the tattoo."

She squeezes her eyes shut. Her raspy voice is barely audible. "One guy's forearm had an animal. I-I think it was a wolf. There was a sword entering its mouth and fire coming out of it."

"Good, dolcezza. Do you remember anything about any of the others?"

She keeps her eyes closed, taking shallow breaths. I kiss her forehead, and she deeply exhales. "One man's neck has a scar. I-I think he got burned. It ran up half his face on his right...no...left side."

I continue telling myself to stay calm, but I'm so infuriated, my heart's pounding against my chest cavity. "What about the last man? Finn said there were six?" I inquire.

"I don't know."

I tighten my arms around her. "Okay. Is there anything you remember about him?"

"N—" She swallows hard.

"What is it?" I gently prod.

She shudders. "He had a gold chain necklace. It had a crucifix with an emerald-green center. It was longer. He..." Her face turns green, and she puts her hand over her eyes.

My gut churns. I quietly question, "What did he do with it?"

The ticking of the clock fills the air. I wait until she admits, "He put it around my neck twice then slid his hands under it until there was no slack. He kept telling me to pray, and I couldn't breathe. That's—" She takes several broken breaths. "That's when I blacked out the first time."

Potent rage like I've never known before annihilates me. I count to one hundred, holding Bridget as tight as possible, cursing myself for ever touching her neck or using the collar. I wonder what role I've played in hurting her further and how I'll ever make it right. The desire to inflict violence on these men—violence of a level I've never before reached—feels like it's suffocating me.

Bridget's the first to speak. She meets my eyes, and it shatters my heart further when she states, "I know I don't deserve your love. But will you promise to help me keep the kids safe? Please?" Tears fall so fast, they drip off her chin.

I slide my hands to her cheeks, holding her in front of me. "There's no one who deserves my love more than you. And that'sneverchanging, dolcezza."

She sobs harder and I pull her into me, vowing to myself that from here on out, nothing is getting my attention except hunting her rapists down.

28

Dante

A Week Later

All week,I've been in meetings with Papà, my brothers, Tully, and Bridget's brothers. As soon as Tully learned the truth, he called his sons back from Ireland. We've all agreed no one except our small circle, plus the O'Malleys and Ivanovs, are allowed to be part of this hunt.

I've tried to make sure Bridget is okay, but I'm struggling to figure out how that's even possible. What those monsters did to her is unfathomable. The fact she dealt with this all on her own for so many years makes me feel sicker.

I haven't pushed her to tell the kids about us. My focus is solely on her and hunting down these three remaining thugs. Finn returned to Chicago, relaying information to Liam and Maksim about the little we know about the men. Both families are searching records to try to figure out who they are and if they're dead or still alive.

Bridget's not saying much. It's like the truth was a bandage ripped off. The sore is open, oozing with agony and other emotions. I don't think I fully realize what those are yet. The hollow look on her face reminds me of the day I saw her when she first got to New York after Sean's death.

I've made sure I stay on track with Sean's training. My brothers have been giving him extra sessions. Nora flew in and arranged a slew of activities with Fiona. So far, our efforts to keep the kids occupied so Bridget can process things seem to be working.

Every night, I've stayed in her room, carefully coordinating with Tully when to arrive and leave. Most nights, we barely speak. I just hold her. A few times, she's had nightmares, and I could barely wake her up. Last night, she had another one. Each time it happens, the turmoil spinning in my gut creates nausea I can hardly keep down. Then I spend hours attempting to convince her the kids are safe and that nothing will happen to them.

And it'll be over my dead body before anyone gets to Fiona or Sean. Between my brothers and Bridget's, we've got extra security on the kids, both inside and outside their school. They don't go anywhere unnecessary, and we're controlling it right now by keeping them too busy to notice.

It's early in the morning. I've been studying Bridget for hours, wondering what I should be doing to help her deal with this. My entire life, I've solved problems. I'm trying to figure out how to be useful, but it feels like a losing battle. This is out of my wheelhouse, and I'm scared that I'll lose her if I don't do something soon to help her.

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