Page 235 of The Counterfeit Lover

As she clicked on the icon, his voice jumped out of the tablet, startling her and causing her to almost drop the device.

"What…" she whispered, her eyes widening in surprise.

"I hope you like this little present,Zia," he'd said, purposefully using her name so she could see he was serious about this—though it was for her benefit only. "I've included a lifetime subscription to an audiobook service, so you don't have to struggle to read anymore." He went on to provide more details about the features of the tablet before the recording ended.

On the other side of the screen, Michele was on pins and needles as he awaited her reaction.

"Audiobooks?" His pet blinked, and after exploring the app a little, she settled on a title, clicking on it. Her mouth opened in awe as she heard the voice of the narrator, and she quickly started adjusting the speed and playing with the different options on the menu.

A wide grin appeared on her face at the variety of books on the app.

Though she didn't thank him personally, Michele felt her gratitude in the way she threw herself on her bed, plugging in a pair of worn out earbuds into the tablet and choosing a book to play.

He blinked. Of course, earbuds were next.

But there was no denying the way she was enjoying his gift. In turn, his own mood brightened, and as a result, he did not kill one soul that day. Hard to achieve in his line of business, but he found himself extra magnanimous.

And it was all because of her. His pet.

Michele kept track of all her searches, curious to see what she'd want to listen to. At the same time, he queued the same titles so he could try them too.

For most people the day had only twenty-four hours. For Michele, it had twenty-four andVeneziahours. It was a wonder he could squeeze everything in his schedule and not make a single mistake. But that was exactly what he did.

He split his time between preparing for the next phase of his plan, and his pet.

It didn't matter that he was only getting only a few hours of sleep per night. On the contrary, his mood vastly improved because he had something to look forward to—her.

For someone who'd never been excited about tomorrow, it was the oddest thing to not only anticipate it, but await it breathlessly.

Yet as the day passed,tomorrowbecame the day Michele dreaded the most.

The day even his pet's presence could not brighten.

That night, he went to sleep with a bottle of Bourbon by his side, and he opened another one as soon as he awoke. Andreas and all his employees knew not to bother him during that day because chances were they would meet their end.

He languished the entire morning away, trying to forget all his thoughts and bury all his feelings. And after a bit more liquid courage, he finally jumped in his car and headed to the cemetery.

To Michele's dismay, he was still very much sober by the time he arrived there. But as he found his way to his son's mausoleum, he could barely keep himself upright due to the pain in his heart. Fumbling with the key to the lock, he finally opened the door, stepping into the darkness of the room.

"Hello, bud," he croaked, his voice breaking with emotion.

In the middle of the mausoleum was Solomon's tomb, and all-around, Michele had laid his favorite toys, seeking to turn the place into something Solomon would have loved, even in his death.

"It's been a while, huh?" he forced a smile on his face.

The mausoleum had been fashioned like a home, and at the back of it was a table with two chairs. On the table, there was a big portrait of Solomon surrounded by a few candles.

Taking a seat on one of the chairs, Michele took out his lighter, lighting the candles and bringing some light into the darkness of the place. He only wished he could do the same with his heart, which was currently breaking as he stared at the picture of his son.

He could still imagine Solomon as he'd been—happy and carefree. The joy and pride of Michele's soul. He might have been his adoptive son, but for Michele he had beeneverything. The proof that family didn’t come down to shared blood. It all came down to love.

Yet those years seemed so far away.

It was becoming harder and harder to grasp on to his form, or his voice, even when he tried his hardest.

Once more, guilt hit him straight in the chest.

If only he'd done things differently. If he hadn't been so rash—so out of control with his thirst for vengeance against McBride—Solomon would still be here.

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