Page 232 of The Consequences of Love and Vengeance

I know deep down Drago is a good man, a great man.But does he know that?

He nods his head. “I know.”

Wrapping his hands around my ass, he lifts me up, sitting my thighs on his hips.

His eyebrows pinch together. “CC doesn’t know. My brother doesn’t even know,” he admits.

“Why did you tell me?” I find myself asking. Partly because I’m touched that he’d share this secret with me, and the other because it goes to show me that he’s trying to be honest and pull me more so into his world. My heart warms at that realization.

We can do this—us. I know we can. This moment confirms that belief.

“I need as many people as I can trust to know.” He exhales, fanning hot air across my face. “I need help watching out for my sister, but I can’t let too many people know. E knows too, and I’ve asked Summers to keep an eye on her, but he doesn’t knowthewhy.

I think for a moment, reflecting on his words. “There’s no one you can trust more than Luca, don’t you think? They’re best friends after all.”

“I know you’re right,” he agrees. “But I don’t want to put that on my little brother. I can’t ask him to keep that from her. Hell, I know it’s wrong not to tell her, but if she knew, it’d only frighten her even more and that’s the last thing I want to do to Caprice.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“I wish I fucking knew.” His chest expands, lifting me higher as he breathes in. “The last thing I want to do is hurt my sister, but keeping this from her, from Luca, and everyone else, is the only way I know to protect her. He’d kill her, Bri. If my father knew Caprice wasn’t his daughter—in all honesty, I’m surprised he doesn’t—I know deep in my gut, he’d kill her. And then, I’d have to kill him.”

That’d be murder.

No matter what I think of the guy, I don’t know if I could handle Drago doing something that would jeopardize not only himself but all of us.

* * *

When we filedout of the shower, I towel dried my hair after it got wet and then stole another set of clothes from D’s drawers from inside the closet. I see he’s dressed in a matching set of boxer briefs, sans the T-shirt when I walk back out. He’s in the process of laying Gabriel on his back, in the bed.

Watching them together puts a smile on my face. I love seeing him with the baby. I am not going to lie, it does something to me. It makes me feel giddy.

Drago glances up. “Caprice was about to feed him. I wanted to do it. Was it okay that I brought him in here?” he asks, seemingly shy and not like Drago at all.

“Of course it is,” I reply. “He’s your son. You can do whatever you feel is right when it comes to him.”

“No, Bri, I can’t.” He sighs. Looking back down at Gabriel, he places his large hand gently down on the baby, covering most of his front. He shakes his head, his brows pinched together in a scowl.

I walk closer, stopping at the edge of the bed, and looking at Drago, I whisper, “Do you ever think you’ll be able to love him?”

His eyes snap to mine. “I do love him.” His tone is low, almost inaudible, and I know it’s because he’s worried his father planted a listening device. “That’s why I have to keep as much distance from him as possible. At least for now.”

Drago rubs the back of his neck with this free hand, and the sadness I see in front of me kills me. I want to fix it. I want to make it so that his father never affects him or his siblings’ lives again. Is it wrong to wish death upon someone because of the way they negatively affect someone you love? Probably. But do I care? No. Not at the moment anyway.

Gabriel starts to wiggle and fuss. I glance down, seeing him eyeing the full bottle that’s lying next to him, but since Drago said he wanted to feed him, I step to the head of the bed and slide under the covers. It’s only seconds before Drago lifts him and the bottle, joining me in the bed.

I hate that D has to act disinterested in his son simply to throw his father off. It’s not right. It makes my stomach roll with unease.

I scoot closer to the center of the bed, closer to D and Gabe, pressing my upper arm into his bare one. Drago lines the bottle up with Gabriel’s mouth and the boy quickly sucks it in, pulling on the nipple and drinking the formula.

He’s seven months old now, and he’s filling out his little body, becoming a little chunk. It makes me smile to see how far he’s come from when I first took him home with me.

“He doesn’t so much need a hamburger anymore, does he?” I ask, remembering Drago’s comment from months ago, back when Gabriel looked more like a newborn than a three-month-old baby. His cheeks are filled out, round and chubby. He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Drago visibly stills, and it pulls my eyes away from Gabe to peek up at his dad. “What?” I question. His jaw has locked, replacing the sadness with anger.

“It pisses me off,” he says low and through clenched teeth. “That bitch let him starve for months before giving him over to you. If she wasn’t a woman, I think I would have beat the shit out of her by now.”

“She’d deserve it,” I tell him, meaning every word. I don’t condone a man getting physical, harming a woman in any way, but I doubt any mother or sane person would disagree with my declaration.

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