One
Crow
The second I hung up on Bones, I called my brother. It didn’t make sense for Bones to lie to me about this, not after three months of silence. If he wanted to take revenge on me for keeping him away from my daughter, there would be no reason to wait this long. And even if it was a trap, I couldn’t take the risk of not acting.
Not when my only son was at risk.
Bones was right about where Conway was that evening. He also was right about my daughter-in-law. He was a hitman for a living, so it made sense he would know about the hit before it happened.
And if he really wanted to kill me and my family, he knew exactly where I lived.
He could have killed all of us by now.
Cane answered. “Yes?”
I ignored his attitude because it wasn’t important right now. “I’m only going to say this once. No questions asked.”
“Shit…what is it?”
“Skull Kings hired a crew to take out Conway. They’re hitting him at the end of the banquet. They’re also planning to hit Sapphire too, at their home in Verona. Get the chopper ready, organize the crew and the artillery in Milan. I’ll meet you in seven minutes. I need to call Conway.” On the outside, I seemed to be calm, issuing orders without letting my voice shake. But the truth was, I was absolutely terrified. When my daughter was taken, my hands trembled. And now that my only son was at risk, I was even more scared. I didn’t know who I was up against and I had no idea what provoked this hit, but that wouldn’t change anything. I had to save my son—even if it claimed my life.
“Got it.” Cane hung up.
I called Conway next, the tremors starting in my hands.
Voice mail.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I called three more times, and each time, it went to voice mail.
He must have silenced it.
I texted him, knowing the message would be on the front of his screen when he looked at his phone, unless it was drowned by messages from other people.
Shit.
I ran to the artillery room downstairs, running past Lars on the stairway without giving any explanation of the terror that gripped my heart. I pulled on the bulletproof vest, grabbed two pistols, my rifle, and my shotgun, and then prepared to leave.
I forgot about Button.
I halted at the entryway, unsure what I would say to my wife. I didn’t want to tell her the truth, that our son, daughter-in-law, and future grandbaby were all at risk. I was tempted to walk out of there without giving her any explanation, to protect her as long as I could.
“Crow?”
I heard her voice from behind me, and I slowly turned around.
One look at my face told her something was terribly wrong. “Lars told me you were running around the house like a madman—” She looked at all the weapons that covered my body, and instantly, her eyes watered with unshed tears. “What’s happened?”
“I don’t have time, Button. I have to go.” I opened the door and walked out.
She followed me. “Crow! Let me—”
“No.” I got to the car and stuffed the guns in the trunk. “There’s no time. I have to leave.”
“Who is it?” she whispered. “Please don’t say—”
“Conway.”
She covered her face, the tears falling. “No…” My wife was tough, hard as steel, but when it came to her kids, it was a different story. “God, no. What—”
“I don’t have time.” I slammed the trunk. “Skull Kings put a hit on him. That’s all I know. Cane and I have to leave for Milan now.”
She kept crying, but she didn’t try to stop me from leaving. She followed me to the driver’s side of the car. “Bring our son back, Crow. Please.”
“I will, Button. You know I will.” I didn’t kiss her goodbye or hug her to comfort her. I didn’t look at her again as I shut the door, started the engine, and sped out of the driveway, hitting seventy within three seconds. I didn’t glance at her in the rearview mirror, unable to look at the mother of my children.
The mother of my son.
Two
Vanessa
Antonio and I were taking it slow.
I still hadn’t kissed him yet.
He’d tried a few times, after he’d said goodnight to me after dinner.
But I never said yes.
No matter how much time had passed, it always seemed too soon. It seemed like Bones just said goodbye to me at the little house we’d stayed in. It seemed like he was just in my bed the night before. Sometimes when I slept, I thought I smelled him on my sheets…even though that wasn’t possible.
Would I ever be over him?
Maybe it wasn’t possible.
I was sitting at the easel in my apartment, examining a painting I’d made that morning. It wasn’t my best work, and I was tempted to throw it in the dumpster and forget it ever happened. I’d been selling so many pieces that I was anxious to replace them, but feeling rushed stifled my work. I couldn’t be creative when there was so much pressure to produce new pieces.