“I need to take him in. Now.”
Michael said nothing, but I was sure he was making wild hand gestures at them. Once the tow truck showed up and pulled the car away to a prearranged location, he could get out. But for now, he was stuck where he was.
I knew it was killing him not to be able to follow me to the hospital.
“Yeah. Okay,” the cop said, finally catching on. “But make it look leisurely,” he added. I made a mental note to give the guy a bonus.
“No siren,” I whispered as they loaded me into the body bag, zipping it up almost to the top. The feeling was surreal. But I wasn’t afraid. I didn’t regret anything. The paramedic nodded subtly.
I felt them slow down and roll me into the back of the truck like a bag of potatoes. Good. Through the red hot blaze of pain radiating through my belly, I held onto one thought. A name that felt like a prayer.
Francesca. 'Cesca. My little queen. My heart. My love. My life.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Francesca
“Someone else did your dirty work for you,” the voice drawled from my phone. He paused. “I’m not sure I should reward you for this.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, afraid of the answer.
“He’s dead. Your friend. Somebody took him out.”
My heart started pounding. I clutched the phone so tightly I thought it might crack. If it were a glass, it would have shattered.
Was this real? Was it happening? Was this Vincent’s plan?
Or was he really dead?
I would have known if he were gone. I would have felt it. The earth would have tilted. The world did tilt, I realized suddenly. I grabbed the back of a heavy chair and leaned on it. Heavily.
Too heavily. I realized my error as it slid, making a horrible sound as it scratched the lacquered wood floor.
Focus. Don’t overplay your hand. Your baby needs you.
Vincent needed me too. He was alive. He had to be. I didn’t think I would survive if he wasn’t.
He’d managed to convince Philip that he was dead. He must have staged a public execution. But how had he done it?
“I did what you wanted. Bring her back.”
“Someone else did what I wanted.”
“I played by your rules. You told me to soften him up but not to finish him.”
Silence. I closed my eyes and prayed. When he spoke, he sounded pleased with himself. He sounded almost magnanimous.
The fucker.
“I’ll drop her off tonight. Be ready. I want to talk to you. In person,” he added menacingly.
I nearly collapsed in relief. My baby was coming home. My Angelique. My little angel. But the fear for Vincent was still there. And the way Philip said ’talk’ sent shivers down my spine.
He wanted me back. Not as a wife in the true sense of the word. As a prop. As someone to abuse and to prove that he could get me back in the eyes of his family and the other ruling families.
Losing face was way worse to him than actually losing me.
Never mind that he was a devout catholic, but only when it suited him. I was well aware of his thoughts on the sanctity of marriage. He still considered me to be his wife. His property. If he ever found out that I had been with Vincent . . .
There would be hell to pay.
I would pay the price gladly. Even being with Vincent once had been worth the repercussions. I just wanted to protect my daughter from the fallout if it ever came.
I had already been through hell. To hell and back, and more than once. It had been years of abuse and trauma. Being with him had been daily torture.
I didn’t like being afraid, I realized. It was an obvious thought, but I’d never felt so clear about it. The fear was worse than being alone. Or being hurt. I was tired of being afraid. With or without Vincent, I was tired of it.
I was done.
Enough, a voice inside me rose up to say. Enough.
This ends now. You will get him out of your life for good.
But don’t strike. Not yet. Not until you have her. Not until you are sure you will win.
“There was blood everywhere,” he said with a sick chuckle. “That fucker is dead as a doornail.”
He ended the call, and I broke. I didn’t have time to think. I just collapsed in a heap, falling to my knees and weeping. Tears of relief and fear, sadness and joy, slid down my face in what felt like a never-ending stream.
The door crashed open, and she was there. My surrogate mother. Maria took one look at me and nodded. She closed and locked the door. She did not know the reason for my heartbreak, but she knew my soldiers could not see me like this. In another moment, she pulled me into her arms and held me.