I saw the pain in his eyes when he told me about his parents and about what happened to his sister. Losing his parents still haunts him. Almost losing Devin does too. I don't want to be another ghost that causes him pain. If Delilah manages to kill me, I don't want to haunt him. I want to set him free. He deserves that.
"Oh, Snow," Belle says, her expression falling. She reaches out, pulling me into a fierce hug. "Of course I'll tell him. But that day won't ever come because we aren't going to let her win. He won't let her win."
I send up a silent prayer that she's right. The longer I'm here, the stronger I feel. As if I might actually have a chance of beating her. But after spending so much of the last few months living in fear, it's hard to let myself believe that I might actually survive this entire nightmare.
I didn't even realize I'd almost given up hope out there in the woods, but I had. It's hard to keep it alive when the only interaction you've had in weeks is with seven dogs and whatever wild animals you run across. I'll never let myself reach that point again. No matter what else she takes from me or what she does to me, I refuse to let her wield that power over me. She can kill me, but she will never, ever break me.
Belle and I pull apart just as Dante sticks his head out the door, his expression tense as it settles on me. "You need to come inside," he says in a soft growl.
Anxiety churns through me at the look on his face. He's mad about the dogs.
"I'm so sorry about the dogs. I'll clean up everything, I promise."
"I'm not worried about the dogs, sweetheart," he says, brushing off my apology. "Sheriff Armstrong is here. We need to keep you and the dogs out of sight until he leaves the property."
Chapter Seven
Dimitri
"What are we doing about the Carmonas?" Dante asks, eyeing me and Constantine over his desk.
"Killing them," I say.
Constantine snorts. His leg is healing nicely. He's still limping, but it hasn't slowed him down much. He took half a day to rest before he was back to work. The man doesn't know the definition of a day off.
Dante shoots a hard look in my direction. "Yes, that's on the agenda," he says. "But a plan would be nice, Dimitri."
"Killing them painfully."
Constantine scratches the side of his face, trying to cover a smirk when Dante curses, sitting back in his chair to glare at me.
"They're scattered all over Texas," he growls. "We can't continue picking them off one by one. I'd like to have them dealt with before your balls drop."
Constantine snorts laughter.
"Too late for that, Gramps," I mutter, using the nickname Belle gave him because of his silver hair. "My balls are just fine. You might want to start putting lotion on yours, though. I heard it helps with wrinkles."
Constantine chokes on his laughter, wheezing.
He eyes me levelly. "Dimitri, don't make me shoot you." His gaze flicks to Constantine. "You either."
Bruno, my uncle's closest friend and advisor, groans from the other side of the room where he's lounging on a sofa. He's supposed to be meeting with us, but he's nursing a hangover. The girls at the club thought it would be funny to send him drinks all night. He's been handling shit there while we deal with the Carmona and Delilah situation. "If you two are going to be talking about your balls, please shoot me first."
"We're not talking about our balls. We're talking about the Carmonas," Dante says firmly. "We can't keep picking off the low-hanging fruit."
He's not wrong. Constantine and our enforcers can only do so much without leaving a trail that leads right back to us. That's the last thing we need right now. Especially when we left several at The Falls four days ago.
It's only a matter of time until Dillon Armstrong shows up to start asking questions. We weren't exactly careful out there. We didn't have time to be. He'll find his way to our door eventually. When he does, I have no answers for him. None I'm willing to share yet anyway.
"What have you heard, Constantine?" Dante asks.
"Not much," he mutters. "Cops here don't gossip like they do in Houston. But we aren't in cuffs yet, so I assume the few who survived the other night managed to slip away before the cops showed."
Dante nods. "We need to decide what we're going to do about the stepmother. That's the real issue."
"Fuck," I growl, raking a hand through my hair. "I know." Unfortunately, I don't know what we're supposed to do about her. If she were anyone else, I'd kill her slowly and painfully. But she's not anyone else. She's Snow's stepmother. It presents a serious fucking problem. Snow will never agree to let me handle her the way she deserves to be handled. And unless we can tie her to the Carmonas without jeopardizing everything Snow owns, we can't involve Dillon.