CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

Chase

I WASN’T SUPPOSED to be planning my wife’s funeral.

I stared down into the bottle of whiskey in one hand and the stain of her blood in my other.

“Hey, can I come in?” Phoenix was already walking in. I didn’t have the energy to point a gun at him or even respond. Instead, I lifted the bottle to my lips and winced as more tears gathered in my eyes.

Fuck I smelled her everywhere.

I pressed a palm to my eye.

I needed to burn the room.

Torch it.

And everything in it.

My jumbled mind couldn’t get past the betrayal. My heart refused to stop cracking, and with each crack it felt like my last breath.

“Chase,” Phoenix licked his lips. “She was your wife, she was my sister.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

“I don’t know why she did this — but I do know what this life does to good people. I just talked with Dante — she was going to kill Chris and El in a car accident, that was the plan, and they would let her out.”

“Shit.” How much more could the human heart take? I felt like I had a knife in my back and one stuck in between my ribs. “But since she married Dante…” My voice trailed off.

“I have something for you, I don’t know… I don’t know if you want it. I don’t know if it’s going to make things better or worse.”

“A gunshot to the head would make things better, Phoenix, just do it already.”

He smiled sadly. “I’m not shooting you.”

“Then get out and find Nikolai,” I spat, truly feeling suicidal, like I didn’t want the privilege of breathing.

He held out a black envelope. “This was delivered by one of the De Lange associates a half hour ago.”

With shaking hands. I took it and frowned. “You know what it is?”

“I have an idea.” Phoenix shoved his hands in his pockets. “Burn it, read it, I don’t care.”

He walked out of the room and shut the door quietly behind him.

I chucked the envelope across the room and stared it down while I downed another gulp of whiskey.

I wanted to burn it.

I wanted to pretend it was her so I could yell at it. So I could get answers, so I could ask.

Why.

Just. Why.

Why I wasn’t enough.

Why we weren’t enough.

Why she broke us.

Why she shattered my heart.

I wanted to ask her if it was worth it. All of it.

“Is this what you fucking wanted?” I shouted at the envelope. “To destroy me?” I fell to my knees in front of it and picked it up again.

I jerked the paper out and stared at her perfect penmanship.

Of her speaking to me from her grave.

A grave that would be dug too soon.

For a wife I wanted to grow old with.

Have children with.

I couldn’t look away.

I started to read.

 

Chase,

I love you. I want you to know that if you’re reading this, it means something went wrong.

I never wanted to hurt you.

I know how lame that sounds.

I know how arrogant it sounds, and I’m the one writing it.

I thought… I thought I could do a job on the side, help the Petrov family, they needed to get shipments in the country, and I knew a way to do it.

Things were fine for the first two months.

I rarely saw them.

And then, Andrei started calling on me or my guys for odd jobs, he paid well, so they did them, and I allowed it.

I got in too deep.

And when I realized what he was actually doing, not just moving drugs but illegal weapons, and a sex ring I still have no information on. I decided to start gathering intel, just in case I’d need a way out.

He manipulated me.

So I tried to manipulate him right back.

It backfired.

He found out.

Destroyed most of the evidence I had.

And owned me.

He owned me, Chase.

It was my arrogance.

It was never planned betrayal.

And then he offered me another out — a way to go back to you, a way to forget everything.

El.

I’m ashamed to admit I took it.

I didn’t know her. She was just another target.

And in the grand scheme of things. You were my reason for living, you and the family we were trying to build, the life we had, our future.

Obviously, that didn’t work out since she just left here with Dante.

I saw his face when I got up from the dinner table.

He loves her.

And he should.

There is no way out, Chase.

I’m writing this because I see no way out other than to leave you, to protect you, to protect the rest of the families.

Please forgive me.

Forgive me for not being enough.

Forgive me for not being stronger.

Forgive me for not telling you how much I love you every second of every day. Forgive me for being a coward.

Forgive me for not being worthy of the Abandonato name.

The white horse… the one you’ve been searching for, the one Phoenix refuses to let you have? It’s been right in front of you this entire time.

 

I glanced up, my eyes frantic, then looked back down.

 

I constantly moved it, it was like a game. I wanted you to find it, but I also felt like as long as it was watching over us — everything would be okay. Look on my dresser, in my jewelry box.

It’s not very big.

But it means everything to me.

Because it’s part of our story.

And I hope that one day, you’ll find someone who can help you continue it. One day, you’ll find someone who isn’t constantly competing or in your shadow, but someone who allows you to protect them, to give them the love they deserve.

I never deserved you.

I took you anyway.

I’ll never be sorry for those moments in your arms.

But I’d rather burn in Hell then steal the smile from your face, the laughter from your heart.

Please live.

Please.

And know. I love you.

And will love you.

Forever.

—Emiliana De Lange Abandonato

 

I read the letter twice.

As tears rolled down my face onto her handwriting.

And with slow steps, I made my way to the dresser.

The white horse was exactly where she’d said it would be. I clutched it in my hand, my body convulsed.

With a cry I fell to my knees, still holding it, still wishing it was magic that could bring her back.

Wishing it was me who was dead.

Not her.

Not the woman I loved.

Not the woman who’d risked it all — and lost.

I held the horse out on my palm and vowed.

I would never be the same.

Never.

And I would hold onto my resentment, until it turned into anger, until it burned and fueled the hate.

Because I didn’t want to feel.

Not anymore.

I stood and shoved the white horse into my pocket.

Another knock sounded.

Trace let herself in, closing the door behind her.

She walked directly into my arms.

“I wish I would have married you instead,” I confessed. “Maybe then this wouldn’t hurt so fucking bad.”

“Because you never loved me the way you loved her.” She cupped my face and brushed a kiss across my cheek. “It hurts because you loved her.”

“It hurts because she broke my fucking heart,” I rasped.

It was minutes.

Hours.

Days.

I wasn’t sure.

Finally, Trace left.

And I stared up at the ceiling, clutching a white horse in my right hand, and a bottle of whiskey in my left, wondering.

When I would ever feel okay again?