“It’s a boy,” I murmur.

I’m a dad.

Rhett, Quincy, and I stare at the doctor. None of us speak. We wait in the worst silence of my life.

The obstetrician gives me a tired smile. “Your wife pulled through.”

The earth tips under my feet. I have to grab the chair back to stay upright.

She lives.

A boy.

Thank you, thank you.

I’m conflicted and raw, knowing the sacrifice I’ll pay for her life, but my joy far outweighs the torment of giving up my child and the woman I love.

“He was born at thirty-six past three,” the doctor continues. “One point one kilo. Thirty-nine centimeters.”

My voice is gravelly. “How are they?”

“They’re both doing well. You can see your wife in an hour, when she comes to. Your baby has been placed in an incubator. A nurse will take you to see him.”

“He’s only twenty-nine weeks. What complications can be expected?”

“Anything, but, statistically, survival rates for his age are above ninety percent and disability less than ten.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Thank you.”

He pats my back. “Wait here. And congratulations.”

Rhett is at my side the minute the doctor is gone, grabbing my arms as if he senses my physical weakness. “Congratulations, Gabriel.”

A smile transforms Quincy’s face into a goofy mask. “You have a son.” He pulls me into a hug and slaps my back. “Well done.”

“She’s alive,” I say, still needing to convince myself. “She’s going to be all right.”

There’s a note of pride in Rhett’s voice. “She gave it a good fight.”

“She’s a strong one,” Quincy agrees.

They wait with me until the nurse returns to take me to my son. I stop in front of the incubator that separates us. For now, this is as close as I can get to him. He has patches on his tiny chest, a pipe in his nose, and an IV in his leg. Damn, he’s small, drowning in the white diaper. So fragile. So perfect.

I place my palm on the glass. “Connor.” I ache to touch him, to hold him against my chest and feel his heart beat in his brave little chest. “You made it. You’re going to grow up big and strong. A good man.” With a mother like his, he won’t have a choice.

Big, shameless tears run through my beard into my smile. They’re happy tears. Tormented tears, tears to welcome, and tears to say goodbye.

He looks just like me, at least the me before my scars, but he has Valentina’s full lips. I don’t know for how long I stay like that, drinking in his features while he sleeps like only the innocent can, but my hip is aching from the long stand when a nurse touches my arm.

“Would you like to see your wife?” she asks in a bright voice. “She’s awake.”

Would I like to see my wife? What kind of question is that? I don’t bother to reply. I don’t even have flowers or a stuffed toy. No balloons or diamonds. Only lies, deceit, and freedom.

The nurse stops in front of a door in the maternity wing. “Here you go. She suffered blood loss and is still weak, but you can stay as long as you want. No visiting hours apply. Don’t tire her, though.”

That’s part of the advantage of a private clinic and room. I brace myself and push the door open. Valentina is surrounded by white sheets. Her eyes are closed, and her lips slightly parted. Her breathing is even, but her skin reflects the color of the sheets. My gut turns inside out. It’s hard to see her like this.

I make my way over quietly, trying not to disturb her, but her eyelashes lift when I reach the edge of the bed. For three hammering heartbeats, she stares at me, her soft eyes awash with emotions. Fuck, that look unsettles me. The twisted, tormented expression coils around my chest and squeezes the air out of my lungs. The single tear that slips from her eye and spills down her cheek is a stake in my heart that leaves a hole that can never heal.

I grab her fingers and squeeze. I want to climb on top of the bed and hug her to me, but I don’t want to disturb her wound and hurt her. Instead, I will myself to be content with perching on the edge.

I stroke the hair from her brow and trace my thumbs over the fragile skin under her eyes. “How do you feel?”

“Did you see him?” she croaks.

“He’s perfect, Valentina. So perfect.”

She lets out a gush of air that makes her shoulders sink back into the mattress.

“Rest.” I kiss her cracked lips. “I’ll be right here.”

Her eyelids flutter close, and her breathing changes. In a second, I lose her to sleep. It’s the anesthetic still in her system. Unable to tear away, I lie down next to her body and carefully pull her to me. I watch her until a new shift of staff comes on duty and a nurse pops her head around the door.

“The doctor is going to examine her, now, if you’d like to go home and have a shower,” she offers in a curt manner. “Maybe you’d like to eat something, too. You’ll need your strength to support your pretty young wife and that handsome son of yours.”

Dragging a hand over my beard, I look down at my crumpled shirt and suit. I must look a mess. My mouth tastes foul, and my throat hurts. Hunger hasn’t crossed my mind, but I feel unstable as I get to my feet. I’m reluctant to leave her, but get out of the staff’s hair so they can care for the precious creature on the white bed.

On my way out, I check on Connor. After washing and warming my hands, I lay them on his back. He’s so small my palm envelops his whole upper body. Dearness, pride, protective instinct, and love hurt my chest.

I pass my first diaper changing test, and when I place Connor like the nurse shows me, he holds onto my thumb with his fist, his grip surprisingly strong. It physically aches when I have to pry his miniscule fingers loose.

I put my fingertip on his heart. “I love you, son.”

No cell phones are allowed in the maternity wing. Outside, when I switch my phone on for the first time again, there are ten missed calls from Kris. Damn. In my panic, I completely forgot to let her know the status of events.

Quincy sits in a chair against the wall when I enter the reception area. He jumps to his feet when he sees me. “How are they doing?”

The smile that cracks my face is a string tied to a helium balloon. I’m going to float right up to the clouds. “Good. She’s tired. He’s perfect.” I take in his disheveled hair and five o’clock shadow. “What are you still doing here?”

“Wasn’t going to leave without you. Rhett went home to check on Charlie. Kris was going ape shit. She freaked out when she couldn’t get hold of you, so Rhett told her the news. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Thank you.” I mean it like never before. I don’t know what I would’ve done without these two men. And Kris.

“You’re welcome. You look like shit. I’ll drive you home.”

It’s nearly six in the morning. A new day has dawned. The rays of the sun wash over the windowsills like the hands of a clock, marking my time that’s running out. It feels as if I spent ten thousand nights in here, and every step I take toward the sunlight is heavier than the one before. Each mile I put between us is a mile closer to never. I swallow the knowledge of what I have to do, putting it away to deal with later, alone. For now, we need to celebrate life.

At home, an excited Charlie and Kris meet me at the door.

Kris embraces me, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Congratulations. I was going out of my mind. Tell me everything. I made breakfast.”

She leads us to the table by the kitchen and makes me relay everything that happened over eggs, bacon, and toast. I only focus on the medical aspects and go into a long and detailed description of Connor, leaving out the part of how this is going to play out. When they’ve oohed and aahed, I kick-start myself into action. Kris can’t afford to close the practice for the day and knowing how little sleep she got last night, I offer to organize a temp through Dial-a-Temp for the day, but she stubbornly refuses. We still have to talk about Valentina’s maternity leave and how it will impact Kris’ practice, but I put it on the backburner for now. The priority is for Valentina and Connor to rest and grow strong.

Feeling better after a shower and changing into a clean suit, I dial Michael and inform him of the news. I have five days of paternity leave, but will swing past the office later this afternoon to tie up a few loose ends.

Five days to say goodbye. That’s what I give myself. I’m not going to brood over it. Not yet. There are shitloads of things to do in five days. The nursery isn’t ready. Except for a few outfits and a box of diapers, we haven’t gotten around to the baby shopping. Valentina needs a crib, pushchair, carrycot, car seat, breast pump, and various other devices that babies require. After doing some shopping, I want to go past the clinic again. Eager to get on with the chores so I can get back to the two people I care most about in the world, I get some of the cash I stashed for the baby shopping in the safe from my study. I’m about to walk out of the room when my open laptop catches my attention. I always keep it closed when I’m not using it. It’s a security thing, knowing how easy a hacker can access the webcam and study what’s going on in our house. Every hair on my body bristles. Someone snooped around. There’s information on that computer that can implicate me in crimes and murders. Deliberately, I haven’t erased the evidence of financial embezzlement and bribes we made for Magda’s business. You never know when you may need it, like to blackmail yourself out of a dire situation when your life is threatened.

Treading carefully around the desk, I study the top for signs of disturbances, but all the papers and files are in place, painstakingly neat and square, just as I left them. I hit a random button to repower the screen. A folder I don’t know appears. The name sets my heart racing. I nearly go into cardiac arrest when I open it and read the file names.

Fuck. Shit. No.

My eyes fall on the black stick with the Louw Unlimited logo inserted in the USB flash drive.

Magda.

Magda told Valentina. She told her what I did. According to the files staring back at me, she did more than that. She gave Valentina the fucking evidence. Throwing the pile of bills on the desk, I clench and unclench my hands. I do this several times to prevent myself from hitting something. Valentina knew. She had our baby knowing what I did to her. Magda had no right. Why? I never meant for Valentina to suffer the awful truth. Goddammit! I take my anger out on the chair, kicking it until a sharp pain rides up my leg and lances into my hip.

What did Magda show Valentina? A recording of my conversation with the doctor? I open the file with a shaking hand. Just as I thought, an audio file of my call to Engelbrecht opens. I listen to the whole, dire speech, hearing what Valentina heard, trying to imagine what she felt, what she thought. I kind of guessed what the content of that file was even before I clicked on it, but I have no clue what the so-called Evidence folder contains. What other proof is there of my deceit?

A nasty foreboding sits in the pit of my stomach. This feels heavy. Dirty. Suddenly, I’m impatient. In my haste to open the file, I miss-click and have to do it again. What opens is a video clip. A blurry picture fills the screen. It looks like a low-quality home movie. As the images unfold, ice-cold dread fills my veins. The dread turns to boiling hot, melting fucking lava. Anger explodes in every blood vessel of my body. Rage makes me shake. My organs tremble as I witness a younger version of Valentina in her worst nightmare. I recall the uncontrollable shiver of her body as she knelt before me and told me her secret. I feel her pain and see her humiliation as six grown men caused those feelings for their pleasure. I want to kill them like I never wanted to kill. I want to make them suffer a thousand times more. I want to chop off their limbs and throw them at Valentina’s feet. I will drag them through stones and thorns until they don’t have an inch of skin left on their bodies. I simmer in my fury, forcing myself to watch every cruel second, wishing that every second is the last of her torture. It’s gruesome to behold and sheer agony to witness, but I push on, because the video contains something I’ve been after for the better part of a year––the identities of Valentina’s assailants.

Somewhere in the back of my mind a warning pops up. Something is familiar, but I can’t place it. When one of the fuckers speaks again, the fog lifts from my mind. I know that voice. Barney. He was—oh fuck. No. One of my father’s cronies. One by one, their ugly faces drift onto the screen. The whole damn team. If my father covered up their crime, if he shoveled dirt over the despicable act he’s no better than them. Then the camera turns, and I look into the eyes of the man who raped Valentina—the man who gave me life.

Sweet mother of Jesus. Shocked and sick, I fall into the chair, staring at the black screen. Several facts pierce my mind like burning arrows. One, my father raped Valentina while his friends held her down. My own fucking father. Two, Magda knew. She knew about the rape, and she never told me. Three, this has something to do with why Magda wanted Valentina dead. The debt was only a smokescreen. And four, what Valentina saw in this folder triggered a shock big enough to set her into labor and risk both her and my baby’s life.

Charcoal flecks of burnt-out ashes drift in front of my vision. Slowly, determinedly, I rise to my feet. I lock the USB stick in the safe and take my keys. Magda works in Brixton today. The drive there takes too long. It’s mid-morning when I park in front of the loan office. Only the Merc is outside, meaning Scott is my only obstacle before I get to Magda.

I slam my hands on the glass doors and push them open. Scott, who sits behind the front desk, jumps to his feet, reaching for his gun. Before he can grip the shaft sticking from the hip holster, I plant a kick in his stomach and a fist on his jaw. He falls backward, his body connecting with the wall. I use the momentum to grip his hair and throw him face-down on the floor. With a knee in his back, I restrain his wrists and wrestle the pistol from his holster. I flick off the safety, cock the gun, and push it against his temple.

He stops struggling, knowing he’s as good as dead. “What the fuck, man?”

“Where’s Magda?”

He grunts as I push up his arm. “Back office.”

“Who’s with her?”

“She’s alone.”

She usually is. The office is soundproof. She won’t hear me rough up Scott unless she walks through the door.

“Why did she go to my house, yesterday?”

“I don’t know.” He curses and whimpers in pain. “You’re breaking my arm.”

“That’s the idea,” I snarl. “Where did Magda get the tape?”

“What tape?” He turns his head to the side and gulps air through his mouth. “Ah, fuck, that hurts.”

“The one she left at my place. Yesterday.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I push harder, inviting more swearing, this time mixed with snot and tears.

“An old tape. Home movie.”

“Fuuuuck. Stop.”

He squirms like a worm. I let go an inch, giving him room to breathe and speak.

He pants and hisses. “I dug up a video tape in the graveyard.”

“Which one?”

“Rosettenville.”

“Which grave?”

“Haynes, Charles.”

I shove again, inviting a howl. “He’s not dead. If you lie to me, you son of a bitch––”

“It’s his plot,” he screams, “for when he dies.”

“When?” I accentuate my urgency with putting strain on his elbow. “When did you dig it up?”

“Ah, fuck! For the love of God.” Air wheezes through his teeth when I let go. “Yesterday.”

“How did you know it was there?”

“Charlie.”

“He told you?”

“He told the shrink.”

“Who, Christopher?”

“Yessss.”

That bastard. That’s why Magda insisted on the hypnotherapy. She needed to find a tape she was looking for. Some pieces fall into place, but there’s still a big, dark hole in the middle of the picture.

“Why did she give the tape to my wife?”

“I don’t know! I don’t even know what’s on the tape.”

I reached my limit with Scott. He doesn’t know more. Gripping the gun by the barrel, I bring the shaft down hard on his head, knocking him out cold. Just in case, I retrieve the cable ties Magda keeps with various other torturing tools in the bottom drawer and tie his hands and feet. I put out a closed sign and lock the front door before heading to the back office to get my answers.

Magda hops from her chair and rounds her desk, calling for Scott before the door shuts behind me.

I advance on her. “He can’t help you.”

Her eyes slip to the gun in my hand. “Be reasonable, Gabriel.”

“Like you were when you gave Valentina the tape?”

She pales to the color of whitewashed wood, the surface of her skin uneven and rough. “She showed it to you?”

The diabolic side of me wants to play with her. A rabbit and a fox. “Were you hoping she wouldn’t?”

She holds up her palms. “All I wanted was for her to leave. I only wanted my son back.”

My voice grows louder with each syllable. “You thought she’d run knowing my goddamn father raped her.”

“Yes, I thought it would drive her away. You haven’t been yourself since she came into your life. She’s destroying you, just like she destroyed your father.”

“She destroyed him?” Every one of my limbs is shaking. “He’s the one who took her innocence, her youth––God, Magda, they beat her to an inch of her life––and she destroyed him?”

Her eyes are magnified behind her glasses. “She seduced him!”

“She was thirteen fucking years old,” I grit out.

“I saw the way he looked at her, even when she was that young. Do you know how that feels? It’s the way she walks, with her ass swaying and her tits pushed out. It’s what she wears, those short skirts and tight tops.” She points a finger at my chest. “She did it to him, and she’s doing it to you.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “How long have you known?”

She looks away.

“You will tell me,” I say. “Today’s the day we come clean.”

“You weren’t supposed to find out, not like this.”

No. Neither was Valentina. God, not like this. “I did, so start talking.”

She faces me slowly. “What are you going to do with the tape?”

She needs to understand how serious I am. I’ll frighten her into talking, and if that doesn’t work, I swear to God I’ll torture my own mother. “It will go to the authorities, the ones you don’t own.”

She trembles from the hem of her dress to her neatly trimmed hairline. “It’ll destroy us.”

“We’re already destroyed. It’s over, Magda. We’re over. The business is over.”

Her Adam’s apple bobs as she swallows. “Don’t do this, Gabriel.”

“Why not? My father is a rapist. My mother is a criminal, and I’m a killer.”

“We do what we must to survive.”

“Don’t fucking justify our sins.”

“You say that because you’re under her spell, just like your father.”

“No, Magda. I’m in love with her. I love her like I’ve never loved a woman. I’ll go to hell for her, and I won’t blink an eye to send you to jail for what you knew and covered up, so start talking.”

For five full seconds she stares at me. Just when I think she’s not going to answer, she says, “Your father thought he killed her. He said no one needed to know, so he told Barney to destroy the tape. Only, Barney never did. He held onto it, as a bargaining chip, maybe to blackmail your father with later, who knows? Valentina survived. We learned about it when she was already well on her way to recovery, because Marvin and Julietta kept it quiet. Your father––”

“Stop calling him my father.” I can’t stand to be related to him.

“Owen was sure Val knew their names. He arranged a hit to take out the whole family.”

Ugly words sit on the tip of my tongue, but I will them away so she can finish this nightmare of a story.

“Before the hit could take place,” she continues, “Barney ended up dead. Shot down in his own front yard. Then Marvin paid Owen a visit and said he had the tape. Got it from Barney. He gave us a printout that clearly showed your––” She catches herself. “That showed Owen’s face as proof. He said the tape was hidden, and if we touched his family, it would go to the police. At the time, when Owen was running the company, we didn’t have many connections in the force. The police were waiting for a reason to arrest Owen. Even a speeding fine would’ve done. We didn’t have a choice but to call off the hit.”

Now I understand why Magda worked so diligently to buy her way through the police force. There was method in her madness of having as many of them in her pocket.

“What was the payback?” Marvin would’ve wanted revenge and compensation for what had been done to his daughter.

She gives me a long, sad look. “You.”

I stumble a step, the full weight of my body pressing on my half-lame leg. “What?”

“The deal was that you’d marry the ruined Valentina, and Owen would give half of the business to Marvin.”

I battle to take in the information, but it makes sense. Marvin would not only get an upgrade in terms of a suitor for his daughter, but also a hell of a payback, not that any money could make up for what they did.

I force the question from my dry lips. “What happened?”

“Owen wasn’t going to let himself be blackmailed. Charles was fifteen and a dangerous factor to be reckoned with. He was protective of his sister. I told Owen Charles would never let this go. He would bide his time and take revenge. Not having a choice, Owen agreed to Marvin’s demands, but the minute Marvin was gone, Owen called in his guys and told them to find the tape and kill the Haynes’. Instead of a hit, it was supposed to look like an accident.”

“The car that went off the bridge…”

“Our men cut the brake cables.”

“Julietta?”

“The bank robbery was staged. She was the real target.”

“Why did Owen let the children live?”

“Owen spoke to Val at Marvin’s funeral. It was clear she didn’t recognize him. She didn’t put two and two together. You’ve seen from the tape…” She looks away again, unable to meet my eyes. “You’ve seen from the tape she never opened her eyes, and Charles wasn’t himself any longer.”

“Why take the risk?”

“Owen wanted that tape, and Lambert Roos told us Marvin had given it to Charlie to hide. Charlie was the only one who knew where it was. We tried talking to him after the accident, but Charlie couldn’t remember. He didn’t know what we were talking about. He was totally incoherent. A complete vegetable.”

“The mafia cast the Haynes kids out, and Lambert rejected Valentina. Owen ordered them to do it, didn’t he? Was it because Valentina was betrothed to me?”

“I had no intention of ever bringing that woman under our roof. Do you think I wanted a constant reminder by looking into her face, every day?”

“Then why tell Lambert to break off the engagement?”

“Owen didn’t want them to have the Portuguese mafia’s protection. If the truth came out, it would be a war between us and them.” Her eyes turn flat and shiny like silver coins. “No one was allowed to take her in, but no one was allowed to touch her or her brother, either. He said it was just until he’d found the tape, but I knew it was for a different reason.”

“What reason?”

“He became obsessed with her.”

“Why would you say that?”

She opens the top drawer of her desk. Taking out a scrapbook, she throws it in my direction. I stride to the edge with more doom than curiosity in my heart, but we’ve come too far not to break the lid wide open and let all the maggots out. Flipping open the pages, I reel in shock as I stare at photo after photo of Valentina, all taken from afar. I only get to the third page before my gut turns on itself and bile pushes up in my throat. That explains how Valentina survived—relatively––unharmed in Berea.

Magda splays her fingers and rests her fingertips on the desktop. “We kept on looking, searching everywhere. We turned their house upside down and swept every nook and cranny of Marvin’s workshop, but the tape never turned up. Yet, Owen kept on delaying their killing, using that damn tape as an excuse.”

“When Owen died you ordered Charlie and Valentina dead to prevent them from ever talking and to take revenge on Valentina for your unjustified jealousy. The debt was just an excuse so no fingers from the mob family could be pointed at you.”

“Yes. I paid Jerry to take Charlie to Napoli’s.”

“That’s why you had Scott shoot Jerry. No witnesses.”

“Yes.”

“The break-in in Valentina’s flat?”

“We’d searched the flat before, but when I heard she was selling it, I had to be absolutely sure the tape wasn’t there.”

Then I fell for Valentina, not only unknowingly honoring Owen’s promise to marry his only son off to the girl he raped, but also making Magda’s biggest nightmare come true, dragging the memories of my father’s hideous crime over her doorstep. What a big fucking ironic turn of events.

Her voice shakes. “I told you not to fall in love with her. I begged you.”

I’m dead inside for the people who conceived and raised me. My family no longer exists.

“Your brilliant plan to have Charlie hypnotized worked.”

“It did. He told Christopher where the tape was hidden.”

“And then you thought you could kill Valentina by showing her in brutal detail what the father of her husband did to her?”

“I’d never kill the mother of my grandchild. I only hoped she’d leave you.”

“Well, you almost killed her.”

“Almost?” she asks in a small voice, very unfitting for Magda.

“Valentina went into labor yesterday from shock. Not only did she almost lose my baby, she also almost died.”

Joy flares in her eyes. It’s brief, lasting only a split-second, but I don’t miss it. She would’ve been glad if Valentina was dead, maybe even relieved if my child was dead, too. This, I can’t forgive. I don’t care that she shot me and turned me into a killer. I enjoyed being feared. I won’t lie. What I won’t accept is a threat to my child and the woman I love, the woman this family has wronged in every way. We took her virginity, her parents, her brother, her home, her money, her fiancé, and her protection. We brutalized her, disfigured her body, destroyed her studies, her dreams, and her life. I forced my child into her body, and now she knows. She knows the ugly truth.

Magda breaks my train of thought. “What are you going to do, Gabriel?”

“Make this right.”

“I see.” Her tall, straight body hunches. She looks fifty years older. “This is what it comes to, then.”

“It should never have started.” Owen should never have laid a finger on Valentina.

Her gaze is desolate as it searches mine. “What now?”

“It’s in Valentina’s hands. It’s her call if she wants to lay charges or send the tape to the Jews.”

She purses her lips, as if in deep thought. After a while, she asks quietly, “Boy or girl?”

“It’s a boy. His name is Connor.”

“Connor. You kept it in the family. That’s nice. Gabriel…” She hesitates. “There is something you need to know about Carly’s death. I don’t think the baby was the reason for her suicide.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sylvia and Carly came over for lunch the day before she passed away. They had an argument about Carly going out to a party with her friends. Sylvia wouldn’t let her go. She said after what happened with the drugs she couldn’t trust Carly. Carly was being dramatic, accusing Sylvia of ruining her life. She said she’d rather be dead, and if she were, Sylvia would be sorry. I don’t think she meant to overdose on Sylvia’s sleeping pills. I believe it was another one of her attention seeking stunts that had gone terribly wrong.”

I don’t have to ask why she didn’t tell me before. She wanted me to feel guilty about keeping Valentina. It was a matter of, ‘See, I told you so.’ Nevertheless, some of the weight lifts off my shoulders.

“Thank you for telling me.”

She nods.

I look at her one last time, because when I walk out of here, I never want to lay eyes on her again.

“Goodbye, Magda.”

She doesn’t answer. She’s still nodding, her head bobbing up and down, when I leave her office without bothering to close the door. I don’t get as far as the front desk when the shot goes off.