Even after five days pass, London remains tight-lipped, refusing to divulge what exactly “I’ll handle it” means.

No matter how many times I ask, he won’t budge. It’s beyond frustrating because I can’t even guess what he has planned. We’ve been working with Mitch, attempting to breathe life into the case of adopting Emily, but we all know it’s futile. Without Belle, London’s hopes are dwindling.

I haven’t heard from Lincoln since our unfortunate meeting, and I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. The fact Belle still hasn’t been in contact tips the scales toward this ending ugly. London hasn’t spoken to Emily in days, and that has resulted in me watching him become a shell of who he once was.

I’m helpless, we both are, and I hate it. No matter how positive I attempt to be, this just goes from bad to worse. London refuses to acknowledge much. He simply stands on the balcony, staring off into the distance. He doesn’t eat or sleep. He is just existing.

This is breaking my heart into tiny pieces because when we argued, at least I knew the anger was driving him. But now, it’s like he’s on cruise control. I ask if he wants to discuss it, but he says he has nothing to say.

I know he isn’t angry with me, but I can’t help but feel like it’s personal, especially when he’s on the phone with someone quite often. When I ask who it is, he brushes me off, saying it’s work. He can talk to them, but he can’t talk to me. He’s shutting me out, and each day, I feel us drifting further apart.

I thought marriage would bring us closer together, but it hasn’t. It seems to have driven a wedge between us because London obviously doesn’t feel like he can talk to me about this.

Tonight is bitterly cold, reflecting my mood and how I’m constantly feeling these days. I’m sitting in front of my laptop because working takes my mind off everything. I’ve given up asking London if he wanted dinner about two hours ago because he didn’t reply.

He just sat in front of the TV, not really watching the flickering picture.

This distance is killing me. I feel like a part of me is missing, and I suppose it is.

The only way to deal with this shitstorm is by having a glass, or more like a bottle, of wine most nights. I know it isn’t a solution, but it’s the only thing that’s helping me get by.

As I’m reading over some legal paperwork, London’s cell chimes. I almost hit the ceiling from my jolt because I was lost in the silence. I turn over my shoulder to see him look at the screen and get up to go out onto the balcony.

He clearly doesn’t want me to hear his conversation. This secrecy has got to stop.

Deciding to deal with the repercussions later, I stand, following him. I only get wind of the end of the conversation. “I’ll see you soon.” He hangs up, guilt instantly following when we lock eyes.

“Who was that?” I ask, crossing my arms across my chest.

“I have to go sign some paperwork for the bar,” he says, avoiding my question.

Peering down at my watch, I arch a brow. “It’s after nine.”

He shrugs, quickly pocketing his phone. “New York is the city that never sleeps.” He’s nervous. Why?

“London,” I say, my voice heavy as I know he’s lying. “Talk to me. Please. You’ve been avoiding me these past few days. I can’t help unless you talk to me.”

He sighs, running a hand down his face and over his full beard. “There is nothing to talk about. Whatever we say leads to the same outcome. I’m sick of talking.”

I have tried my hardest not to lead with my emotions, but I can’t do it anymore. With tears filling my eyes, I beg that he lets me in. “I’m scared of losing you. I know I’m being s-selfish, but you’re my wo-world, and when you’re not in it, everything crumbles.” I bury my head in palms, ashamed I can’t pull it together. “I feel like I’m losing you. Each day, I don’t know if I’ll wake up, and you’ll be there.”

“Oh, Princess.” That name jumpstarts my heart because I haven’t heard it in what feels like forever. “Come here.” I don’t have a choice because he drags me into his arms and hugs me tightly.

I sob into his shoulder, hating that he’s comforting me when I should be the one comforting him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his cheek resting atop my head. “It’ll all make sense soon. I promise. But right now, I have to go. You stay here, okay?”

I never want to let him go. He will have to pry my fingers from him. But when he gently coaxes me to release him, I eventually do.

Wiping away the tears from both cheeks, I sniff. “When will you be back?” When his eyes drop to his motorcycle boots, I hug my middle. “Are you coming back?”

This shouldn’t be a hard question. It’s a yes or no.

“Of course, I am.”

It’s hard to believe him when he refuses to look at me. But I have no other choice than to let him go.

Once upon a time, he let me go, thinking he was doing the right thing, and now, I have to do the same thing. I could demand he stay—give him an ultimatum—but that won’t achieve a thing. All it will do is drive an even bigger wedge between us.

“Okay. I love you.”

There is something weighing heavily on him, and when he opens his mouth, I think he’s going to finally tell me what’s going on. But he doesn’t. “I love you, Princess. I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you.”

If he spoke these words to me in any other situation, I would be touched. But now, they leave me with a sense of foreboding. “Why do I feel like you’re saying goodbye?”

“It’ll never be goodbye between us.” He storms over and crushes his mouth to mine.

We are frantic, pawing at each other, desperate to fill the void that has been missing from our lives for days. This kiss is soaked with desperation, longing, but most of all, it’s filled with finality. Whatever happens from this moment forward will change us forever.

A salty wetness passes over my lips and into my mouth, but I don’t know whose tears I’m tasting. London pulls away before I get a chance to ask.

“Good night, Princess.”

“Good night,” I repeat softly. He kisses my forehead, his lips lingering, savoring our touch as he brushes over my ring, before he turns his back and walks out the door.

I stand still, watching the doorway, hoping the door will open and he will come charging back in. But he doesn’t. I’m alone. When a few minutes pass, it’s evident he won’t be returning.

This is the first time in my entire life I’ve ever felt this way—I’m utterly defeated. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where London is going, or if he’ll be back. I know I’ve been through this before, but it feels different this time.

As much as every part of my body is telling me to storm out that door and follow, I don’t. There’s a reason London has decided to keep whatever this is quiet. But that look he gave me leaves me wanting to be sick.

I may have made peace with the fact that I won’t follow, but I’ll be damned if I leave him out there, unmanned.

Reaching for my cell, I dial Detective Freddy Gomez. No surprise, it goes to voicemail. I leave a brief message, asking him to call me back. I may not want police protection for me, but that doesn’t apply for London.

With no other option now, I wait.

London said he’ll be back, and I have to believe him. But it’s hard to put my faith in fate when all she’s ever done is stab me in the back.

Gulping down another glass of wine, I pace the hotel room, a thousand scenarios flashing before my eyes that all end in London being hurt. I don’t know why, but I just can’t shake the feeling that “handling things” means he’s sold his soul.

A wheeze kicks me in the chest, and I almost double over. I can’t breathe.

I know I told him I wouldn’t follow, but I can’t do that if it means him getting hurt. And I can’t help but think that whatever he’s doing will end in just that.

He can bitch me out later. I’m going to find him.

Balancing on one foot as I shove on my sneaker, I reach for my bag and cell. When it rings, I almost topple over. You’d think I’d learn by now, but I haven’t.

“Hello?” I breathlessly pant into the receiver.

“Holland, it’s me.” The blood drains from my face, and just like that, I’m transported back to that fateful moment in time when I received a phone call that changed everything.

I wet my lips. “Belle?”

“Yes, hi.” She sounds jumpy, which just adds to the doom. “I need to talk to you. Can you meet me now?”

“Now?” Getting my head back in the game and stopping with all the questions, I say, “Yes. Where?” I know London told me to stay put, but I can’t.

“I’m staying at the Sheraton on West 53rd Street. Room 701.”

I mentally store it away as I slip on my other shoe. “I will be there in twenty minutes.”

I’m halfway out the door when she stuns me and changes the course of everything. “Come alone. It’s about London.”

Words escape me. “Wh-what about him?” I manage to spit out.

“Just meet me.” And she hangs up

The foreboding gets stronger, and I lean against the doorjamb, needing to collect my balance. Why is Belle acting so weird? Could it be the reason London has been acting weird too?

A horrible thought overcomes me—what did he do?

Desperate times call for desperate measure, and Kayla Sinclair’s words come back to haunt me. “He had responsibilities…to his daughter and Belle. He chose them, Holland, so really, you wouldn’t have to ask him to choose because there isn’t a choice to be made.”

Belle has always wanted a family, a real family that is. London was never able to give that to her because of me. But now that Lincoln has given her what she wants, will London do the same?

Nausea rises, and I cover my mouth to stop myself from being sick. He wouldn’t do that. Whatever I’m thinking, I’m wrong. Please God, let me be wrong. He would never sleep with Belle to trick her into thinking they can be a happy family forever.

Would he?

At this moment, I can’t be too sure.

The secrecy, the detachment I thought was him grieving…but have I mistaken grief for guilt? Has he promised Belle his soul to save his daughter?

A single tear scores my cheek. We couldn’t win the lawful way, so he’s resorted to being unlawful or better phrased…unfaithful…to me.

I don’t want to believe it, and I won’t. I won’t make that mistake again. But until he tells me the truth, I’m guarding my heart, my vulnerable heart from the only man who can break it, time and time again.

Taking a steadying breath, I take off down the hallway and jump into the elevator. The moment it stops, I’m tearing through the foyer and desperately hail a cab.

Fate is once again the sadistic bitch as it seems every cab passing me is occupied. Unable to wait, I speed down the sidewalk, excusing myself as I push past the crowds. It’s busy up ahead with some construction going on, so I turn down an alleyway, knowing it’s a shortcut.

My heart is in my throat, and my head feels spacey. I shouldn’t have had all that wine. But I persevere because the need to see Belle overthrows my good sense. Too intent on getting to the finish line, I don’t observe the obstructions around me, and just like in LA, the wind gets knocked from my sails and I fall to the ground. Dazed and sprawled out on the dirty pavement, I peer around, unsure what I just ran into, but when I crane my neck and gaze up, I see that it’s not a what, but rather, a whom.

I don’t have time to shout…or think…or scream. Before I know what’s happening, the world turns black and quiet follows.

A table.

A chair.

The drip…drip…drip of the kitchen sink.

These things, they all make sense to me, but the fact my head hurts and I can’t move…does not.

Groggily, I attempt to pry open my eyes, but I’m convinced they’re stuck together. My head lolls forward as I try to move it.

What’s going on?

Remember…

But I can’t. Each time is fuzzier than the one before it.

My harsh breathing echoes loudly, so I decide to focus on my surroundings instead of how I got here…wherever here is. There is a musty scent in the air. I’ve smelled it before. I can hear the occasional car passing by, but there is nothing significant, nothing that stands out to give me a hint.

I try to speak, but my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth. I then attempt to move my arms, but it soon becomes apparent I’m bound by something scratchy on something hard. Wading through the fog, I realize I’m tied to a wooden chair.

How did I get here?

Hitting the pavement.

Everything falling quiet.

I begin to remember.

I was knocked out cold…on the way to see Belle.

“L-London?” I think it’s me who utters something resembling my husband’s name because a blaring rattles my brain, and I wince. The urge to cover my ears is overwhelming, but the fact I’m tied prevents me from moving.

But the menacing voice I hear has me wishing I was knocked out cold once more. “Arise, fair sun.”

I instantly scramble away from that vileness, but it’s in vain. I need to remember I’m bound, bound by my ex-fiancé. “Get away from me!” I slur, forcing my eyes to open. They are stuck. However, now that I know I’m helpless and here with Lincoln, I try harder.

After three failed attempts, I force one eye open and then the other. The world is blurry, but I blink rapidly, trying to focus. The light hanging above is dim, but I see enough…and when I do, I scream. I don’t just scream…I fucking howl.

“No.” I sob, shaking my head, my matted, bloodied hair sticking to my cheeks and to my brow.

There must be some mistake. My brain is scrambled, and my worst nightmare is playing on a loop because slumped before me, tied and gagged to a chair, is not Lincoln…but rather, London…and the only way I can tell it’s him is by the colorful tattoos running up and down his arms, which are now caked in red…blood.

I don’t understand what I’m seeing.

His limp head droops to the side at a grotesque angle, his beautiful dirty blond hair now a dirty crimson. Bloody spit runs down his chin, and his eyes are sealed shut. The lips that kissed me, that whispered sweet nothings into my ear are swollen. This is the most horrific thing I have ever witnessed, and I spin to the right, retching violently.

My stomach is raw. My heart unrepairable as I frantically search for any signs of life. One…two…three. The gentle rise and fall of his chest alert me that he’s still alive.

But all I can see is blood…blood…blood.

“No,” I moan painfully, fighting to break free as I tug at the ropes, adrenaline overtaking me. I kick my legs out, but I only end up skidding backward. “Untie me! London! Oh, god. What did you do?” I shriek, finding a victorious Lincoln standing a few feet away.

When I break free—and I will break free—I’m going to fucking kill him.

“Did you really think I’d allow you to embarrass me?” he says, standing calmly, hands clasped behind his back.

“You embarrass yourself by breathing,” I spit, snarling like a wild animal as I jerk at my restraints, violently thrashing to set myself free.

“That smart mouth of yours always got you into trouble. It’s time you learned your place.”

“Fuck you,” I scowl, gnashing my teeth. I frantically look at London. Why isn’t he waking up?

Lincoln inhales deeply as it appears he’s barely holding on. His attire also confirms this. His usual immaculate appearance of designer suits and Italian loafers has been replaced with black sweats and a dark sweater. I suppose he’s finally succumbed to the serial killer within.

I watch him closely, hating that this bastard is my only clue to what happens next. But when someone else emerges, I’m left winded. “Belle?”

I blink once, hoping that by some chance, there is some mistake. But there isn’t. Here stand my tormentors—my ex-fiancé and my ex-best friend.

“How could you, Belle? Look what he did to London!” I cry, bile rising. “You set me up?” I have no idea why I need her to confirm it as the truth is staring me in the face. “Do you really hate me that much?”

But what she says next confirms I know nothing at all. “I h-had to! I’m so s-sorry. He has Em-Emily!” She sobs into her palms. “He made me c-call you. I had n-no choice.”

With nothing but pure menace, I fix my eyes on Lincoln. No surprise, he was using her all along. “You motherfucker.”

Lincoln smirks, my anger provoking his happiness. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?” I question, baffled, before breaking into a maniacal laugh. “How? Because I didn’t want to marry you? Because I refused to be your prized poodle? Because I said no?” His nostrils flare. “You are fucking pathetic. A joke. An excuse of a man. I hope you—” I never get to finish my sentence because my cheek throbs with immeasurable pain when he slaps me so hard, my teeth rattle.

“Shut up!” he shouts into my face, gripping the back of my seat to draw me closer. “If you’d only kept your nose out of it, none of this would have happened.”

“What happened?” I growl, opening and closing my mouth to get the feeling back into my face.

“Why did you call Tony Petrov? He pulled out; my biggest investor pulled his funds because he said he couldn’t do business with a man he didn’t trust. No guessing where he got that information from.”

Small pieces of the puzzle are beginning to come together. By trying to do good, I seemed to have messed things up beyond repair. “So this is about money? I have money. Take it. All of it.”

“It’s too late,” he states, pushing off the chair, giving me back my personal space. I watch as he begins to pace. London still hasn’t moved. “I have another business partner anyway. I wanted to work with you.”

My interest is piqued. “You blackmailed me.”

“There are always casualties in war.”

Yes, he’s right. Looking ahead, I see the most selfish casualty of all. “You had to cheat once again to win,” I say, disgusted.

But Lincoln refutes my claims. “On the contrary. London came willingly. He called me, saying he wanted to talk man to man.” He scoffs while I begin to understand his behavior these past five days.

His “handling it” was to get beaten? But I know that’s not what happened. He did what he did because he was a desperate man at his wit’s end. I just don’t think he anticipated it would end this way.

“Like I’m stupid. I knew what he wanted.” When he reaches into his back pocket and the light catches the gleam off the gun he’s holding, I understand why London wanted me to stay at the hotel. “Luckily, I brought reinforcements.”

This was always going to end this way—in blood and mutiny.

Belle is standing on the sidelines, biting her nails with raccoon eyes. I can’t believe I ever doubted London’s loyalty. She called me because Lincoln has Emily, not to confess that she and London are living happily ever after.

“Emily?” I whisper, remembering Belle’s words.

“He has Emily.”

Belle bursts into tears. “I did what you wanted, you son of a bitch; now, give me back my daughter!” Lincoln appears stunned she’s spoken to him in such a manner. I suppose it is the first time she grew a pair.

My attention keeps darting back and forth, but it always ends back on London. I will him to move. I need him to open his eyes.

“I suppose you have held up your end of the bargain.” My awareness darts back to Lincoln who peers over at a door with a small round glass window. I’ve seen that door before.

Running on pure rage and adrenaline, I failed to notice where I was. Poetic justice at its best, it seems, because I’m tied to a chair in the bar London and I just bought. This place is now tainted forever. Lincoln had to shit on every part of our future.

A man bursts from the door, and when he does, my stomach drops for two reasons. The first is he has a terrified Emily by the back of the neck, shoving her forward. And the second is that there is no mistaking he’s one of Rossi’s men.

My gaze snaps to Lincoln as he turns over his shoulder, grinning. It appears he’s thought of it all. But why is he here doing Lincoln’s dirty work? What does Lincoln have that the Rossi family could possibly want?

“Emily!” Belle exclaims, running forward. Lincoln tucks his gun into the small of his back and nods, so the moustached goon lets her go. She runs into Belle’s outstretched arms as she crouches low.

Relief swarms me. I’m glad she’s safe. But the damage done to her will take years of therapy to sort through the nightmares. She sobs loudly, her pigtails loose, her wide eyes stained with tears. My heart splits into two.

“You’re safe, baby. I’m here, and I won’t let anything happen to you ever again. I’m sorry,” Belle says, petting her hair over and over again. But it’s too late. She failed as a parent because she put herself before her child.

“Mommy, where’s Da-daddy?” Emily sobs, and when I see the nutcracker hanging limply from her hand, I bite my tongue until I draw blood to stop my tears.

Belle places her face into her palms, prohibiting Emily from looking at anywhere but her. “Let’s go. We need to get you cleaned up.”

At least she’s done something right because Emily doesn’t need to see what I can. But Lincoln stands in front of her as Belle comes to a stand, slowly. “Not so fast. I’m not done. Not yet.”

Emily hides behind Belle, peering from behind her as Lincoln towers over her like the big bad wolf that he is. “You want to help your friend out, don’t you, Emily?” he says in a sickly-sweet tone as he bends low.

I tug at the restraints, trying not to make a sound. But when a soft groan catches the still air, I gasp. I’m drawn to him and almost weep when I see him moving painfully slow. It seems he’s trying to gather his bearings, forcing his head to stay upright.

“Come on, London. You can do it,” I chant over and over again. I lend him my strength; he can fucking take it all. He’s the reason I’m courageous anyway.

After what seems like hours, he pries open his eyes. They take a moment to adjust, but when they do, they land on me. They instantly widen before he attempts to scream. It comes out as a muffled grunt; thanks to the fact he’s gagged by a thin piece of cloth.

His eyes, those expressive orbs that have forever been my beacon in the night, plead with me. Am I all right?

I nod once, a tear slipping free.

He focuses on his surroundings, and when he sees Lincoln near Emily, he roars. Even though gagged, that sound is fierce and laced with promise that he will fucking murder him.

Lincoln stops talking and turns over his shoulder, smirking. “Daddy!” he sarcastically quips. London closes his eyes, shaking his head, pained. He knows what Lincoln has just done.

Emily scans the room, and when she sees London, she pales, yanking on Belle’s sweater. “What happened to Daddy? Why is he tied up? Daddy!” The brave champion comes soaring out of her as she flies forward, trying to save her father.

But she stops suddenly when she sees me. “Holland? I’m scared,” she cries, begging I make it go away. “I want to go home.”

“I know, and you will,” I reply, sniffing back my tears.

“Promise?”

“I promise, my little ballerina. I promise.” She nods quickly, her lip quivering.

“You can have anything you want,” I rush out on a breathless pant, ensuring I never break eye contact with Emily. I need to reassure her that I’m okay. “Just take her out of here. Please.”

Lincoln lifts his head to the ceiling, inhaling the air. It’s filled with victory because I just begged. But it’s too late. “I can’t do that. I need her.”

“Lincoln!” Belle screams, attempting to run toward him. The goon soon puts an end to her moving as he grips her bicep.

“Need her? How?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

The floor is Lincoln’s, and he intends to own it. He begins a showy walk, confident as he spins his web. “Choose,” he simply says.

“Choose what?” I ask, lost in what he’s proposing.

“Emily or him.” He nods his chin toward London, who is writhing but trying to keep it together for Emily’s sake.

“Emily or him what?” I have no idea what he wants.

Lincoln doesn’t appreciate my cluelessness however. In three huge strides, he storms over to London and grips his matted hair, yanking his head backward. I scream, thrashing wildly. “Don’t play dumb, Holland. It’s unbecoming.”

“I don’t know what you want!” I shout, ensuring my eyes never leave London’s.

“You do,” he affirms, tugging London’s head back farther. His head is extended at a grotesque angle. If I don’t figure out what Lincoln is saying, he will snap London’s neck. “Fine, I’ll spell it out for you. I only need one of them alive…so choose. Your beloved or his daughter?”

There is no way, no way he’s expecting me to choose whose life I want to save because that is just…no. I won’t. But when Emily stares at the scene unfolding, and Belle bursts into tears, I know that it’s happening, and it’s happening right now.

London attempts to rip himself free, but he doesn’t stand a chance. He’s beaten, bound, and gagged…The only way out is for me to spare his life.

“I won’t do it!” I cry, shaking my head fiercely. “Emily, close your eyes!” She does.

“Yes, you will! Otherwise, I will choose.” That option is terrifying. But who do I show mercy to? I can’t make the choice as I would never forgive myself either way. There is only one solution.

“Me…I choose me,” I whisper, but I’ve been heard. London looks like he’s being electrocuted as he whips about, trying to fight off Lincoln. He screams until his face turns red, but we can’t hear him, and it’s better this way.

It’s time I sacrificed myself to save him…just how he has done for me. If it wasn’t for him, my whole life would have been different. I would have never gone to Berkeley. I would have never lost everything to appreciate all that I had.

“Choose me. Kill me,” I declare while Lincoln stands still, blinking in disbelief. “You asked me to choose, and I have. If you have any honor left, you’ll abide by my decision.”

It’s a long shot, but it will never come to light.

London begins to laugh, the type of laugh you’d hear haunting the walls of any asylum at night.

Lincoln seems interested in what’s so funny, so he roughly removes the gag from around London’s mouth. “What’s so funny?”

“You, you fucking pathetic momma’s boy,” he replies, cackling. “No wonder your dad hates your guts. You’re an embarrassment. I was quarterback because he couldn’t stand looking at what a failure his son is.”

Lincoln bellows before taking out his gun and pistol-whipping London’s temple. His head snaps back with a sickening crack.

“London, no!” I plead, but I know what he’s doing. He’s baiting Lincoln, so the choice will be made by him.

The look in London’s eyes shatters my heart, and I doubt it’ll ever be put together again. He’s sorry. He’s sorry he failed me. He’s sorry he couldn’t protect me this one final time.

“I feel sorry for you; you’re weak. You always have been.” London continues to bait him, regardless of the fact he’s bleeding from a gaping cut on the side of his head.

Lincoln breathes in through his nose and surprisingly lets London go. His head flops forward, but he slowly raises it.

“Holland, I commend you, but that’s not an option. I need you alive. Not a hair on your head will be touched.”

My blood runs cold. “Why?”

The puzzle begins to manifest, and when a middle-aged man in an expensive suit and flashy gold jewelry emerges from behind the door, there is no mistaking who he is. “Because, you bitch, you need to pay for what you did to my father.”

Here, he stands—the boogieman. Here is my payback for doing my job, for keeping the streets clean. This was personal for me because I grew up around drugs. I knew what they did to people. They destroy and kill. I don’t take back what I did. I only wish I had put away more of these scumbags.

I feared retaliation from the Rossi crew, and his son, Benito Rossi, has finally come to deliver it. This time, it’s real. “Tick tock, Lincoln,” Benito says in a thick Italian accent. “I’m all for torture, but we had a deal.”

“Deal?” It doesn’t take me long to realize what deal that is. “You sold me out?”

“Yes,” Lincoln replies with calculation. “What choice did I have? At least I’m giving you a choice. Mine was taken away the moment you fucked up my life.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, switching my attention from Lincoln to Benito. Both men are just as vile and evil as the other.

“I need money,” he says simply. “The Rossi family has money. And they need a place to…conceal their money.”

“You dog,” I snarl as everything I stand for has just been shit on. “You’d use Grotta and Hill to help aid criminals?” What he’s talking about is money laundering. He helps conceal their blood money in the company, making it seem legit, while appearing to flourish as VP.

“It’s a win, win,” he says with shrug. “I give them you; they give me a hefty sum of money every month as payment. There is quite a bounty on your head.”

“The photo. It was you?” I utter, angered that I didn’t see the truth for what it was.

“No, it was the Rossis, but they were the key to bring us closer together. We both wanted the same thing—to make you pay.” He saunters toward me, placing his foot between my legs and tipping my chair backward. “So quit fucking around. It’s time to deliver.”

“No,” I spit. “Never.”

Benito is impatient as he looks at his gold watch. He’s all for an eye for an eye, but time is money.

With no other choice, I beg for the lives of the people I love. “I’ll go willingly. I promise. Just let them both go.”

“Holland!” London bellows, but I can’t look at him.

“That’s not the deal,” Lincoln states, tipping the chair farther back as he is in control of whether I fall.

“What are you going to do to me?” I ask Benito, who grins. When he strolls over, Lincoln scampers away.

Benito reeks of money and power, just like his father. “We’re going to make you feel real good,” he says with innuendo, gripping my chin between two fingers.

“Don’t touch her!” London roars violently. But he’s ignored.

“When we’re done with you, you’ll be begging us to kill you.”

A single tear scores my cheek. Lincoln sold me to the devil. He couldn’t blackmail me, so he decided to use me in other ways to cement his career. He just signed my death warrant. It all comes down to money, revenge, and greed. Bloodlust at its very best.

Rossi kisses my cheek, delivering the kiss of death. It’s time.

“Come here, baby,” London says to a weeping Emily as she uncovers her eyes. He knows what’s about to happen, and we’re helpless to stop it. “It’s okay. Don’t be afraid.” Emily sniffles, wiping her nose before walking over.

“London,” I cry, shaking my head fiercely.

But he ignores me. His mind is made up as we both know there was never a choice to be made. It was fated from the moment we fell in love.

“I love you, baby. So much. Never forget that, okay?”

“Daddy,” Emily weeps, throwing her tiny arms around his neck. “Come home.”

“I can’t. I need you to be a big girl and go with Mommy. I want you to close your eyes real tight and cover your ears. Like you did when you watched that scary movie you weren’t supposed to watch. Can you do that for me?”

A sob gets caught in my throat. I will do anything. Anything.

“Lincoln, please,” I sob, choking on my words. “I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll marry you. I’ll be an obedient wife. You can do whatever you want with me, but please”—my body shudders with my tears—“don’t kill him. Please.”

London meets my eyes, tears welling. We are staring at one another, both bargaining for the other person’s life because our lives aren’t worth living without the other.

I can see a flicker of humanity pass over him. “I know you don’t want to do this. You’re not a killer. I know that you’re not. I loved you, and that man I loved isn’t capable of this. This can end now. You can stop it. You’re the only one who can.”

“Shut up!” he shouts, pacing in front of me, gripping at his hair. Could it be he’s been struck with a guilty conscience? I only have hope left, so I play on it.

“We’ve spent over ten years together, and I’m sorry I made you do this. It’s all my fault. I’m the one who messed up. Not you.” It’s what he’s always wanted to hear. That this was never his fault. That I pushed him to act this way. I left him no choice.

“Yes, it’s your fault. You’re right.”

“Yes, it is my fault. Let me make it up to you. I promise to be good.”

London squirms while Emily stands by him, sobbing.

Lincoln smirks and nods, my admission appearing to have set him free. He strides over, bending low, so we’re inches apart. I flinch but calm the urge to headbutt him.

Benito stands close by, watching to see what Lincoln’s next move will be.

“I loved you, Holland. I really did. It was always you.” He sweeps away the tangled hair from my brow, touching me like a lover would.

“Emily, go to Mommy. I love you, baby. Remember, don’t look,” I vaguely hear London order, unsure what’s going on as I can’t see him. Lincoln is obstructing my view.

“Okay, Daddy. Take my nutcracker. He’ll protect you.”

“I would have done anything for you, but you broke my heart…so it seems fitting that I now break yours.” I don’t have time to move because he slams his lips to mine, kissing me cruelly. He palms my breasts while thrusting his tongue into my throat so I can’t breathe.

Every part of me is demanding I fight, to sever our connection, but I don’t. I do something so obscene…I kiss him back.

I have the only thing he ever wanted—me. I surrender, hoping by submitting, he will show London mercy and let him go. He moans into my mouth, gripping the back of my hair to deepen the kiss. I almost gag but go along, trying my best to fool him into thinking I want him too.

“No!” London howls, the chair rattling beneath him as he tries to break free. “Get off her! Holland. No. Please no.”

His pleas spur me on as I kiss Lincoln harder, using my hatred for him as fuel as I devour him. “I will do anything,” I whisper against his lips, before sucking his tongue and biting his lip.

He growls, and I can only imagine what this is doing to London. To see me kiss Lincoln is sure to break him apart. But I can deal with that; as long as he lives, I can make amends for the rest of my life.

“Princess!” he wails, his pain punching a hole straight through me. “No. I’ll kill you! You motherfucker! I’ll kill you!”

It only spurs Lincoln on as he molests me in front of my husband…and I yield.

I’m numb by the time he pulls away, eyes heated. “That was some kiss,” he says, leaning forward to deliver another. I flinch but soon recover, smiling.

“Untie me and we can continue,” I reason, trying my hardest to try this docile act on for size.

He seems to ponder my suggestion while I hold my breath. “I almost believed you,” he finally reveals, hurt echoing around him, “but you’re not that good of an actress.”

“Lincoln, no!” But it’s too late. He pushes off me and turns to face London who sits before me, broken.

“London, look at m-me…” I weep. I need to look into those eyes. He lifts his chin slowly, swimming with regret. “I love you. I’m s-sorry.” I want him to know I did this for him. But he knows. Self-sacrifice is what he does best.

“I love you, too, Princess. It’ll be all right. I promise.” His voice is raspy from screaming, but until the very end, he’s trying to save me. Our adoration sets off a bomb but isn’t that what it’s always done.

Lincoln doesn’t care for sentiment as he growls, “Let that be the last thing you ever see…me kissing your wife, you fucking asshole.” It happens in mere seconds, but that small fraction of time changes my life forever.

A loud bang echoes around me, and the urge to cover my ears overcomes me. But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move again when I see that loud bang has just come from the gun Lincoln holds…the gun he just shot London in the chest with.

There must be some mistake. It can’t be. I stare wide-eyed. “Lo-London?” I say with a tremble, but he doesn’t respond. He sits slumped forward in the chair, chin to his chest as blood trickles from his mouth. “No,” I whisper, gasping for air.

But the more I speak, the worse things become because with words come questions, questions to why London isn’t moving. To why he looks like he’s…dead.

Belle’s gut-curdling scream confuses me. Why is she screaming? Any minute, he will wake and tell us it’ll be okay. He has to. He promised me forever. “London?” I say slowly. “Wake up.” But he doesn’t, and he never will.

The walls close in on me as my mind refuses to believe what I see as truth. So, instead, I focus on the nutcracker lying in a broken heap by London’s feet. I can’t help but compare his appearance to mine.

I’m broken, and I will never, never heal.

“Oh, poor Romeo,” Lincoln spits as he lowers the gun. Years of revenge have been atoned with a single bullet. “Who needs a dagger when you have this?”

I watch on in awe, not really connected to my body as Lincoln hands the gun to Rossi’s goon, a gun which will soon disappear forever. A gun which took the life of my beloved.

No. Please, no. I will never see him smile again. Never smell that comforting fragrance that kept the demons away. I will never hear him call me Princess again.

A sob grips me, and I lose control. I surrender, allowing the darkness to submerge me whole.

Realization hits me, and I gasp like a fish out of water, but no air reaches my lungs. I can’t breathe. I’m dying…slowly, but I don’t want to live, not when I see the life leave my husband. He was my reason for living…I have nothing left to live for.

“You ki-killed h-him?” I weep while Lincoln raises his shoulder.

“Yes, I did. Shot him right in the fucking chest. That was a long time coming. Now who’s weak!” he shouts, kicking London’s lifeless leg.

“The police will find you. You won’t get away with it,” I declare, breathlessly, feeling nothing other than this emptiness take over my soul.

“I already have,” Lincoln cockily says, showing no remorse for taking London’s life—a life which is worth so much.

“Okay, let’s go,” Benito says, rounding the troops with a sweep of his finger. “The cops will be here soon. We good, Lincoln? The deal is done?”

Lincoln nods once, sealing my fate for good.

It’s a flurry of movement as more goons appear, rushing around to make the arrangements of transporting the “goods” without being seen. It appears I’m seen as nothing but chattel. But that man bleeding in front of me saw me as so much more. He loved me, and I loved him.

Tears sting my vision, but I doubt they’ll ever stop. My heart is broken, unrepairable, and death doesn’t seem so bad anymore. All this was for nothing. But London’s voice scolds me. To love and be loved in return will never be forgotten, and even though we lived a fraction in time, it was our time together.

“I lo-love yo-you,” I sob over and over again, unable to tear my eyes away from London’s motionless body. “I’ll see you soon, sweet prince.” This princess is coming home.

As the mafia work around me, preparing to kidnap me, I steal a glance at Belle. Emily is shielded into her chest, eyes and ears sealed shut. She doesn’t know what faces her, and I hope she never will.

“Now,” Lincoln whispers into my ear, startling me. I attempt to shrink away, but he grips my shoulder. “Let’s make this a true tale of star-crossed lovers, shall we?” Before I have a chance to tell him to fuck off, he holds up a small vial, containing a clear liquid.

“What is that?”

“It’s your salvation. Drink it and you won’t feel a thing.” When I buck, his grip tightens. “What they intend to do to you, believe me, you want to drink it.”

Poison? He thinks he’s showing me kindness, like an owner putting down their sick pet. Where was his compassion when he shot London in the chest?

“Fuck you,” I grunt, thrashing from his hold.

Lincoln grips my chin, forcing me to look at Emily, whose back is still turned. “Drink it. Now.” It’s evident he doesn’t want Benito to know that he’s offering me this small mercy. However, this isn’t for my sake; it’s for his. So he can wipe his conscience clean.

I refuse to do anything to lessen his guilt, but when he whispers, “I’ll fucking kill her too,” all options are taken away from me once more.

“What is it?” I ask, trembling, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“It’s just a mild sedative. Benito doesn’t want you dead. And I agreed to that. This will just make the pain go away.” There is no such thing as a magical potion. “Drink it, Holland.” He unstops the vial and places it to my lips.

“Why are you doing this?” I don’t understand why he wants to ease my pain when he’s caused so much.

“Because…I loved you. I always have,” he sadly confesses. “Now drink.”

I’m dead anyway. I have nothing left to lose because the moment London took his last breath was the moment I took mine too. Peering at my beloved, I promise to see him soon.

“Oh my love, my husband,” I weep. The act is over—our star-crossed tale has seen the final curtain close. “Here’s to my love.”

I close my eyes, a single tear slipping free as I open my mouth and tilt my head back, accepting death, embracing it with a lover’s kiss. The moment the poison slips down my throat, I feel free. I will see London soon.

But it doesn’t appear that’s what written in the stars.

“Holland…NO!” It’s the voice of my love who speaks, but it’s too late…

Thy drugs are quick. Thus, with a kiss I die.

The next few seconds explode around me, and I’m certain it’s the effects of the drugs taking hold of my body and dragging me into the abyss. I force my heavy eyelids open, but I must be already dead as London is screaming at me to wake up.

My sweet prince lives. We both live in death. For an eternity.

I slump in the chair, losing all control of my body as I slip into a blissful trance. No one can hurt me here. I’m safe. I don’t flinch when my chair is knocked over, and my head connects with the hard floor. I don’t blink when gunfire erupts around me, and men in uniform come storming in, guns raised.

I watch in a state of bliss as London is untied from his confines, screaming in a voiceless sound. He’s free. He runs over, dropping to his knees, his fingers frantic as he unties me from the chair.

“Princess, breathe. My love, breathe.” With a kiss, it appears I’m saved.

He locks his mouth around mine, and breathes his life into me, willing me to wake. But I fight him because this isn’t real. London is dead; I saw him die with my own two eyes. So, who is this person demanding I fight and not leave him?

Everything is so groggy, thanks to the drugs overriding my system. Add to that the open gash to the back of my head and my life source is quickly depleting.

“I need a paramedic! Now! You’re going to be okay. I promised you. Don’t you leave me! Holland, come back to me. Please.” The feel of his hands on me, brushing the hair from my cheeks and kissing my forehead has me whimpering. It feels so real.

I don’t understand what’s happening as everything is sluggish, but the harder London begs for me to come back to him, the clearer things become. “Lo-Lon-don?”

“Yes, Princess, I’m here. Keep your eyes open, okay? Help is on the way.” He searches the room, screaming for someone to help me.

“I don’t, don’t understand,” I pant; my world tipped on its axis. “He shot you.” With every last scrap of strength I have left, I raise my floppy hand, attempting to touch his chest.

London rips open his shirt, revealing his lift raft or, more accurately, his bulletproof vest. The silver bullet was fired with every intent to pierce London’s heart, but he was two steps ahead.

“You set him up?”

London nods slowly. I burst into winded laughter as the karma train is coming.

This is really happening. He’s alive…but I’m…oh, god, I’m dying.

As each hollow breath escapes me, I know it’s a race until my last. “I love you,” I whisper, placing my hand over his as he caresses my cheek. I’m okay to go…with this as my vision. But there is one thing I request. “Kiss me.”

London doesn’t hesitate. He lowers his lips to mine, erasing Lincoln’s touch because this kiss is the last one I want to remember. Salty kisses sealed with a lover’s promise that this is forever.

“Goodbye…”

Parting is such sweet sorrow…