War of Hearts

I needed to know that she was okay before I could go. If she was still upset over what had happened last night, I wouldn’t leave her side until her fear passed.

A shadow flickered across her eyes, and her brow furrowed. “I’m… I’m okay.” She took in a deep breath and blew it out again. “I am. Marco got me away from that man. And you…” She shivered. “You stopped him.”

I didn’t like the little shudder that had raced through her.

“What’s wrong? Tell me.”

Her lashes lowered, hiding her eyes from me. “Would you really… Marco told you not to kill him. Would you have done that?” Her gaze finally lifted, the fear in her eyes cutting into my chest. “Would you have killed him?”

I cupped her face in my hands. She didn’t flinch away.

“No. I wouldn’t have killed him. I wanted to hurt him, but I wouldn’t have killed him.”

“Because Marco told you not to?”

“No, angel. Because I don’t have it in me.” A touch of shame tinged my words as I remembered my father’s embarrassment. Even though I didn’t want to be a killer, I hated Dad’s disappointment.

I took a deep breath and decided to tell her the whole truth, the depth of my sins. I’d owed her this for a long time, and I knew I’d never earn her trust back if she didn’t fully understand why I’d run away from New York.

“I have killed a man,” I admitted on a pained whisper. “Once. I didn’t mean to, but that doesn’t change what I did.”

Her eyes were wide, but she didn’t say anything. She let me continue with my confession.

“When I was younger, a teenager, I was just an errand boy. I helped deliver messages and oversee the exchanges that took place in my family’s restaurant, when the drugs changed hands.” That part didn’t really bother me. In those days, I’d been eager, ready to make my father proud.

But that was before I learned the realities of my world. My father had shielded me from the violence, wanting me to have a happy childhood.

“That ended when I turned eighteen,” I said. “I was a man then, with a man’s responsibilities. Marco was in charge of recruiting new soldiers, finding men to join our family. I helped him. At first, it was just a matter of identifying boys with a violent streak, boys who wanted to grow into men who moved up in the world and made something of themselves.

“But the jobs got dirtier. Bloodier. I started helping with my father’s racketeering, and that involved intimidating people into making deals with our family. When they couldn’t pay their debts, Marco and I would threaten them until they did.”

I took a deep breath, bracing myself to reveal the ugliest part of my soul.

“About six months ago, we were intimidating a man with the help of some new guys, men Marco and I had recruited. The victim’s name was William Johnston. I’ll never forget his name. I’ll never forget his face, pale and scared. Bloody and ruined.

“The boys got out of control. They took it too far, and William ended up in the hospital. He died there two days later. And it was my fault.”

I grimaced and looked away, no longer able to bear her wide-eyed stare.

“I vomited when I found out. I got sick in front of Dad and Marco’s father. My dad was so ashamed of me. I hated that I’d disappointed him, but I hated what I’d done even more. That’s why I ran away to Cambridge. I’d always wanted to go to college, but I hadn’t been allowed. My education in violence was more important than anything I could learn from a book.”

I found her gaze again, desperate to drink her in. This might be the last time she ever allowed me to touch her, and I didn’t want to waste a second with her.

“And then I met you, and I deluded myself into believing everything would be okay. That my life would be different. That I’d deserve you.”

I traced the lines of her cheekbones with my thumbs. “I know now that I don’t. I never will. But I can’t let you go, Ashlyn. I need you.”

She drew in a sharp breath, but she simply continued to stare up at me in shock.

“Say something, please,” I begged, my gut knotting when she didn’t respond right away.

She reached up and touched her fingertips to the tense line of my jaw. “I knew you were a good man. I need you too, Joseph.”

I huffed out the breath I’d been holding, relief ripping through me.

“I’m not a good man, angel.”

Her gaze sharpened with determination. I rarely saw this fire in her, but when it flickered to life, I knew she was about to give me a piece of her formidable mind.