Sonata (Butcher and Violinist 2)

These moments were our secret for now. Not much got over my queen, but at least Eden never disciplined us too badly.

At this stage, Eden wanted Marcella to learn how to sleep in her huge crib. But, Marcella preferred daddy’s arms. Other times, Marcella settled for the comfort of our bed. There, she liked to cuddle between us, and play with the strings on her mommy’s back, which always woke Eden up and stopped the fun.

You’re such a naughty girl.

Marcella caught the necklace. I let it go and she giggled as she shook the necklace in her hands.

“Shhh,” I whispered. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”

It was well past her bedtime, and she was not in her crib, but I’d been in the streets today with killers. Tonight, I needed to see my sweet daughter’s beautiful face. And after, once Marcella fell asleep, I would sneak her back to her crib and continue another secret tradition.

God, Eden. I hope you’re getting your rest. I want you so bad tonight.

Aunt Delphine came out on the balcony and nagged in a hushed whisper, “What are you doing? You’re going to get us all cursed out by Eden.”

“Marcella wanted to see her father. She asked her men for me.”

“Did she? She can’t even talk yet.” Aunt Delphine frowned and walked over to us. “Marcella is already so spoiled. You all carry her too much.”

“We’re the only ones spoiling her?” I snorted. “I guess you just happened to be passing her room in the middle of night?”

“Just checking on her.”

“Sure.”

Everyone called Aunt Delphine Marcella’s butler behind her back. If anybody carried her more than Eden, it was Aunt Delphine. The woman adored my daughter, dressing her up and constantly buying her dolls.

Aunt Delphine shook her head. “Eventually Marchella will need to learn how to sleep in her crib.”

“Why?” Ignoring my aunt, I quirked my eyebrows at Marcella. “What is she talking about, princess? Don’t I have arms, little one? Weren’t they made to hold you? What other purpose do they serve?”

Dropping the diamond necklace, Marcella blinked those long black eye lashes. Hazel eyes sparkled back at me. Long curls covered her head. She’d been born with midnight black hair, but as she grew, my blood began to kick in. Blond curls peaked through the dark ones here, and there. Her hair was changing color as well as her skin. She’d been a pale little thing before. Now her skin had a bronze hue. With all the playing that we did at the beach, she tanned and darkened more than Eden.

Marcella, you beautiful angel.

If she could be cuter, I might’ve cut out my soul and put it in her tiny hands.

“Who am I kidding?” I chuckled. “I have no more soul to give you, little one.”

Aunt Delphine rolled her eyes as she always did, when my princess and I had these conversations.

“Your mommy has my soul, but you both share my heart now. I’m a cut-up man with you two. But your mommy assured me, that my heart is big enough for you both to share. I still apologize. You’re mine. You won’t need to share much else.”

Marcella gazed at me in pure awe. I loved that look. Those eyes wide. Mouth open. Attention on my words and every moment. She watched me, as if I was a god —her savior. How long would it be that way?

We’ll never need to know.

“I’ll do my best to love and protect you.” I ran my big hands along her small head. “I may not be able to give you my soul, Marcella. And perhaps, you have to share my heart, but everything else is yours. My money. My houses. My guns. My hands. My men. My days—”

“And all his cheesy words.” Aunt Delphine took Marcella from my arms. “It is midnight. Marcella’s going to be off her schedule.”

“She’s a Laurent.” I rose. “She follows no schedule.”

“Go to sleep, Jean-Pierre.” Aunt Delphine walked off with, Marcella. “And don’t wake Eden and keep her up all night either, like you do when you get in this late.”

“She’s my fiancé!”

“That doesn’t mean sex slave.”

“What?” I frowned. “We’re reading the bible, when I wake her.”

“You’re going straight to hell with that lie, Jean-Pierre. Leave Eden alone. She has her first concert this week. She’s nervous.”

She’ll rock it. It’s my baby.

Eden had taken control of the Belladonna symphony, like I’d planned. Deep inside, I knew Eden would never play again. After I’d proposed, I taught her how to conduct. It was an art unto itself, and I wasn’t a patient teacher. Somehow, she survived my training.

When her fingers healed, she discovered she couldn’t play, but wasn’t sad about it at all. Her new passion had become conducting her new symphony—all her friends.

They kept the name, and now all of them planned to tour Europe one day.