“Did you… kill my parents?”
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to wonder how you’re going to get your next meal?” he asks. “My mom busted her ass every day to take care of me, but when she got sick, when her body and her brain started to work against her, she was fired from her job and nobody would hire her. For years we struggled to make ends meet, and the whole time… The whole fucking time!” he yells, his entire body vibrating with anger. “Your family was living it up in mansions and on yachts!”
I keep my mouth shut, not wanting to piss Noah off more. There’s nothing I can say that’s going to make this better, and by keeping him on me, he’s staying the hell away from Camilla.
“I went to him,” he says softly, after a long beat. “When shit got really bad and my mom needed medical help we couldn’t afford, I went to Samuel. I told him I was his son, and you know what he did? He dismissed me. Fucking dismissed me! Told me his wife was sick and once she was better, he would reach out.”
“And did he?” I ask, needing to know. “Did he reach out after she was better?”
“He tried, but it was too late. I’m not some afterthought,” he hisses.
A small movement in the corner of my eye tells me Camilla has made her way down here and I will her not to come any closer, not to make her presence known. To keep Noah’s attention on me, I speak up.
“I didn’t know about you. He never said anything.”
“I know. I asked you about your family when we first met and it was clear you were never told about me, which is why, after my mom died and I killed our father, I left you alive.”
Motherfucker. I knew it. Deep in my gut, when I found out Ian was Noah, I put the pieces together, but I was hoping I was wrong. Because that means for the last decade I let the man who killed my parents into my life. He’s lived off the money my dad made because he ended his life. The thought makes me sick to my stomach.
Camilla moves closer, but I don’t look at her, not wanting Noah to catch sight of her. “Why spare my life? You already killed my parents.”
“Because I realized you weren’t our dad. He might’ve put a woman above his son, but you weren’t him. Until you were…” With the gun in his hand, he swipes at a jar on the counter, knocking it to the floor, so it smashes everywhere. “From the day we met, you put me first! And then you met that bitch. And just like your dad chose your mom over me and my mom, you threw me to the side for her!”
He steps forward with his gun aimed straight at me, and with a manic look in his eyes, I have no doubt he’s going to shoot to kill.
When he takes another step, I inhale a sharp breath, preparing for the blow that’s to come, sending up a silent prayer that Camilla runs for her life and saves herself and our son.
With my eyes on Noah, I tell him the only thing I can say. “I’m sorry.”
“Not fucking good—”
Bam! A bullet pierces through his body and his gun flies out of his hand, falling to the ground. I’m not sure where he’s been shot, but I don’t take the time to care. Quickly grabbing the gun from the ground, I point and shoot to kill, refusing to chance him coming after Camilla.
As the bullet enters his chest, his empty eyes meet mine. “I loved you like a brother,” I tell him, needing him to know. “But you’re right, I will always choose Camilla.”
EPILOGUE
CAMILLA
Thirteen months later
“Are you nervous?” Yasmin asks as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I’m dressed in a floor-length, long-sleeved wedding gown, and with its plunging illusion bodice and sparkling sequin lace, it’s the perfect mix of sexy meets fairy-tale princess. My makeup is done, but not too much, and my hair is down in beach waves, pinned slightly back with a beautiful diamond headband.
“No,” I tell her, turning around and extending my arms. “Now give me my precious baby.”
Sam—also known as Samuel Isaac Petrosian—squirms in Yasmin’s lap, reaching his chubby arms out as he giggles and babbles for me. But before I can grab him, she pulls him back slightly.
“Do you really want to risk him throwing up on your gorgeous wedding dress? He just ate.” I consider it for a moment and decide I don’t care because anytime I can hold him, I’m going to. As he gets older and more independent, now crawling and walking along furniture, the less he actually wants to be held—unless he’s tired of course.