Mafia Casanova

His eyes went from me to the lock on the door. Instinctively, my hand hit the lock before he could open the door.

“Eden! Unlock the door!”

“Mama! What happening?” Naz asked, his voice sounding like mine.

“Baby, please put your seatbelt on.”

“Eden!” Tristian banged on the window; he was going to break it.

With a shaky hand, I turned on the ignition. Throwing my car into reverse, I got the hell out of there.

Tristian didn’t back down, continuing to bang on the window until I heard a sickening cracking sound.

“Don’t do this! I’m sorry! Eden, I’m sorry!”

“Mama! I scared, Mama! I scared!”

“It’s okay. I’m here, Naz. We’re almost out of the driveaway.”

Why did it have to be so damn long?

“Eden! Stop the car and open the fucking door!”

“Mama!”

With each bang of Tristian’s fist against the window, it mimicked my rapid thoughts, my shuddering core, my crushed heart and soul. He chased us down the driveway; it was hard to speed out of there, the design of our driveaway was too narrow, and I couldn’t hit the gas as much as I wished I could. Until I was finally able to throw the gearshift into drive and hightail it down the street.

Leaving behind Tristian.

Our home.

The one I had made us out of so much hope and possibilities.CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN“Every villain is a hero in his own mind.” —Tom Hiddleston

Eden

Only when I had driven a few blocks with no sign of Tristian following me did I dare to take a deep breath. Did he even realize what he’d done? Did he understand what had just happened? I shook my head. Even if he ever did, it would be too late. I wouldn’t be able to trust him again.

Not when Naz’s life could be at stake.

I drove to the first place I could think of, and in less than ten minutes, I was pulling into my parents’ driveway, seeking refuge in the house I had grown up in.

Naz was crying; I couldn’t stop him from crying. I wanted to break down myself. Quickly, I unstrapped him from his booster seat and ran awkwardly toward the front door, clutching him against my chest. I still had a key because, in the words of my father, “This will always be your home.”

“Dad! You here? Dad!” I screamed, unable to control my voice. “Dad!”

“Eden, what’s going on?” he questioned, darting into the foyer from his office.

He took one look at me and grabbed Naz out of my arms, immediately calming him.

Great. Now I was a bad mother too.

I stood there in a daze, confused by the turn in events.

How could I have let this happen?

I swear I blinked, and I was sitting on the couch in my father’s office with him sitting in front of me on a chair.

“You need to tell me what happened, Eden, and start from the beginning.”

“Naz? Where is Naz?” I panicked, getting ready to stand up and search for him, but he stopped me. Placing his hand on my leg.

It was like déjà vu all over again. Except, nothing could compare to the way this was mutilating me inside.

Carving.

Cutting.

Slicing me up into tiny little pieces, making me bleed from the inside out.

I would never have expected Tristian to have it in him to completely fucking destroy me. Bury me alive beneath his wrath at my deceit. He was blinded by his rage, by my presence, by his love for me.

Was it love?

Loathing?

Punishing us both.

I needed to keep going.

I had to remain strong.

I dug my fingernails as hard as I could into the palm of my hand to keep from breaking apart. My only saving grace was that my father was with me. I had to keep reminding myself of every last promise he’d ever made me. Every last word he had ever told me.

He’d protect me.

He’d always protect me.

I was his little girl.

“He’s with the housekeeper. He’s all right.”

“Oh, my God,” I whispered. My heart still felt as if it were beating a mile a minute.

“Eden,” he reassured in a comforting tone. “You’re safe. Naz is safe. Now tell me what is going on, so I can handle it.”

“Handle it? What are you going to do?”

“Depends on what happened.”

For a split second, I contemplated if telling him the truth was the right thing to do.

“Eden, even if you don’t tell me, I’ll find out. It’s best if I hear it from you instead.”

Who knew which would be worse, me telling him or him finding out on his own. Either way, once I told him, Tristian’s life would be in danger. My father wouldn’t stand for abuse. He was a lot of things, but he never put his hands on my mother.

In one breath, I choked out, “It’s Tristian.”

His eyebrows lowered, his gaze narrowing in on me. “What about him?”

“He’s… I mean… he was… drinking… been drinking… a lot,” I stammered, not knowing where to begin.