The Brit

That fifteen minutes of him suckling the only goodness I had from me was the most amazing fifteen minutes of my life.

Then he was ripped from my arms. “No!” I lunged forward to grab him as the nurse wrapped him tightly in a blanket and passed him to the devil by the door. “Please, no.” My sobs were instant, despite knowing what was coming. Shock was cutting my heart in two.

“We made a deal, Rose,” he said, cradling my baby in his arms. “You can’t take care of him. What kind of life will he have living with you on the streets?”

A deal? You didn’t make a deal with this man. You did what you were told or you died.

“He’s my only flesh and blood.” My insides twisted and yanked as another bout of pain sailed through me. I screamed, clenching my now empty tummy. What was this agony? Grief?

“She’s hemorrhaging.” The nurse didn’t seem in a rush. She sounded calm too. I felt hot liquid pouring from my body, drenching the bed under my ass. “She’ll need a transfusion.”

“Will she be able to carry again?” he asked from the door.

“Unlikely.” The nurse was so blunt. So callous.

My body seemed to drain of life and energy within seconds, and my eyes suddenly felt heavy, my hearing distorted. “Please don’t take him away from me,” I begged weakly.

“He’ll have a lovely home. Loving parents who can give him everything you can’t. And in return, you get to live.” He looked to the nurse. “Give her the transfusion.” I hadn’t realized until then that the nurse had stopped working on me. She was waiting for his go-ahead to keep me alive?

If I thought I’d felt pain, I was wrong. Watching him leave with my baby was excruciating. The last thing I saw that day was my baby’s tiny hand holding the wicked bastard’s finger—the little finger he wore that nasty serpent ring on. It was nearly as big as my son’s hand, and the emerald eyes of the snake were as blinding as my pain.

Chapter 1

Miami—Present Day

* * *

DANNY

* * *

The walk down the corridor toward his suite feels like miles, the sound of my shoes hitting the solid marble floor echoing around me. Our mansion smells like death. I’ve smelt death enough to recognize it, except right now it isn’t welcome. I feel like I’m walking the Green Mile, though it isn’t me who will be six feet under by the end.

The two heavies flanking the solid wooden double doors outside his room look grave. Grief is hanging heavy in the air.

Two sharp nods greet me when I come to a stop. Solemn nods. They don’t open the doors, they know not to until I give them the go-ahead. Until I’m ready. Am I?

“Esther in there with him?” I ask, getting a nod in answer. I swallow and nod in return, taking a deep breath as the doors are opened for me. I wander in, pulling my suit jacket together, looking down my front to check for lint. It’s a conscious move, one to distract me, to delay me from looking up at the huge four-poster bed and face what I’m dreading. Grief blocks my throat, but I can’t show it. He’ll be pissed off if I show it.

The sound of Esther moving around his room pulls my attention up, and I find her emptying his catheter bag. That alone makes my heart clench. The man is proud. Notorious. A fucking legend, feared by everyone in our world. His name alone makes people shudder. His presence injects fear like no other. I always thought he was invincible. He’d dodged dozens of attempts on his life, laughed in the face of the many assassination efforts. And here he is waiting to die at the hands of fucking cancer, unable to take care of himself anymore. Not even in the simplest of ways.

I finally pull my eyes to the bed. My hero, my father, the legendary Carlo Black is half the man he used to be, the disease literally eating away at him. His breathing is loud. The death rattle. It won’t be long.

Moving around the edge of his bed, I settle in the chair and take his emaciated hand. “Call the priest,” I say to Esther as she folds over the bed covers neatly at his waist.

“Yes, Mr. Black.” She looks up at me, smiling in sympathy, and I look away, unable to entertain her silent offer of compassion.

“Now,” I add shortly.

She leaves the room, and every second she’s gone, his breathing seems to get louder and louder. “It’s time, Pops,” I say softly, moving in closer and resting my elbows on the mattress, cupping his one hand in both of mine.

He hasn’t opened his eyes in two days, but now, as if he knows I’m here and it’s time to say goodbye, his lids twitch. He’s trying to see me. He knows I’m here. I rest my lips on our bunched hands, silently willing him strength to see me one last time. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until his glassy blue eyes are revealed, the brightness long gone, the whites of his eyes now yellow.