Stolen Lies (Truths and Lies 2)

I gently caress Talia’s thigh. “I can see her head, moró mou. She’s so perfect.”

Talia sobs but then she’s pushing again. And again. And again. Until the baby seems to slide out of her body and into the doctor’s waiting arms. Bloody and messy. Screaming at the top of her little lungs.

“Big baby girl,” the doctor praises as he shuffles the squirming infant onto Talia’s stomach. Blood is everywhere. The good kind of blood. The blood of miracles.

Talia’s whole body trembles as she cries and admires our daughter.

“Want to cut the cord?”

I snap my eyes over to the doctor, who offers me a pair of scissors. Sure enough, the thick umbilical cord that’s attached to our daughter needs removing. Will it hurt if I cut it? Can Talia feel it?

“Cut the cord, Kostas,” Talia urges, her words no longer laced with violence. They’re gentle and sweet and encouraging.

Frowning at the doctor, I shakily accept the scissors. “Are they going to feel it?”

“No, son, they’re not going to feel it,” he says, chuckling.

I’ve cut off limbs and eyeballs and every other body part imaginable.

So why the fuck do I feel like I’m going to pass out?

It’s a cord. A tiny passage of nutrients our daughter no longer needs.

With bile rising in my throat and sweat coating my flesh, I start to snip through the cord. But it doesn’t cut smooth and easy. I have to hack through the thick rope.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

This time, Talia laughs.

“Baby ears are listening,” she teases.

I manage to sever the cord, making Nora officially ours to take care of and protect. The weight of the responsibility nearly crushes me. But I’ve managed to do it with Talia and Zoe. What’s one more?

As they continue to deliver the placenta, I abandon the scissors and opt not to watch that part. I may be a fucked-up mobster who’s seen some shit, but I haven’t seen that, nor do I fucking plan on it. No, I’d rather keep my eyes glued to our perfect daughter and her adoring mother.

“Zoe is going to be so proud,” Talia tells me tearfully. “You think she’s giving Uncle Fee hell?”

I snort. I hope so. Phoenix is a pussy-magnet player who’s corrupted Adrian with his manwhore ways. When they’re not working, they tear up the fucking town looking for women. I’m glad one little girl owns his heart. Now he’ll have another one soon wrapped around his finger.

“I hope she tells him the names of all her stuffed animals,” I say with a chuckle.

She has tons. Too many. Talia and I both have been the victims of her lengthy sessions of telling us the name of each and every one of them. If you interrupt, she starts over. If she forgets a name, she starts over. I’ve tortured many a men, but Zoe has invented a form of torture all on her own.

I’d say she got it from me, but that has Talia written all over it.

We admire her until they take her away to clean her up a bit and run some tests. Then, they hand our daughter back, bundled in a warm blanket.

“Want to hold her?” Talia asks, her smile serene.

I nod as I pick up the tiny thing. She weighs nothing. So light and fragile. As I pull her to my chest and cradle her, my eyes burn with emotion. I’ll protect this little one like I do her sister and her mother. With everything I own until the day I die.

Nora scrunches her face and makes a crabby whining cry that has me chuckling. She’s so damn cute. When I glance over at Talia, her bottom lip wobbles as tears streak down her cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” I demand, alarmed at her crying.

She shakes her head. “Nothing, Kostas. Everything is right. Better than right. It’s perfect.”

I let out a relieved sigh and kiss my daughter’s forehead. “I love you, prinkípissa.” Princess.

“You’re a good man,” Talia mutters, reaching her hand out for me.

Taking it, I give it a squeeze. “Only for you.”

Our eyes lock and a million emotions pass between us.

Talia and I are the earth, the sun, the stars, and everything in between. We’re evil and good, wrapped in one complicated ball of love. She challenges me. I provoke her. Vases get broken and words get said. Sometimes we fight like hellions straight from the bowels of the Underworld.

But we love hardest of all.

Fully. Passionately. Dangerously.

Our love is violent and messy, destructive for those who dare near it. It slaughters and slays. Powerful and intimidating to those around it. Love between a Demetriou king and queen is chaotic like the tropical storms that often ravish our seaside properties. We’re a pull of two forces of nature, only working when orbiting the other.

Fate drew us together—victims of a complicated history of our parents.