Page 44 of Forgotten Vows

12

LACHLAN

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and I step into the penthouse, exhaustion weighing down every muscle in my body. I scrubbed my hands in the warehouse bathroom, splashed water on my face, and changed my shirt. I thought I'd gotten all of the blood from Colin off of me.

I was wrong.

Adriana is standing in the kitchen with Matteo, pouring him a glass of juice, and they both turn when they hear me come in. The glass freezes halfway to the counter. Her eyes go wide, locked on something, and I follow her gaze down to my hands.

There's blood under my fingernails, crusted in the creases of my knuckles where I must have missed it when I washed up. Not much. Just enough.

Just enough for them to see exactly what I am.

"Lachlan." Adriana's voice is controlled, but I can hear the fear underneath it. She sets the glass down carefully and moves in front of Matteo, one hand reaching back to touch his shoulder. "What happened?"

"Work." I can still see Colin Donovan's face, still hear the sound ofthe gunshot echoing in that warehouse, and feel the weight of the gun in my hand. "It's handled."

Matteo is staring at my hands, his face pale and his eyes too wide. He's looking at me like I'm a monster, and maybe he's right.

"Matteo, go to your room," Adriana says quietly. There's something in her voice that makes my chest tighten. It's not anger or even fear. Just resignation, like she's seen this before and knows exactly how this goes.

"But Mama?—"

"Now." She doesn't raise her voice, but the command is clear, and Matteo backs away from me, his small body pressed against the counter like he's trying to put as much distance between us as possible. He edges around the kitchen island, never taking his eyes off me, and then he runs down the hallway toward his room.

I hear his door slam.

Adriana doesn't move. She's still standing there, her hand gripping the edge of the counter, and I can see her knuckles are white with the force of it. "You need to wash your hands," she says flatly. "And then you need to stay away from him until you can control yourself."

"I am in control." The words come out sharper than I mean them to, defensive, and I hate the way she flinches. "I'm not going to hurt him, Adriana. I would never?—"

"He doesn't know that." She finally looks at me, and what I see in her eyes makes me feel like I'm being gutted. "He sees blood on your hands, and he thinks you're going to hurt him. Or me. Or both of us. Because that's what he's learned. That's what men like you do."

Men like me.

I want to tell her I'm nothing like the men who hurt her. But I can't, because I just killed a man for stealing from me, and I'd do it again without hesitation. That makes me exactly the kind of man she should be afraid of.

I turn and walk to the bathroom off the hallway, turning on the water and scrubbing at my hands until the skin is raw and red, and there's no trace of blood left. I watch it swirl down the drain, pink anddiluted, and I think about all the times I've done this before. All the times I've washed someone else's blood off my hands and told myself it was necessary, that it was just business, that this is the world I live in and I can't afford to be weak.

But standing here now, knowing my son is terrified of me, knowing Adriana looks at me and sees just another monster, I'm not sure I believe that anymore.

When I come back out, Adriana is gone. The kitchen is empty, the glass of juice still sitting on the counter, and I can hear voices coming from Matteo's room. I move closer, staying in the hallway where they can't see me, and I listen.

"I want to go home." Matteo's voice is small and scared. It tears something in my chest. "Please, Mama. I want to go back. I don't like it here. I don't like him."

"We can't go back, baby." Adriana's voice is soft and soothing, but I can hear the strain in it, the effort it's taking her to stay calm. "I know you're scared. I know this is all new and confusing. But we're safe here. Lachlan isn't going to hurt us."

"He had blood on his hands." There's a pause, and then Matteo's voice drops to a whisper. "Did he kill someone?"

The silence stretches out, and I hold my breath, waiting for her answer.

"I don't know," she says finally. "Maybe. But that doesn't mean he's going to hurt you. He's your father, Matteo. He wants to protect us."

"Uncle Gio said he would protect us too." Matteo sounds like he's crying now, his words thick and choked. "And he did. He kept us safe. Why did we have to leave?"

I can't listen to this anymore.

I turn and walk back to my office, closing the door behind me and leaning against it, my eyes closed, my hands clenched into fists. My son thinks Gio kept them safe. My son wants to go back to the man who forced Adriana to take those photos and who's been holding them prisoner for ten years.