Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
"Ah, angel." I toss her notebook on the credenza and rush toward her, scooping her up in my arms. My throat burns. My heart bleeds, sending ripples into my stomach. She's lived with this burden for years, protecting a woman who has never deserved her affection. She's endured five years of torment to keep her mother safe. And all this time, she's held herself at fault for wanting what every child wants…to be loved by the people who gave them life.
"I'm sorry," she cries, collapsing into me. "I'm so sorry."
"You have nothing to be sorry for," I whisper, my voice rough with emotion. I pick her up and carry her back to our bedroom, murmuring to her as she weeps softly.
Once we're in bed, she buries her face in my shoulder, clinging like a koala bear again. I wrap my arms around her and hold her as she rids herself of the guilt and shame she's carried for far longer than she should have had to do so.
It takes her a long time to purge herself of it. My phone vibrates in my pocket several times, but I ignore it. Nothing is more important than the woman in my arms. One way or another, regardless of how long it takes or what I have to do to make her understand, she's going to learn that she's loved and wanted.
"Listen to me," I murmur when she finally cries herself out and simply lies in my arms, letting me hold her. "There is no shame in wanting to save your mother's life. There's no shame in wanting her love. You aren't responsible for what Tarasova or his men did."
"I am, though."
"No, Faith." I roll over, tipping her onto her back and propping myself on an elbow above her. Her face is splotchy, her eyes dull and so damn sad it breaks my heart all over again as she stares up at me, teeth imprints in her bottom lip. I tuck her hair behind her ear, tracing a finger down the trail of tears on her cheek. "You are not responsible for what they did to you or to anyone else. You were a kid, afraid for your mother's life. And even had you told them about your mom, I'm not so sure they would have let you go."
Her face scrunches up, her brows crinkling.
"I think they've been after something else this entire time."
"Like what?" she whispers, voice hoarse from crying.
I hesitate, not ready to tell her the suspicion that sprouted when she told me about her dad's cook. I need time to look into it, time to see if I'm right. "I'm not sure yet, but I intend to find out," I say instead. "Nikolai Tarasova is a wily little bastardo. He's always got a trick up his sleeve. It kills me that you've spent all this time living with guilt that doesn't belong to you. It belongs to him and the Bratva. It belongs to your mom and Alexei Palatov."
Doubt fills her gaze, but she nods slowly. It's not the certainty I want her to feel about this, but it's enough for now. One day soon, she's going to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she isn't at fault for what Tarasov did.
"Do you want to know where she's at?" she asks.
I stare down at her, my heart pulsing with emotion. I desperately want to know where her mother is so I can hunt her down and kill her slowly, but as I'm quickly coming to learn, nothing is more important to me than the woman in my arms. What she wants, what she needs comes first.
I'm not sure how it happened or when, but somewhere over the last few weeks, she stole my entire fucking soul. I've never been in love before. Hell, I'm not even sure how to be in love. But taking care of her is instinctive, automatic. It's not something I have to think about doing, it just is. Like she was always supposed to be mine.
Maybe there is a God, after all. I don't know what I did to deserve his trust with one of his angels, but I won't fail when it comes to protecting her. Seeing to her safety and happiness is my new mission in life…and I wasn't born to fail.
"I want what you want," I tell her. "If telling me will make you feel better, then you tell me. But if you don't want me to know, you don't owe me that answer."
She gives me her big secret without hesitation. "She's in Toronto, Canada."
And that's all the proof I need to know that she loves me, too. Even if she hasn't realized it yet or doesn't understand it…some part of her knows as instinctively as I do that she belongs with me.