Golden Burn (Songs of Crime #1)

30. Odin

30

Odin

‘Heart Still Works’ - Vera Blue

W alking back with Etta safe in my arms, I expect the blowback of our coupling to be immediate. Dom and Ford are surely waiting to chastise me. Cerbera is already planning to ruin us and Etta is one step closer to leaving me.

The deep-rooted anxiousness that has always sat at the back of my brain, throwing out scenarios like they’re hand grenades, resumes its usual schedule.

At the apartment door, I swipe the keycard, my muscles tensed in preparation for everything to combust.

Thankfully, none of the scenarios I imagined occur. At least not immediately.

Juniper almost knocks both of us over when we enter the room. Etta laughs and the sound is pure, unfiltered joy. It burrows into my bones and my brain, pushing the doubt and the worry back into its box. If it existed in bottle form, I would drink it down by the gallon.

It’s strange to have a woman laughing in my space. Stranger still for it to be the woman who I swore I would never get involved in. The woman I was positive I could never fall for.

I repressed and ignored the fact that Etta was beautiful in the early days of her stay. My fury at the Lombardo blood in her veins clouded my vision.

But now that it’s gone. Every time I see her, I can’t help but want her. Fiercely.

Her full lips and long lashes. The way her hair falls like curtains along her jaw drawing attention to her sleek brows and blue eyes. The curve of her backside and the way her teeth sparkle when she laughs. And her smile. Fucking hell. I don’t deserve to even see it. But every time she does, I can’t help but stare, tracing the lines of her body, imagining what she would look like naked and bent over a desk.

Well, I don’t have to imagine too much anymore.

My body, my mind, hasn’t been this satisfied in a long, long time.

Etta is everywhere. In my space, my head and my chest, tattooing her name against my ribcage with her nails as the needles and her blood as the ink.

I never thought it possible to feel anything close to what I felt for Gen.

But this woman—who fought me, opened for me, clung to me and fucked me like she was starving for me—she’s silencing the doubt and the guilt I’ve held onto for so long, making me experience things I had resigned to feeling in another life. She’s the last person on earth who should be wanting my touch, my comfort, my heart, and yet, she’s earning it. No, she’s stealing it. And I don’t want her to stop even if the dangers are immense.

My actions pulled us apart nearly decade ago and now fate has brought us back together. And as much as my cynical brain wants to deny it, it must mean something.

“I’m starving,” Etta groans, reaching for the room service menu. She runs her fingers down the list, biting her lip. The plump flesh, the quick flick of her tongue, makes my cock spring back to life.

Yeah, I’m fucked.

“I’ll order everything,” I say. “Why don’t you get cleaned up?”

“Okay.” She rubs Juniper’s fur until it’s flying all over the suite floor and then heads for the bathroom, her dress shimmering like a disco ball.

The shower starts running as I call the front desk and order every single thing they have. As soon as the call ends, my phone vibrates with an incoming text.

Ford: All cleaned up. Italian police are taking care of it. No connection.

My grip tightens around the phone.

God, it felt good to beat the shit out of them. Cathartic, in a way. If Etta hadn’t been watching, I might have snapped their necks.

Dom: PlayHouse sent me the footage. I’ve had it wiped.

Ford: How’s Etta?

I made her come so hard she soaked my lap.

Odin : She’s shaken, but she’ll be okay. No injury. Getting cleaned up now.

Dom: I think tomorrow should be a day of rest.

Ford: Agreed. I need a nap and a foot massage. Who has the strongest hands out of you two?

Odin: I’ll leave that to your imagination.

Ford: I KNOW IT’S YOU!

The smirk that comes to my face when Etta exits the bedroom comes easily and without strain. She’s never been more beautiful than she is now, with her flushed skin, wet hair and sparkling blue eyes.

A knock sounds at the door. I double check its room service before letting them in. Naturally, I stand in front of Etta, blocking their view of her as they bring in the food. I can’t be too careful. Not now.

“I thought you were joking,” she chuckles from behind me.

“I never joke about food.” Or you , I leave unsaid.

She grins as she watches the three carts worth of food enter the room. It makes my chest all warm and tingly. I rub my hand on my sternum, pressing against the sensation. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to feel it after everything I’ve done.

Once the employees have left, Etta grabs the first bowl of gnocchi she sees, slumps into one of the dining chairs and digs in.

I join her, picking one of the pizzas topped with prosciutto and rocket and parmesan. It melts in my mouth. I groan as I swallow it down. I clearly haven’t been eating enough. Etta chuckles from the other side of the table and I notice her watching me.

“Like what you see?” I can’t help but tease.

She wets her lips. “I like what I hear.”

We forgo conversation for food, eating a decent amount of pasta and pizza, arancini and salty focaccia. We also finish two glasses of wine each in record time.

For dessert, Etta grabs a bowl of gelato, a plate of ricotta stuffed cannoli and some tiramisu. She stands and nods her head toward the bedroom. “Let’s get comfy. I can barely keep my head up.”

I follow her like a servant ordered by their master. So does Juniper. The cheeky dog springs up on the bed and makes herself comfortable right in the center.

While Etta is preoccupied patting Juniper and eating her dessert, I change from my suit into pants and a t-shirt. I sense Etta’s appreciative gaze on my back, but she doesn’t comment. We’re both eager to taste each other again, but a full night’s rest would be good, too. On the bed, I take a seat next to her, lean into the pillows and eat one of the cannolis.

“Can you tell me about Gen?” Etta asks, finishing her gelato. “You never told me about her passing.”

“It’s not a nice story,” I admit.

Her eyes turn cool, empathetic. “I want to know. Please.” She grabs my hand and I know instantly I can’t refuse her.

“I had been dating Gen for a few months when my father told me I had to marry a stranger. As you can imagine, I was furious. I swore I would never go through with it. He didn’t believe me. I was his only son, and if I disobeyed, it would be the worst sort of betrayal. But I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to be forced to play his corrupt games. I knew he wasn’t a good man, he was a criminal, but I never believed it until that day. So the next week, despite his warnings, Gen and I got married .

“The Lombardos were not pleased. They promised they would get revenge, but I was na?ve. I didn’t know enough about their reputation. Still, I wasn’t completely stupid. Gen and I spent the first year of our marriage traveling, never staying in the same spot for more than a few weeks.” I glance down at the tattoos staining my forearm, elbows and bicep, at the color and images and memories that mark my skin. Etta observes them too. “I got a tattoo at every place we visited. After the year, I thought everything had calmed down, so we came back to America. My father let me move into one of his apartments and I started my own company. Everything seemed great for a few months.

“One night, we went to see a movie but came back early because Gen was sixteen weeks pregnant and wasn’t feeling well. I was—I was over the moon.”

Etta’s hand grips tighter onto my palm and it’s her steady, reassuring grip that pushes me to keep going.

“We’d gone to bed, and everything was fine. Gen got up in the middle of the night. I didn’t think too much, but she didn’t come back. I found her in the bathroom, a man at her back and a knife at her throat. I was so distracted that I didn’t see the others come and grab me. One of them was your father.”

Etta gasps, her free hand flying to cover her mouth.

“They drugged me with something that paralyzed me from neck down and gagged me so I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t control my limbs, everything was numb, but I could see they wanted to make sure of that. They laid me down in bed, forced Gen to lie next to me. Then Gregory killed her. A stab to the stomach, then a stab to the heart.”

“Oh my God,” she chokes.

“I watched her bleed out and turn blue. I watched her die right beside me and I couldn’t even say anything. I couldn’t apologize or tell her I loved her. I just laid there and watched.”

It’s been ten years since that night, and yet, each time I relive it, the agony, the soul-crushing reality cuts me just as sharp. Like stepping over broken glass that’s glued to the floor of your home. I can’t remove it even if I wanted to. I deserve to feel it slicing me open every single day.

“Did the police do anything?” she murmurs, voice so quiet and heartbroken.

“No. I couldn’t go to them. They put my prints all over the knife and even if I could convince them it wasn’t me, the Lombardos had tons of shit on my father up their sleeves—which my own father threatened me with. I was blackmailed into silence. I told Gen’s parents she died in a car crash. I went with them to see her in the morgue to make sure they didn’t see the wounds below her neck. I couldn’t let them find out I lied. Gen went into the ground carrying the secret of that night, while I’ve lived it with every day that’s followed.”

Etta is stunned for several minutes, eyes watery, mouth slightly ajar as if she can’t find the words. She swallows the lump in her throat, the same one that’s in mine. “That’s… that’s the most awful thing I have ever heard.” She shakes her head, her hand reaching for her chest. “Fucking hell. I get it. I get why you killed him.” Then, to my surprise, she says, “You should have made him suffer more.”

The sentiment makes me want to laugh. “He died whimpering on the floor of your clinic. He died a fucking nobody. It will never be enough, but it’s done and I’m glad I was the one to do it.”

“So am I.” Her eyes twinkle and she takes my hands in her hands. She peers down at my wrist, the one with the bold Roman numerals. “It’s a date, isn’t it? ”

“The day after our wedding,” I answer, a small smile curving my lips. “Everyone says the wedding day is an important day, but waking up in bed next to Gen and getting to call her my wife for the first time was better.”

Etta’s smile is so gorgeous I can’t think straight. I can’t believe she’s real sometimes.

“And your eye?” She asks, letting go of my hand to trace her fingers across the material. Fuck, I forget that’s there too, when she’s with me. I forget about being scarred and broken and guilt-ridden. I forget about how I failed at my role of being my wife’s protector, how I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t smart enough. I forget about being a widow and all the suffering I’ve endured. I forget everything except her eyes, her smile, her kindness and her fire. Her golden encased heart.

“I lost it after that night, went on a rampage hunting down the men who helped Gregory. I found one randomly a month later and got into a fight. I was reckless, and he was smart. He pinned me in place and tried to cut it out. Dom found us just in time, but I was an idiot and didn’t want a new one. I just wanted them to sew it shut and leave me alone.”

“Can I see?”

I hesitate. The eye itself is gone and a patch of skin has been sewn to cover it up. There’s a scar running down the center, not large enough to reach my brow, but still prominent. There’s a tiny, microscopic part of me that worries she won’t like me without it. I don’t like myself without it. I don’t remember who I was before I wore it.

She sucks in a sharp breath as I remove it and hold it in my lap, her face lighting up like she’s full of sunshine. “You’re so handsome.”

I chuckle, my fingertips tracing the patch of pink flesh instinctively. “Only Dom and Ford have ever seen me without it. ”

She leans forward on her knees; her face coming close to my own, her hands braced on my chest. She presses a kiss on one cheek, then the other. My single eye closes, my lungs strain for a breath that I can’t take.

Then she kisses the skin over my missing eye and leans back so I can see her smile.

I want to kiss her so badly. Grab her face with my hands and hold her against me. Fuck her in this bed properly, like a real husband.

It’s a feat of monumental strength how I manage to resist.

Slowly, as if seeking permission, Etta shuffles to my side, scoots under the blankets. She lies her head on my shoulder and cuddles up next to me. The matching pajama set is soft against the exposed skin on my arms. The lightest touch and yet it sends my internal organs ablaze.

“Do you have a picture of her?” she asks.

I take my phone out of my pocket. I only keep one image of Gen on whatever phone I’m using. It’s a picture I took of her while we were traveling around Australia. We had just spent the day swimming in the Great Barrier Reef. Afterward, we decided to find a quiet section of the beach to eat dinner. We made love first, laughing the whole time as handfuls of sand got into crevices it really shouldn’t. We watched the sunset together, holding hands. Then, when the beach was bathed in darkness, I took out my phone and snapped a picture of her. She screeched when the flash went off, but I caught the image of her just in time.

Blond hair salty from the sea, brown eyes that always gazed upon me like I was her knight in shining armor, her court jester and her secret lover all in one. Tan skin with pink cheeks and a smile that might not have turned everyone’s heads, but it sure did turn mine.

Every single time.

Etta sighs. “She’s stunning. What a bright soul. ”

“You two would have gotten along.”

She lifts her head, hands squeezing my bicep. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, she liked to scare the shit out of me, too.”

“How so?”

“Mostly pranks that involved serious jump scares. I nearly broke her jaw once when she jumped out of a closet and I swung my fist too quickly.”

Etta laughs, then silence ensues. She intertwines our fingers as she asks softly, “Your baby? Did you know the gender?”

My throat bobs. It’s something I try not to think about because it rips me apart every time. “It was a girl.” I show Etta the two tiny hands and feet I have tattooed on the inner part of my elbow. The place where she would have rested her head if I had ever got to hold her. “If she had brown eyes like Gen, I wanted to call her Hazel.”

“Hazel,” Etta repeats. Her fingers trace the tattoo with a reverence that makes my chest swell. Two tears trickle down her cheek when she says, “That’s a beautiful name.” She cradles my jaw, lifts my chin to meet her gaze. “I can’t even begin to wonder about the pain you’ve endured.”

“I couldn’t even describe it to you if I tried,” I say softly, my voice cracking.

To wonder is to be human. But to wonder what my daughter would have smelt like, who she would have looked like, what it would have been like to hold her in my arms and rock her to sleep, was the purest form of torment. To wonder who she might have become, and who I might have been as a father, was excruciating. So, I didn’t wonder. I didn’t think about it. It was physically impossible for me to even try. To receive your wife’s death certificate before the child in her womb could be born is incomprehensible, and sealed the lock on my soul, never to open again for fear I might do something stupid .

“Gen’s with your baby, you know,” Etta says, wielding her hope like a sword that she plunges into my chest, bringing me out of the shadows. “She’s keeping your daughter safe until you can meet her.”

“I know,” I say. My heart aches at the thought. My two girls are together, waiting for me, and it’s as much comfort as I’ll get.

I take one of her hands, squeeze her warm palm. “Thank you for asking about her. About both of them.”

“I want you to talk about them to me. Whenever you need it.” Etta wipes her eyes and yawns beside me. I can tell she’s ready for sleep, but right before she does, she looks out the window toward the Roman sky. “I’ll keep up the tradition of scaring him occasionally, girls, don’t you worry. I think you’d be pleased that I found him a kitten to play with. It has one eye, just like him, and I think they’re going to be best friends.”

My insides turn into a puddle of water.

“Say hi to my mom for me. She’s the lady with the curly brown hair and gives the world’s best cuddles, and she’s probably still harping on about the time I took all the dogs in the kennel for a walk at the same time. Thirteen, if I recall correctly.”

I rub my eyes, a smile forming. “Impressive.”

She yawns again, but I don’t need to say anything. Her eyelids have already drifted closed, her body soft and heavy against me.

I kiss the back of Etta’s hand, savor the taste of her skin.

And I notice right before I fall asleep that out of all the stars in the sky, there are three in particular that are much brighter than the others.