Twins for the Mafia Heir (The Warwicks #3)

45. Achilles

Chapter 45

Achilles

I take Fantasia to Heathrow Airport in my black town car instead of the limo. It feels right to be the one behind the steering wheel for this trip, and to have my sister in the passenger seat.

Sitting in the backseat behind the closed partition are two Ashwood men, who will accompany my sister to the new house I’ve purchased for her in North Carolina. I consider them her parole officers. They’ll establish connections with doctors in the States who’ll make sure my sister stays sober and alive, but they won’t interfere too closely with her daily life so long as she stays out of trouble.

It’s been a busy week since Wesley Hall was turned upside down once again, but it feels like ten years have passed already. Fantasia had to be moved back into her room after the first night and monitored almost constantly by a doctor. I keep thinking that if I’d interfered with her alcohol abuse sooner, her withdrawal symptoms- the shakes, the hallucinations, the confusion and fever- wouldn’t have been so bad. Maybe things wouldn’t have been so dire at the end either. No doubt her paranoia and volatility were only inflamed by the drinking, but she wasn’t swaddled in safety by the end either. At the same time, I remember telling her to drink less. I remember removing bottles from her hands.

If any of those mercs actually hurt her, she refuses to say, but it’s impossible to know how much she really remembers.

I can always tell myself there was more I could’ve done, but the other side of that coin will always be that there were other choices Fantasia could’ve made. What matters is that she’s sober now, and I’m removing her from the place she took so much advantage of… and that took advantage of her. The road ahead will be hard, but important first steps have already been made.

To be honest, I’m in a rush to get her out of the country, and not just because I want us both to have a fresh start. The rest of the Ashwood family would be all too happy to see Fantasia imprisoned and miserable. Some even want her dead after she nearly got several of our own killed and ran many of our businesses to near ruin.

I’d rather get her well on her way to a new life before any of them can act on their anger. Not to mention the trauma she’s caused Sidony and Emma, which I don’t ever want to stir up in their memory if I can help it.

Besides, the longer Fantasia is in England, the more time Piers has to do something… unwise. Like throw away his inheritance for the woman who wanted him dead.

Does she still want him dead? I don’t know. We’ve hardly talked since she sobered up.

As if she’s read my mind, Fantasia stirs in the passenger seat. She’s been staring blankly out the window since we got in the car, but now she turns her head to me.

“You never thought I could do it, did you?” she asks, her voice quiet and dull.

She’s not trying to pick a fight, but her words feel like a killing blow nonetheless. Did I ever really believe that she could be the leader of the Warwick and Ashwood families? Thriving, driven, and independent?

No. I never did.

Even before she lost her grip on reality, I knew Fantasia didn’t have the proper experience or even the proper training. Our mother told her she could rule but never taught her how. And Marcus never saw her as an heir. I was the only one who bothered to help, but in hindsight, I helped too much. I tried to shield her from so much that I stunted her growth just as badly as our parents did.

That’s why I have to let go now.

My silence stretches too long. It tells on itself. Fantasia’s mouth quivers a little, but she swallows down her tears. “You were right.”

“I wish I weren’t,” I tell her, my voice tight.

Like an olive branch, or maybe a mercy kill, Fantasia nods. “I know.”

I walk Fantasia through the airport with her chaperones following at a respectable distance. She’s got one carry-on and one suitcase that needs to be processed. The rest of her personal belongings will be sent over to her new home at a later date. I’m not heartened by how confused and overwhelmed she looks by everything around her. Her upbringing was so sheltered. I can only hope the real world will be an inspiration to her, rather than a deterrent.

Not for the first time, the sight of her preparing to throw herself out of her second story window replays behind my eyes.

She was drunk and panicking , I tell myself, again, not for the first time. She’ll be monitored constantly. She’s getting a fresh start, Achilles. You have to let her go.

Once we’re through security, I walk her to the gate, my throat tightening with every step. This isn’t like the night I bought Emma a plane ticket just to get her out of my sight. This is deliberate and planned out. There’s a house and a modestly full bank account waiting at the end of this flight, and people to make sure she gets where she’s going safely.

Again, as if reading my mind and my own misgivings, Fantasia hesitates outside the gate and turns to me. Her eyes are wide with fear, her voice quivering with desperation. Her knuckles are white as she wrings the straps of her carry on. I know how manipulative she could be at the height of her power- how manipulative I let her be- but this, at least, is genuine.

“Achilles- I don’t want to go,” she says simply, shattering my heart to pieces.

“I know,” I say around the knot in my throat. “But you have to.”

Her lips press together. She swallows back tears, but some still fall anyway. To her credit, she turns away to hide them rather than using the sight of them to hurt me more. Without another word, she walks through the gate of her own free will, and my men follow in her wake.

And just like that, my baby sister is gone.