Tempted by Deception (Deception Trilogy #2) by Rina Kent

I put Jeremy down and try to speak softly, “Stay here, Malysh.”

He nods, sniffling.

I eat up the distance to the bed in a few strides and sit on the mattress. While Lia’s nightmares have returned with a vengeance, it’s the first time they’ve been this violent.

I grab her shoulders, shaking her. “Wake up, Lia.”

She gurgles, more foam covering her fair skin and her face turning blue.

She’s not breathing.

“Lia!” My voice rises as I shake her harsher this time. “Wake up! Come on, open your eyes, Lenochka.”

She gulps in a deep intake of air as she startles awake, her eyes open but glazed over. Then she starts weeping like a small child, the sound haunted and guttural as her fingers dig into my forearm. “Mom… I want Mom…”

“Hey,” I soothe, pulling her to me and wrapping my arms around her. “It’s only a nightmare.”

She stills for a bit, sniffling, and her fingers sink into my chest as if she wants to feel me. I stroke her dark strands and inhale her addictive rose scent.

Jeremy slowly approaches us, tears shining in his inquisitive gray eyes. “Are you okay, Mommy?”

She pulls away from me and smiles at him. “Yes, angel. Mommy just had a bad dream.”

He points a finger at me. “Papa will make them all go away.”

Her expression falls, but she nods anyway. After he kisses her goodnight, I carry Jeremy to his room and stay with him until he falls asleep.

By the time I go back to the master bedroom, Lia is sitting up in bed.

I close the door and get rid of my jacket as I stand in front of the vanity and meet her gaze through the mirror. “What’s going on, Lia?”

“Huh?” Her glassy eyes slowly meet mine. I hate seeing her in this state, hate that’s she’s out of it more than not lately.

“Is it shock from the shooting? Should I get you a psychotherapist?”

She shakes her head, scoffing softly. “It should’ve been that.”

“Should’ve been?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s obviously not nothing. What’s going on?”

“You never asked about my parents again,” she says out of nowhere. “But then again, you never really cared about me, anyway.”

I turn around to face her, a muscle working in my jaw. Does she really believe that? Does she fucking think I’d put myself in an unfavorable position within the brotherhood if I didn’t fucking care?

Sure, it might not be the type of care she wants, but I’m keeping her and our son safe.

I’ve been searching for the fucker who tried to shoot me that day, to no avail. The man we found dead with a bullet plucked out of his nape was an Eastern European mercenary who could be working for anyone.

In order to find who hired him, I’ve been calling in favors and searching day and night, but have had no luck. He must’ve been killed by whoever hired him, but why dig out the bullet? Did they fear the possibility of it being traced back to them? Although mercenaries usually have their own ammunition suppliers and wouldn’t be able to be tracked.

At any rate, finding the bastard who threatened Lia’s life has been the only thing I can focus on, and yet, she says that I don’t fucking care.

I hold on to my calm as I speak, “If you’d wanted to talk about your parents, you would’ve.”

She lays her hands on her lap, palms up, and studies them with that same glassy look. “Mom, Dad, and I weren’t well off, but we were happy. I knew he wasn’t my real father, but he was the only father I had. We lived in a small house by the Sicilian fields in which Dad managed a big farmer’s workers. It was beautiful, with huge olive trees and clear summer skies. I got to play with some of the farmer’s kids and Mom got me hooked on dancing. We were a cozy little family who prepared for the harsh winter and thrived in the summer. We had festivals during the harvest season and danced all night long. We were…normal.”

Her voice lowers, but it doesn’t break as she continues, “When I was five, something was wrong. I could feel it, even though I was young and clueless. I could tell something wasn’t sitting quite right in the house. Mom wasn’t playing the loud American music that Dad shook his head to, and he wasn’t there to kiss me or hold me. I was hiding behind the door when I heard them. Men were yelling at Dad in Italian, telling him he should give them the girl, and my composed dad was shouting back that he wouldn’t.

“Someone grabbed me and I squealed, but Mom wrapped a hand around my mouth and shook her head to quiet me. We ran outside toward a separate cottage, and she ushered me into a small box and put her finger to her mouth. She had tears in her eyes when she kissed me. She said she was sorry that Dad wasn’t my real father and that she wished she could change it. Then she told me not to get out under any circumstances until someone called me by her maiden name, Gueller.”

Lia’s hands shake, her delicate throat working with a swallow. “I spent a long time in that box, sweaty and scared. That box was so dark and tight, but I didn’t dare leave it. I could hear loud bangs from the house before it was silent. I don’t know how long I remained in the box until someone came to fetch me by calling me Little Gueller. I was starved and cold and I wet myself, but all I wanted was Mom and Dad. The man who took me to the airport told me they had died from gas asphyxiation and that I’d be living with my grandmother. He didn’t even let me see them one last time. Back then, I believed they died because of gas, it made me feel more at ease. But the older I grew, the surer I was that there was something else. Otherwise, why would Mom have hidden me?