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I shrug lightly with my non-injured side. “I’ve been stabbed before. It’s fine.”
Her eyes widen and the left one twitches slightly. Adorable. “That doesn't mean you're immune to stab wounds.” Her indignant voice pitches an octave higher with worry and I can't help but smile at her. She doesn't like that very much. “Enzo. You have a fucking knife buried in your side.” She snaps, her patience gone. Luckily I have enough for the both of us.
“Yes, and I don’t believe it's hit anything important. So this is where it will stay until we’ve sorted this shit out.”
She shakes her head but I grab her face and kiss her deeply before she can say anything else. This woman is incredible. I wince at the pain in my side and she pulls away, her eyes furious.
I push myself to my feet but have to use Casimira's shoulder for stability whilst I clutch my side, making sure not to push the knife any deeper. I look to the kitchen where Michael is pulling himself up, his face nearly unrecognisable. Marcus’ body lays unmoving on the kitchen floor.
“He dead?” I ask, kicking Marcus’ foot.
“No, but he's about to be.” He grabs a knife and hovers over his body. He hesitates. I can tell he doesn’t want to kill him and he’s young, so I stop him. “If you haven’t killed anyone before, best not start now.” I lean down, ignoring the splitting pain in my side and push my knife into Marcus’ chest, hearing his last breath leave him.
I hear the front door open and my head snaps up. If anyone walks in right now, I'm looking at a double murder charge and I do not have the pull to get myself out of prison here. My eyes meet two men. One in his late twenties the other early forties. Both are eyeing me warily, frozen in their tracks. Until the older one says, “Enzo Moretti?” in an ever so slight Irish accent.
I let out a sigh of relief. “Sean send you?”
“Yeah, he said you might need a hand.” The younger one adds.
“I need to clean this up and dispose of them two but I’m a bit incapacitated at the moment,” I say motioning to the knife protruding from my stomach.
“No problem, we’ll take care of this.” The older one says as he rolls up his sleeves and makes his way over to Tom.
“I’ll give you the number of the doctor we use. He's great with stab wounds.” The younger one says lifting his shirt to reveal a few scars dotted over his torso with a crooked smile.
“I’d appreciate that.”
“No problem. My uncle told us to help with whatever you needed; I hear your brother is marrying my cousin.”
“Johnny, stop with the chit-chat and grab the bag from the car.” The older one interrupts. “Go get that looked at, we’ve got this.” He says jerking his head to me.
They began to position the bodies in a natural manner before turning the gas stove on and lighting a candle upstairs in the bedroom. I make sure to take both the knives with us and any trace of us left including the blankets Ares was sleeping on before we leave. Michael is already waiting in the car with Leah. Me and Casimira walk out of the house together. My arm over her shoulder to keep me on my feet. She helps me slide into the back seat and I scoot over to look at him in his rear-facing car seat. His pacifier in the mouth, green eyes on me with his hands held out. I take one with my free hand, the one without any blood on it, the one not putting pressure around my wound. A shaky breath leaves me as I look at his perfect face. “Hey, baby boy.”
Micheal drives whilst Cas sits on the other side of Ares’ car seat, her head leaning against the leather so she can see him. She takes his other hand and smiles big, tears in her eyes. Ares begins to get sleepy, his dark lashes fluttering closed, his little fingers still wrapped around each of our fingers. Cas’ eyes meet mine and she leans over to press a kiss to my lips.
“It’s us three, forever,” I tell her.
“Always.” She replies and we both settle against our seats to watch him sleep.
Micheal drove us to the address of the doctor after I spoke to him on the phone. It's back in London so the drive takes us over an hour, only this time the atmosphere is nowhere near as tense but it might just be because I'm about to pass out. The doctor is an old Irish guy and he takes well over an hour to stitch me up. He asked if I wanted to be knocked out but I refused. There’s no way I’m lying unconscious on some stranger's table. That shit sounds like the start of a horror movie and I have had more of my fill of horror tonight. After he's pumped me so full of pain meds and I no longer feel my face, I give him nearly a grand in cash and we drop Leah and Michael home and head to our hotel.
When we get into our suite, Casimira helps me strip my bloody clothes off whilst Ares is still sleeping in his car seat in the doorway of the bathroom so we can see him. We both get into the shower and wash the blood off our bodies before we get into bed. Being careful not to get my stitches wet, the mess in the car is tomorrow's problem.
She scoops him out of his car seat and pulls him into bed between us. He stirs a little and tosses around until he finally lays on his back, his arms dropping to the side of his head, little lips parting with a sigh. We both lay there with our hands under our heads and stare at him for a while, watching him sleep. I’m certain this little boy holds one-half of my heart. The other half belongs to the woman lying opposite me.
“Are you okay?” I finally ask, voice low.
“Weirdly, yes?” She whispers.
“It’s okay if you’re not, baby. This was heavy.”
She reaches out and traces her finger over my jaw gently. “I thought I would feel guilty, but I don’t. It feels like I can finally breathe properly, like someone just took a dumbbell off my chest. I think I needed to be the one who did it.”
“I’m proud of you. For taking it back from him. You’re fucking wonder woman.”
She squints at me. “Maybe Captain Marvel?”
I let out a laugh that makes me wince and she shakes her head. Her arm coming to rest on my side, fingers stroking over my arm gently.
