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Then the agonizing wait for Viking to come home started, yet again. She had almost drifted off into sleep when a sound woke her. Startled, she sat up and pulled the plaid blanket over her feet.
“Viking won’t be coming home tonight. He’s at our place at the wharf.”
Elena turned around to find Baran standing in the foyer.
“He always goes there on this night.” He looked at her questioningly.
She frowned. “This night? You say that as if it’s some special night I should know about.”
“The one night a year Viking gets wasted listening to the same song over and over again.” When she still looked puzzled, he added, “Your wedding night to Lorenzo Morelli.”
She gasped as recognition hit her. “Church bells,” she whispered, remembering what Katya had told her.
“Those same damn bells.” After a grim look, he simply left.
She felt conflicted and torn. The thought of Viking being on the other side of town hurting because of her didn’t sit right with her. An hour after Baran left, she could no longer take it. She put on some jeans and sneakers and had formulated a plan. It was no use to ask Baran if he would take her to Viking. The guy really wasn’t a big fan of hers.
So, she asked Yuri. He was standing guard outside and she simply walked up to him and asked him to take her to the bunker. She was ready to turn this into a fight right on the street, but to her surprise that wasn’t necessary. Then again, Yuri seemed less like a hardass than Baran.
He drove her to the wharf and kept on driving until he stopped in front of a brick building. He got out and opened the door for her. “I’ll wait outside.”
“Thank you.”
She stepped inside and was assaulted by the scent of sawdust. To the right was a sizeable room filled with crates and a workbench. No Viking though. But she didn’t need to go far to find him. All she had to do was follow the song, the sound of pain. He was in the first room to the right. His big frame lay on the couch. An arm lay draped over his eyes as if he wanted to shut out the world.
The sparsely-furnished room reeked of booze and anger. It was as Baran had told her; Viking was passed out, oblivious to the world around him.
Seeing him like this was like a punch to the gut. Tears were streaming down her face as she dropped down next to him.
She bowed her head, unable to look at his pain any longer. “I’m so sorry for the pain I put you through. I wish I could take it all back. That I could somehow grab the fractured parts of your soul and place them into mine. I’d rather die a thousand times over than to ever hurt you. That’s why I couldn’t let him hurt Sy. I just couldn’t let him kill your little brother.” She vividly remembered that day when Lorenzo showed her the live feed of someone holding a gun to Sy’s head. The kid had been asleep in his bed, looking tired, bruised from whatever fight he’d gotten into. He was completely oblivious to the killer in his room who was about to snuff out his life.
She chuckled with no humor. “My brother might be a lying scumbag, but Sy never was. He’s loyal to the bone. He has always worshiped you, and I think he even had a little crush on me. I couldn’t have lived with myself if they’d taken him out. How could I have ever looked you in the eye again?”
It was as if a dam broke inside her, cleansing her from the inside out. She just couldn’t stop the waterfall of words that followed, so she told him everything. With every word that followed, every event she’d lived through as Lorenzo’s wife, it felt as if a boulder lifted from her shoulders.
Viking would never hear any of it, but she could tell her story out loud.
When she was finished, she kissed his hand. “I’ve never told this to anyone,” she whispered.
Then she left.
***
VIKING
There were no words. Viking watched Elena leave after her confession. With that, she took his voice because he didn’t seem to have one anymore. Hearing her come clean had sent a shock wave through him and it took everything he had to stay still and keep his eyes closed.
Part of him wished that he’d drunk the whole bottle, as he did every year on this night. And he’d been about to when he thought about his daughter. He didn’t want to get into a rage-fest again. Not while she was still being hunted by Pedro. So, he’d smashed the bottle into the wall and slumped onto the couch to catch some sleep. He’d woken the second he heard someone come in. No one knew where he was except for the guys, and he’d been about to yell they should get out when he’d smelled her faint perfume.
Elena’s admission had shed a whole new light on the Morelli clan, and on Lorenzo Morelli in particular. He didn’t give a crap that Lorenzo had lived his entire life in the closet. Not only did he hate the dead fucker, now he resented him for choosing Elena as his patsy bride. More than anything though, he felt regret and shame. Elena’s words dropped a mountain of guilt on his shoulders, on his conscience. A pang of crushing guilt hit him and sat on his chest, feeling like an elephant. When she’d admitted she still couldn’t tell him the truth out of fear a Morelli would hurt their daughter, he felt small for the first time in his life. Because even though she didn’t say it out loud, he knew the truth. She hadn’t told him, would have rather rotted in a basement, because she feared that he couldn’t hold in his rage. She had expected him to flip out and wage war on the Morellis. His fits of anger had cost him more than he’d ever expected.
He scrubbed his chin and looked into the hallway.
“I know you’re out there.” And, surely, Baran emerged from the shadows looking pretty pleased with himself. “You set this up.”
Baran shrugged. “That woman is damn possessive of you, even if she tries to hide it. Also, she never asked for a thing except for a warm meal. It just didn’t add up that she was a money-grubbing gold digger. I figured that maybe she’d spill the beans when she believed you were drunk off your ass.”
“You’re a cold bastard.”
