Having Mira back in my arms was the best gift the universe had ever given me. It felt like a second chance at life.
Anything could have gone wrong at Palermo. Ricardo, the dumbass could have flipped the whole plan on its head, and I would have been a dead man by now.
I cast a glance at my wife as she sat by the window, completely lost in the glow of her laptop. Her workers were stressing her out again. I could tell by the way her brows knitted together, her lips pressing into that stubborn little line that made her look even more beautiful when she was angry.
I swallowed a lump in my throat as the thought resurfaced, the same one I had been trying to bury since that night in Palermo. I couldn't imagine what my death would do to Mira. It would probably shatter her in ways no one could predict. But part of me, some selfish, twisted part wondered if maybe it would set her free.
Free from me.
Free from this life.
Free from the blood that always seemed to find its way to my hands.
