Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(142)

Anger bristled in Anton's eyes. He drew a handgun from the holster near his belt and pressed it to my uncle's temple.

“You heard her. No. Now, shut the f*ck up! You don't talk unless she tells you to, understand?” Every syllable he spoke was a feral growl. “And quit your begging, *. Be a man for once in your miserable life.”

Uncle Gioulio turned his head on the floor and closed his eyes. A harsh sob jarred his body. I came closer, pushed gently against Anton, pressing my lips to my uncle's ear.

“You told me about mama and how his father ran her down.” I waited until my uncle saw me squeezing Anton's arm, looking lovingly into his eyes. I beamed back just as much hate at the bastard on the floor. “You didn't tell me about Mercedes, the French woman they were really after. Why?”

Gioulio sobbed again. He rolled, until he was flat on his back, miserably staring up at the ceiling.

“I loved that f*cking woman. I'll go to my grave loving her like nothing else. Just do what you're gonna do,” he said, a little strength returning to his voice.

“You lied to me.” The words were so dry in my throat I choke back a cough.

I wasn't sure what I expected. Maybe an apology, an unselfish sob, something to tell me he was sorry for all this and wasn't just out to save his own ass.

Uncle Gioulio's eyes shifted to mine. They were narrowed, hateful. He looked at me like a pet who'd just disappointed him. Anton saw it, and he snarled, tightening his hold on the gun. He was ready to pull the trigger well over a minute ago.

“Not yet,” I said, pinching at his arm. “Uncle, I need to know...did you ever care about me at all? Was I ever anything more than a loose end you couldn't tie up after you killed my parents?”

“I had you tied up,” he hissed, bitterness in his voice. “Everything was fine. Perfect, until you decided to start interviewing this * in prison. You never would've found out shit. You would've been dumb, blind, and happy. I could've sent you overseas, left you the family fortune, more money than you'll ever see now. I've made ten times more each year alone than I ever did working with Gio.”

I bit my lip when he said my father's name, and the * just kept digging.

“He wasn't strong enough. Neither was that f*cking whore he married. She turned him soft. She twisted his arm into building more legit shit, riding my ass about leaving the real lucrative stuff behind. We had a problem with the Russians, and I saw my chance to kill two birds at once. It was Mercedes' idea. That woman never made mistakes. Fuck, if things hadn't gone to shit with her, I wouldn't be sprawled out on the floor like this right now!”

“But you are,” I reminded him, running my sharp nails over his chest. “Thank you, uncle. That was all I needed to know.”

Anton looked at me, his blue eyes burning like gas fires. “We ready to flush this turd, or what?”

“Do it,” Uncle Gioulio insisted. “Let him put me out of my f*cking misery.”

The terror was gone. He was ready to die, resigned to his fate at the business end of Anton's gun.

Why did that make me feel so disappointed?

Anton looked at me. I nodded. His hand was up lightning fast, and he was about to pull the trigger when I reached up and slapped his shoulder.

“Wait. There's one more thing...” I crawled around on my hands and knees, until I was on the opposite side of him.

I put my hand on Gioulio's head and ran it backwards slowly. I'd inherited the same amazing Ligiotti hair, soft and dark and thick. The adrenaline numbing him made his jaw work like he was chewing on his own anxiety, sinking his teeth into the memories no doubt flashing before his eyes.

Several long, soft strokes calmed him down. He looked at me one last time with wider, softer eyes. There was the man I remembered. Kindly old uncle Gioulio.

Now, I was sure.

Somewhere deep down inside, he really cared for me. That made everything he'd done even more unforgivable.

I was ready.

“Niece, I'm sorry, sorry, so f*cking sorry,” he said, his voice breaking.

A thin, pleading smile pulled at his lips. I studied his pale face for a moment, leaning over him, finishing the last loop through his hair with my fingertips.

My face was right over his when I pursed my laps and spat. “I'm not.”

I reached for the gun in Anton's hand while my spit was still in my uncle's eyes. I wrapped both hands tight around the weapon, pressed it to his forehead, and pulled the trigger.

The shot was deafening.

I jumped as its echo died. The gun slid out of my hands to the floor, and I backed away on my knees before my uncle's dark blood could touch me. Anton was on me lightning fast, pulling me up into his arms.

“You did good, babe.”

“Just kiss me,” I whimpered, stumbling away from the dead body.

He did. Anton grabbed me, jerked me close, smashed his lips to mine. His kiss carried me away, let me soar high above the hell below. I'd killed him, and hoped to God he was the only person I'd ever have to pull the trigger on.

Good thing I made it count, my one play at controlling life and death.

Anton's kiss swirled through the icy numbness inside me. With just his mouth, he warmed me, soothed me, told me everything was going to be okay.

We could rebuild after this. I just didn't know how.