Chapter 165

“You have to eat,” I say, shrugging. “I fed the kids. They’re working their way through a gallon of ice cream now.”

She laughs a little, genuinely, and then raises a hand to her mouth in surprise – like…like that’s the first time she’s done that since she found out that he’s dead. And she wasn’t aware that she could anymore. “That’s good,” she murmurs, nodding. “I’m a…a fucking mess. Thank you for feeding them.”

“Why don’t you take a minute,” I say, putting the plate on the floor next to her. “Eat, drink. Get your head together. I can take the baby…”

She raises an eyebrow at me. “Do you know how to take care of a baby?”

“I know enough,” I say with a shrug. “Milk, diapers…I can handle it while you take a moment to breathe.”

Giana’s eyes drift shut and she exhales a long breath before holding the baby out to me. “I don’t know why I trust you, considering your family’s track record with my own,” she murmurs. “But I do.”

I smile a little as I take the baby into my arms. “Is there formula somewhere?” I ask, and Giana opens her eyes and gives me a few instructions about where I can find things in the house. I nod, getting to my feet.

As I turn towards the door, the little baby fussing in my arms – unhappy with the change – Giana calls me back. I turn to see her lifting the glass of wine to her lips. “Can you tell one of my kids to bring me more of this in like, ten minutes?” she says, a little smirk on her mouth now.

I grin tentatively. “One bottle or two?”

“Oh, just send the case,” she says with a sigh, looking around the room, clearly snapped out of it a bit and ready to try again.

“You got it,” I reply, and then I quickly slip out of the door, feeling incrementally better. Because, I mean, I didn’t do anything real – I didn’t change anything. But it always makes me feel better to help, or to try.

Quickly, quietly, I slip down the stairs into the kitchen and come to a harsh stop at the bottom when I see Christian standing there with his niece and nephew, the phone he gave me in his hand.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Christian says to me, raising an eyebrow my way, “to contact me if you decided to go upstairs?”

I sigh, shaking my head. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, bouncing the baby in my arms as she starts to give huffy little whines, the start of real tears. “I got…distracted.”

My husband sighs and crosses to me, each of the kids turning to watch with curiosity as he steps close and raises a hand to my cheek. “Leave it to you, Iris,” he murmurs. “To get distracted by being kind. But I have to know where you are at all times, okay? And…perhaps getting close to Giana right now is…not the right choice.”

I frown at him, kind of appalled. “I’m going to help her however I can, Christian,” I say, a little snappy. “You can’t ask me not to.”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “I can ask you to do whatever I want, Iris.”

“And I can choose to say no,” I say, my own eyebrows going up. I stare at him for a second, kind of appalled at how callous he’s being, before moving towards the cabinets, eager to get started on making the baby a bottle.

Behind me I hear Christian sigh and then softly speak to his niece and nephew, quietly asking them to go upstairs to their rooms. Before they can go I call Ricky back, handing him the rest of the bottle to take his mom. He grins at me and nods before running up the stairs.

Then, one arm around the baby, I get started on making her bottle.

“Here, let me hold her,” Christian murmurs, coming close.

I shoot him a little glare. “Oh, are you deciding to lean into kindness now?”

“I’m not a monster, Iris,” Christian repeats, a little frustration coming into his voice as well. “I’m just doing what I need to in order to keep us safe.”

“And do you seriously think that Giana is the threat?” I snap, turning towards him with a frown. “A woman who just lost her husband, her life, her home?”

He slowly shakes his head at me, reaching for the baby. “I think that Giana is a wolf,” he replies, firm. “And that a wolf backed into a corner is a very dangerous animal. You shouldn’t underestimate her, Iris. I don’t like that you went up there alone – anything could have happened.”

I groan a little, shaking my head even as I pass him the baby. “I can’t do it, Chris,” I say, setting my jaw firmly as I start going about mixing the formula more efficiently now that I have two free hands. “I can’t sit around watching someone else suffer just to keep myself safe.”

“So, you’d rather die?” he asks, and I turn to him as I realize that he means that quite literally.

“I suppose I would,” I say, holding his gaze, more stubborn than he thought I was.

Christian sighs, closing his eyes, pressing the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “All right, Iris,” he murmurs. “You win. Just…please let me know when you plan to willfully defy the structures that I’ve put in place to keep you safe so that I can make new ones.”

I don’t reply, continuing to mix the formula and reaching for the baby when it’s done.

But Christian just shakes his head, reaching for the bottle instead.

“You know how to feed a baby?” I ask quietly, turning my head to the side.

He flicks his eyes up to me for a moment as he takes the bottle from my hand. “I live here, Iris,” he replies. “Ricky and Bella were born here. Who do you think took care of them all those years Lorenzo was out with his girlfriends, doing so much coke he slept more often on the bathroom floor than in a bed?”

I blink in surprise as I stare at my husband because…I did not know that. Any of that. Honestly, I always imagined him living in the penthouse but…that was always a flop house, wasn’t it?

How much more of his life don’t I know?

Christian takes a moment then to look at his youngest niece, to study her little face, and I see the sadness in Christian’s expression as she begins to drink. The very true realization that he killed her father today, and that he’s sorry for it. Even if he did think that it needed to be done.

But even as I recognize the humanity in my husband at this moment…I still wonder if it did have to be done.

God, what, really, is the end of all of this? How does it all turn out?

Suddenly, I desperately wish I knew – wish I had something in my mind that could justify all of this blood, all of this grief. All at his hands.

I turn away from him then, needing to do something, need a distraction. “You must be hungry,” I murmur, turning towards the trays of still-warm food. “I’ll make you a plate.”

“You don’t have to do that, Iris,” he replies softly.

“I want to,” I murmur, shaking my head and getting started making my husband his dinner plate.

By the time I’m finished he’s settled on a stool, still looking down at the baby, who happily eats. I slide the plate in front of him alongside a glass of wine and then lean against the counter next to him, a glass in my own hand.

“So,” I ask quietly, and he looks up to meet my eyes. “Where is everyone? What’s happening next?”

“What’s happening is we’re taking over the family, Iris,” he says quietly. “It’s all coming together.”

My eyebrows raise incrementally because…god, it seems too easy.