Page 15 of It Must Be Fate

“First of all, given that you’ve shot her best friend and gotten Tess herself shot, I’m not surprised she made you promise that. Secondly, can you please cool it with the ‘my wife’ bit?” I click my tongue against my teeth in disgust. “That’s my sister you’re talking about. It’s weird.”

“Wife trumps sister.”

“She’s been my sister a lot longer than she’s been married to you. And a lot more willingly, I might add.”

He shrugs. “I did what had to be done.”

Part of me can respect his approach to trapping my sister in their marriage, although there’s a higher chance that I’ll suddenly decide to shave my nipples off with a cheese grater than there is of me ever admitting that to him.

A year and a half ago, Nera and I broke up after I lied to her about who I was. My wife is the strongest, most stubborn, take-no-prisoners type of woman I know, and she made mepayfor my betrayal.

She refused to see me for four months.

Four. Fucking. Months.

Four months during which every second felt like I was dying, like I was being withered down to dust then blown into oblivion by the wind.

Her family had forced her to bend to their will her entire life, so I refused to do the same thing to her, to be just another abuser in her story.

But,fuck.

Not a day went by where I didn’t wish I was taking the Thiago approach and just forcing her to marry me and forgive me.

A babbling sound pulls me from my ruminations and draws my attention down to Thiago’s feet where I finally take notice of the baby carrier.

My brother-in-law didn’t come alone.

“Is that—” I start, my gaze flicking back up to his. Thiago’s black expression smooths away in a heartbeat, and just like that, the violent killer recedes to the background, replaced by the proud father. “Is that my little nephew?” I coo, my voice rising two full octaves and reaching a pitch I’d categorically deny ever using if questioned, even under heavy torture.

I crouch and reach into the carrier, freeing Theo from the maze of straps wrapped around him and taking him into my arms.

As much as I wouldn’t miss Thiago for a second if he disappeared from my life tomorrow, I know that’s no longer in the cards because the bastard had the gall and the brilliance toimmediately impregnate my sister, tying her—and thus me—to him for life.

Yet again, I can’t help but respect his game.

I’m out here playing a clean game of checkers while Thiago is playing grandmaster-level chess.

“Hey, little man. Did you come to see your favorite uncle?”

Looking down into his tiny face, I can’t help but wonder if he’s going to turn out to be a bloodthirsty killer like his dad or a corporate genius like his mum.

God protect us all if he turns out to be a combination of both.

“He only has one,” Thiago answers dryly.

I glare at him over my six-month-old nephew’s head.

“What are you still doing here?” I question again, very much interested in the answer. “Theo can stay, but you can go back to mutilating and murdering random people. Or whatever it is you like to get up to in your spare time.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tristan. Mutilation and murder are my career, not my hobbies,” he corrects pleasantly, watching me bounce his son against my chest with observant eyes. “Trying out new torture methods, however? There’s a hobby.”

I pause mid-bounce. “I’m sorry, are you making jokes now?”

“Apparently.”

“Please stop.”

Before I can add anything else, I hear the soft cadence of heels on marble and feel my wife approach from behind me.

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