Page 110 of Souls and Sorrows

But I don’t because it’d be a bit hypocritical of me to do so when I didn’t include him on the Tallerico issue, or the Mikey P. issue, or even when I had my mother sign the company over to him—even if it didn’t end up sticking.

I didn’t include him in any of that even though it all posed a direct threat for him.

And it’s not like I was really mourning my father anyway. Not when I was the one who had orchestrated his demise in the first place, so I suppose I can’t fully fault Cash for not wanting to let me in on that particular secret.

Even if it wound up helping him in the long run.

“If you kill us, everything will just go to another Primrose, and you’ll be even more fucked, since they aren’t in your pocket,” Papà tells Ermes. “Is that what you want, Barbieri? For you to have nothing?”

Rolling his eyes, Ermes brushes his finger against the trigger of his gun. “I have Feds on my side, I’m sure I can convince a couple of Primroses to do business with me. Especially since my organization funds the Wolfe brothers’ existence, and your sister is quite close to them, isn’t she?” He smiles sadistically at Cash, who doesn’t even blink. “Once the whole counterfeit issue dies down, I’ll be able to pull their little puppet strings again, and this time, I won’t have to worry about fighting your ass to keep my own territories.”

He moves his arm, training the gun back on me. “I think I’ll start with her.”

Clearing his throat, Papà looks back at me, something like remorse flashing in his eyes. “Ariana, I’m … I don’t know what to say to you. I wish there were something, anything, I could do to make up for the shitty life I gave you and your sisters, but there isn’t. I can’t turn back time, and even if I could, I don’t think I’d be able to do anything differently. I can’t even be mad at you for trying to kill me, because I get it. I would have done the same.”

For some reason, nausea pulses through my stomach in waves, knowing what he’s about to do for me. And even though my plan was to kill him in the first place, I can’t help a little remorse that was lacking when I killed others.

My chest burns. “How did you know we were here?”

He nods at Cash. “The boy sent a message, saying he thought something was off. Didn’t expect this, really, but I’m glad I got to help you out, for once.”

I wait for more, my pulse thick in my throat. Three little words, so fucking simple and easy to say—especially when you’re on the cusp of death.

It’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear from him.

But they don’t come, and when the popping sound of the bullet leaving its chamber echoes in the air, my only regret is that I used arsenic on him instead of cyanide.

A shout rings through the room, followed immediately by a second pop as I’m shoved roughly out of the way and dragged into Cash’s arms. He twists, pushing us into the wall, as several more dull popping sounds ricochet around us, and then a thick, uncomfortable silence ensues.

Cash looks over his shoulder, letting out a breath. The smell of metallic discharge and blood reaches my nostrils, and I press my nose into Cash’s shirt, wanting to inhale his earthy aroma instead, so I don’t have the memory of this night burned into my brain for the rest of time.

When he pulls away, I brush a hand down the front of my dress, heaving a surprised breath of relief when I see Papà still standing there. His back is toward us as he looms over Ermes’s dead body, the latter’s head no longer recognizable due to the amount of bullet holes in it.

I start to smile, grateful for my father’s existence for the first time in my entire life, but when my eyes drop, I notice the red seeping through the back of his suit, growing quickly.

My stomach drops, hollowing out as I realize he’s been hit too.

It’s not even the first time he’s been shot, but when he doesn’t turn around to reassure me the way he sometimes did when I was younger, it feels much more finite.

The sort of permanence you can’t ever get back.

Death is final.

“Papà?” I say softly, tears stinging my eyes even though I still can’t quite believe any of this is happening. It’s all been so sudden and abrupt, but then again, I suppose these things can’t build forever.

The world we live in is a cold and unforgiving place, and it takes without remorse. In the blink of an eye, everything you think you know can change.

Cash’s hand finds my lower back just as Papà’s knees seem to give out; he crumples to the ground, and I stare at his lifeless form for several moments, trying to comprehend the magnitude of my emotions.

Once again, my heart shatters over and over for the little girl who only ever wanted her father’s love. She probably would’ve been broken by such a grand gesture since she kind of lived for those things, but for some reason, I still can’t find it in me to feel bad for present me.

Present me grew up without love from either parent, and she stopped expecting it. Not wanting it necessarily, but the understanding eventually came that neither my mother nor father were capable of giving what I desired or deserved.

Present me’s parents died a long, long time ago. By the time their earthly forms catch up, I guess the novelty has sort of worn off.

I turn my face up to Cash’s, smoothing my thumbs over his cheekbones. They’re clammy, and it takes me a second to realize he’s shaking, and another second to notice the blood splashed against his collar and soaking through the side of his shirt.

Pushing his suit jacket off of him, I press my fingers to his side, hoping it’s somehow residual.

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