Page 73 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

CECILIA

T here are dead men all over the ranch but at least the fires are out. I’m told the equipment shed and the cowboy dorm are in smoldering ruins and yet this is of little importance right now.

Cassio Tempesta is in critical condition. There’s a medical helicopter in Laramie ready to set out as soon as the snow stops falling. The glacial temperature and three feet of snow accumulation have halted all travel, even emergencies.

The closest ranch belongs to the McNeal family. They saw the fire and arrived in the aftermath to see how they could help. Grace McNeal was an ER nurse for many years and she’s been tending to the wounded until weather conditions improve enough to transport them.

Angelo took a bullet that’s still lodged in his thigh but he’s stable for now. Sonny has been hit in the right arm. Grace says the bleeding has stopped and the shot went straight through.

While the McNeal boys are riding around with young Caleb on ATVs in an attempt to round up the Storm’s Eye horses, the Tempesta brothers are all here, holding vigil beside their father.

They’ve moved him to the leather sofa in his study.

Getty took Teresa’s painting and propped it up right in front of him but the gesture is futile.

Cass has already said he cannot see anything.

“Will his eyesight return?” I ask Grace, following her when she steps out into the hallway.

She tucks a strand of greying blonde hair over her ear and peers into the room.

Julian’s father is lying on his side on the sofa.

He was cold so we covered him with a quilt taken from his bedroom.

Julian crouches in front of his father and speaks to him softly.

Fort stands right behind Julian with his head bowed.

Tye leans dejectedly against the wall and angrily wipes tears from his cheeks.

Getty stands at the window, staring into the snow with a granite expression.

Grace has done her best to maintain professional detachment but she stalls, wincing, as she surveys the tragic sight of the Tempesta boys and their father.

“Head wounds are very tricky, honey,” she replies carefully.

There is still blood on the foyer floor.

I avoid looking at it. We explained all the violence as a plain old home invasion, which will be the official narrative.

However, the McNeals have lived in the area for decades.

I’m sure they know the Tempestas well enough to understand there’s far more to the story.

Still, they are good people and they did not ask questions before pitching in to help.

I’m wrapped in one of Julian’s warm flannel shirts and the shiver that crawls over my skin has nothing to do with the chilly house. Grace’s blue eyes fill with pity and she reaches out to squeeze my hand.

“Why don’t I go make a pot of coffee?” she suggests. “I’m sure the boys could use some.”

“I’ll help,” I offer but she stops me.

“Go be with your husband,” she says. “He’ll need you.”

And now I realize that her pity goes far deeper than I thought.

She doesn’t expect Cass to survive.

“Let me at least show you to the kitchen,” I say.

She shakes her head. “No need. I remember where it is.” She takes a step, then stops and turns around. “Teresa was my friend. And I was here…that day.”

“Oh,” I reply with surprise. I remember Julian telling me that his mother’s friend happened to stop by and discovered her murdered body. He also said Getty and Fort must have been alone in the house for hours.

“You were good friends?” I ask.

“Yes.” A sad smile touches her lips. “Very good friends.”

“Thank you for being here,” I say. “I know I speak for the whole family when I say how much we appreciate your help.”

“We’re neighbors, Cecilia,” she says. “No thanks necessary.”

Once she’s walked down the corridor and turned a corner, I allow my eyes to stray to the spot where Gabriel’s blood has dried and nearly blends in with the dark hardwood floor.

I don’t know what’s been done with my brother’s body. Sonny’s men have handled the ghoulish task of collecting the dead.

There was a time when I thought if my twin died then my soul would split in two and I’d never be whole again. But when my husband killed him a few feet from where I’m standing right now, all I felt was relief.

A man’s cough echoes from the opposite hallway. Sonny Vitale lumbers into sight with a sling on his heavily bandaged arm.

He stops short when he sees me standing here. “How is he?”

“He’s not good,” I admit.

Sonny’s chin quivers and he looks down. “Right.” He sniffs. “I’ll give the family some space. You’ll let me know if they need anything?”

“You should go in, Sonny. You’re as good as family.”

He’s a hard man who has seen and done a lot in his life but he gives me a bashful smile. “Thanks for saying that.”

I tip my head toward the room where all the Tempesta men stand guard over their king. “Go on. They’ll be glad to see you.”

He starts to shuffle into the room but then pauses. “He’s hanging out in the library,” he says. “I figured he can’t hurt anything in there but I’m still not giving him his fucking phone or his gun back.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll check on him.”

Sonny frowns. “I ought to go with you. Or you can wait for Johnny and Artie.”

“I’ll be fine with him alone. I think he proved himself today.”

Sonny grunts like he’s not too sure about this but he doesn’t put up an argument.

So much has happened since dinner that I could swear it ought to be daylight but all the windows are still dark and dawn doesn’t break for another few hours.

When I see the pine garlands strung across the walls, I’m stunned to remember it’s Christmas morning. I’d nearly forgotten about the holiday.

Angelo is seated in a reclining chair with his injured leg stretched out in front of him while he grumpily thumbs through a thick leather bound book plucked from a nearby shelf.

He looks up when I walk into the room. “This bullshit doesn’t make any sense.”

I squint at the title embossed on the spine. “It’s The Greatest Works of William Shakespeare.”

Angelo shrugs, unimpressed.

Julian told me that once Angelo escaped from the house he ran straight toward the Tempestas. Injured and unarmed, Angelo ran to my husband anyway, screaming all the while that he needed to save me.

When I think of that terrifying final confrontation with my twin, there’s one inescapable conclusion. If Angelo hadn’t been here, I might not be alive.

“You’re going to be okay,” I say, gesturing to his leg and forcing some positivity into my voice.

Angelo sets the book down and turns haunted eyes to my face. “Will you be okay, Cecilia?”

I rub a hand over my belly. My arm still hurts from Gabriel’s brutal grip. I’m sure there will be bruises. “Eventually,” I tell him.

He sighs and the lines on his face deepen with grief. I’m not the only one dealing with a crushing loss. For many years Angelo and Gabriel have been partners in crime, thick as thieves. Angelo has lost both his brother and his best friend.

“I’ll deal with the old man,” he says with unconcealed anger. “Don’t you worry about that.”

“One thing at a time,” I say. “You still have a bullet in your thigh.” I scan the shelves until I find the book I’m looking for and then pluck it out. “Here. You might find this more fun than Shakespeare.”

Angelo looks at the cover. “ The Godfather. So they made a book out of the movie, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say with a straight face. “Do you need anything?”

He yawns. “If you could cut this fucking metal out of my leg that would be cool.”

“I think you’re better off waiting for a professional.”

Another yawn. “In that case, I think I’ll take a nap.”

Anxious to get back to Julian, I’m in the hallway when Angelo calls my name. I pop my head back into the library.

There’s now a funny look on his face. “I’m sorry,” he says.

I’m not sure these words have ever come out of his mouth before. There could be a lot of meanings behind the sentiment. He might mean he’s sorry for going along with our grandfather’s plan to use me as a pawn. He might be apologizing for all the years when our relationship was far from friendly.

But I think he’s saying he’s sorry that I saw Gabriel at his worst. And he’s sorry that I’ve lost my twin.

“Me too,” I say because he has also lost a brother.

There’s already been so much loss tonight. I cannot yet bear the idea the losses might not be finished with us.

Julian is just walking out of his father’s study. The worry lines in his forehead smooth out when he sees me coming.

“Where did you go?” he asks, pulling me in for a hug.

I lean into his strong body, eager to feel his warmth and inhale his scent. “Just checking on Angelo.” I nestle my face in the hollow beneath his neck. “How is your father?”

His hands feel so good as they rub my back. He presses his face into my hair and I feel his breath shudder.

“He can’t see, baby,” Julian whispers and the anguish in his voice puts a new crack in my terribly bruised heart.

I lean my head back and stare into my husband’s red, tormented eyes. I place a soft kiss on his lips because it’s the best and only comfort I have to offer. Julian keeps his arm around me as we return to the room.

Sonny is doing his best to lighten the mood with his colorful wisecracks but soon the sight of his beloved boss and mentor fading away before his eyes is too much for him to handle. With tears in his eyes, he mumbles something about checking on his men and hastily leaves the room.

Grace brings a tray of coffee mugs and then checks on Cass’s vital signs. His breathing has become more tortured and he keeps asking for his boys despite being repeatedly assured they are all here.

“I called the hospital,” Grace says. “The weather has improved so the medevac will be able to take off shortly.”

She tries to sound upbeat but no one in this room is fooled. The condition of the Tempesta patriarch is desperate.

“Cecilia,” rasps the voice of my father-in-law. “She’s in the safe room.”

“I’m right here,” I assure him and Julian pushes a chair over so I can sit by his side.

Dried blood is now matted and caked over the head wound.

Grace said there’s not much doubt his skull is badly fractured.

His dark eyes are feverish and unfocused.

The damage to his brain caused by the blow to the back of his head might have always been too severe to repair but every minute the snow keeps the medevac away, his fate inches toward being sealed.

I touch his shoulder, which is covered by a quilt checkered with pictures of running horses. Peeling back the edge of the blanket, I search for his large hand. He doesn’t resist when I guide his palm to my belly.

“Your grandbabies,” I say. As if on cue, there’s a flurry of activity within as the twins flex their limbs.

His mouth stretches into a smile of wonder. “Sometimes I’d spend so long listening to our baby kick that I’d fall asleep with my cheek on her stomach. It was the same with all four of them.”

This short speech is far more than he’s said since he woke up after being knocked unconscious. I don’t know if this is a good sign or not. But his sons are overwhelmed by this rare glimpse into the life their parents once shared.

Tye breaks down and buries his face in his hands. Getty leans his forehead against the window and says nothing. Fort sinks down on the end of the sofa by his father’s feet with his hat in his lap and his face wilted with sorrow.

And Julian takes a knee right beside me and covers his father’s hand with his own. Their hands are so similar. Big and calloused and powerful.

The smile disappears from Cass’s face. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“You didn’t,” I assure him. “You were protecting me.”

“I left you,” he insists with a groan. “Where are my boys?”

“We’re all right here, Dad,” Julian says.

A brief seizure of some sort grips Cass’s body and the next breath he draws is a ragged, wheezing mission. His hand falls from my belly and a smile of joy lights up his face.

“Angel,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I’ve missed you so much.”

I’ve never seen death stake its claim peacefully before.

But Cass’s reunion with his beloved Teresa is peaceful and there’s still a partial smile on his face when the last second of his life leaves him behind.

There are surely people who will celebrate his death.

However, the man loved his wife. He loved his boys. And they loved him back. That legacy is worth more than the voices of cynics.

There is grief everywhere in this room. Tye is now openly sobbing and Grace gives him a motherly hug. Fort walks over to the window and claps a hand on Getty’s shoulder. Together, they stare at the wintry scene on the other side, united in mourning.

As for my husband, he gently shuts his father’s empty eyes and pulls the blanket up over his head.

Julian struggles with his tears, fights against them, trying so hard to be the unbreakable backbone his brothers need. This is what he’s always been and always will be.

“Julian, look at me.” My fingertips caress his rough jaw. Then I press his palm to my belly. A reminder that not all has been lost.

And he can break for a little while if he needs to.

I might do the same.

We’ll be right here to heal each other.