Page 23 of Unforgiving Queen

Christmas Day.

The day that wishes came true. All but mine.

It’d been a month since I saw her. A month in which I’d gotten barely any sleep. When I wasn’t hunting the Brazilian cartel members, I stumbled in and out of a drunken haze. They were my only suspects, so I searched relentlessly. The ones I didn’t kill off I managed to push out of Europe and North America completely.

I wouldn’t be satisfied until every single one of them was dead. But deep down I knew not even their deaths would be enough.Nothingwould be enough.

Hunting the Cortes cartel members and the resulting torture sessions became my only pastime. Digging through Romero’s past with my mother took a back seat. Somehow it seemed nothing good came from that end, so I focused on the shit I could destroy, and that was those who’d hurt Reina.

When it came to my mother, nothing made sense anymore. For one, her desire to get her hands on the document in Romero’s possession contradicted her desire to keep her connection to Romero a secret. It was pointless to dig up the document between Ojisan and Romero now that I knew who my true father was and we were keeping it a secret. It no longer mattered what Ojisan and Romero agreed to because the secret would die with us. So I stopped searching for it, even though Dante hadn’t.

I washed my hands of fucking family drama and wallowed in pure mania in my quest for punishment. Except I couldn’t punish the two main orchestrators of my destiny. My own mother and Reina’s father.

My only solution at the end of the day was alcohol.

The only light in my life had been taken away from me. The world was upside down and no amount of liquor or time seemed to tilt it upright for me.

Fuck.

It had been months since my mother dumped the news on me and I still struggled with the truth. Emotions were a fucking nightmare. I shut them out, extinguished them, but the memories refused to leave.

My penthouse in Paris became my tomb. My own personal prison. Every corner was full of her presence and her light. Some days, her scent lingered in the air, taunting me. On the rare occasions that sleep found me, I would dream of her.

Soft arms wrapped around me. The scent of cinnamon and peace. The softness of her curls across my chest.

I wanted to open my eyes and return the hug. Feel her against me. But even in my sleep, I knew if I woke up, she would vanish. So I remained still, clinging to the ghost whose warm touch made life worth living.

I never wanted to fucking wake up to a world where she wasn’t part of my life.

It terrified the fuck out of me to think I had years of this shitty life ahead of me.

A bang on the door reached my ear. I ignored it. I wasn’t in the mood for visitors—Christmas or not.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Amon, we know you’re in there.” Fuck, it was the last person on this planet I wanted to see. “Now open the fuck up.”

I didn’t move.

I heard the click of a lock and the door opened.

I looked up to find my mother, brother, and father standing in front of me. Three shadows darkened my world. I didn’t move, seated in my armchair with a glass of scotch, staring in the direction of her apartment.

Although I knew she wasn’t there. She’d yet to come back to Paris.

“What are you all gloomy about?” Father glowered. He’d taken to watching his tone with Dante and me, knowing he no longer held all the power. “Since you refuse to show up for Christmas in your parents’ home, we decided to crash your party.”

“Crash away.” I brought the glass to my mouth and took a sip.

“Musuko, we always spend Christmas together.”

I shrugged. It was never a joyous affair. Father would give us presents only to take them away. Or teach us some stupid lesson that never made any sense but left scars on our bodies.

“What’s with the blood, Amon?” Dante’s voice had me glancing down at my shirt. I must have forgotten to clean up when I came home last night.

I stood up and bypassed them all, but before I made it into my bedroom, my mother blocked my path. Her eyes were darker than ever before. She wore that fucking pink kimono, and it only served to remind me of what she’d taken away from me. That color belonged on Reina and Reina alone. I couldn’t stand to look at anyone wearing pink anymore.

Not now. Not yet.