“Me,” a voice echoes from behind me, and even though it sounds familiar, even just a little, it doesn’t.

Rolling my eyes, I turn around to ask who the fuck they are when my stomach drops to the ground. There. Staring back at me, is both the reason for my pain and my solace. The only man who ever had any power to both break me and put me back together again. He was my own personal nightmare. The kind that gave you butterflies.

His eyes are void, even more so than I remember, but he’s bigger. As if he’s grown into the kind of monster he always was. His features are harder, but somehow still beautiful, but his eyes… his eyes aren’t the kind I have in my memories. They’re darker now.

My heart stammers in my chest and my throat closes in. It’s as though something so simple like breathing is almost impossible. All of the years I spent building up my character, my cred, it all crumbles to the ground at his presence.

My mouth opens and I say the first thing I can think of. “I thought you were dead.”

Wicked steps forward, pushing off the wood that he was leaning on. “You fucking wish.”

I clench my jaw tight, holding my breath. “Yeah, I do.” Then I turn back to Papa, searching his eyes. Wrinkles curve into the middle of his forehead, a silent question I’m hounding him an answer for.

He shakes his head softly. No. I didn’t tell him.

Blowing out a steady breath, I take Papa’s arm and direct him out the entry. “This better be good. Why would you lie to Mama and me? Why?” He opens the back door to my Mercedes, gesturing me to slide in first. When the doors are closed and it’s just us inside with Tony in the driver’s seat and Val as the passenger, he finally says, “Because there’s a threat to our family. To me. To your mama. Me being around was only making it worse.”

“So you can come home now?” I ask, searching his face. His beard is longer, his eyes darker.

“Not yet. Soon.” He pats my thigh. “I’ll explain more at the clubhouse, where it’s secure.”

I sigh, looking out the window and catching the horses in the far end of the paddock. The grass is thick and manicured, the trees and shrubs perfectly kept. It’s bizarre how beauty can exist around death.

Tony stops the car outside the clubhouse, and I slide out behind Papa as we make our way up the steps that lead to the patio. Roasted meat and garlic drifts out of the open doors, and before I’ve reached the entry, I can hear laughter.