So while I had only seen him once, I remembered his face. Remembered the fear, remembered my anger at myself for not being able to help them, my cowardice at hiding away.
My heart began to pound so hard each beat seemed to shake my entire body. The blood filled my head in a rush. It was only my unwillingness to allow Santo to see how much he affected me that kept me calm.
I looked at Santo now, catalogued the way he’d changed over the years. Gray hair where it had once been black, bullish physique now soft. But his eyes still blazed with rage, anger, the threat of harm, the promise of pain.
I remembered that too, remembered the girl I had been, how terrified she had been.
I wasn’t that girl anymore.
I turned away from Santo Carmelli where he lay, hog-tied and naked, and looked at Maxim, who still held my arm.
“Am I supposed to be impressed?” I asked, lifting my eyes to Maxim’s, trying to understand why he had brought me here.
He glanced at Santo and then turned to me. “No.”
“Then why am I here?” I asked.
“He’s yours,” Maxim said, gesturing at Santo.
“Another gift, Maxim?” I said, my anger intensifying, but different now as I began to realize what he intended.
He shook his head. “No. More like an explanation.”
Though I could hear Santo’s muffled yells through the gag that had been stuffed in his mouth, I continued to ignore him and instead focused on Maxim. “An explanation? What are you explaining?” I said.
“You think I was protecting him, think I had forgotten his crime. But I wasn’t, not really. From the moment I saw you, I swore I would see the terrible injustice that had been done to you righted. It’s taken me a very long time, Senna. But I will see it righted.”
“You think it can be?” I said, eyes still locked on Santo.
He shook his head again. “No. Not completely. But this I can do for you. I can at least give you the gift of his death. However delayed.”
Santo was screaming in earnest now and I looked at him again, saw as he squirmed, tried to break his feet free of his bonds.
I wasn’t a kind enough person to pretend I didn’t enjoy watching him squirm, wasn’t happy to see the way his hands and feet had started to turn blue from the tightness of the thin plastic zip ties that held him. He deserved that, so much worse, for what he had done.
But as much as I believed that, as happy as his suffering made me, I didn’t want his life.
I looked at Maxim. “You know how many people would want to see you in that position, would be happy to offer your life to someone?”
“I couldn’t even begin to imagine,” he said.
“Me neither. But it’s a lot. Do you know how sad losing you would make me?” I said.
“No,” he said, looking confused in a way I had never seen Maxim look.
“Probably as sad as losing Santo would make his family. He is a disgusting, murderous pig, but someone loves him,” I said, looking at Santo, who thrashed in earnest now in his attempt to get free.
After a moment, I looked at Maxim again. There were people who loved Santo as much as I loved Maxim, and I couldn’t, no matter how much I may have wanted to, make them feel the pain I had felt at my parents’ loss.
“What if I don’t want his life? What if I want to let him go, Maxim? Would you do that?”
“Senna—”
“Would you do that?” I repeated.
“For you, I would do anything,” he said.
“Almost anything,” I corrected.
He nodded. “Almost anything.”
I looked at Santo again. “Let him go,” I said.
“Okay,” Maxim said.
I left and returned to my room, waited, knowing that Maxim would soon follow.
He did, and this time he didn’t have to contend with a lock or even a closed door.
“So you really are going to let him go?” I asked.
“Yes. Santo will live,” he said.
“But there are strings?” I said, knowing that Maxim wouldn’t let Santo go if there was no benefit to the Syndicate.
“There are always strings, little flower,” he replied.
“I’m learning that,” I said. I couldn’t be angry with him, though. I was frustrated, but I knew Maxim and expected no less.
He stepped close to me, pulled me against his body, and I laid my head against his chest, wrapped my arms around him and held him, let him hold me.
He exhaled, and I felt his body relax in my arms.
“This, this is how it should be. No anger, no strife between us,” he said.
His voice was tender, as soft as I’d ever heard it, that softness working to sway me more than his sternness ever could. How I’d longed to hear that tone from him, dreamed of it, of the feelings I had hoped lay behind it more times than I could count.