Serpent King's Bride: A Dark Mafia Romance Trilogy

Page 42



“Never forget, you are the Serpent’s Fang,” Ba’s shadow loomed over me even now, his legacy a shackle I feared I’d never break.

But then there was Abby, her presence a tentative light in the murkiness of my thoughts. Could she see past the filth Ba had coated me in? Could she understand the war waging within me between the man I was forced to become and the man I wished I could be?

The weight of those dark memories bore down on me, a crushing reminder of all that I was—and all that I desperately hoped not to be.

I jerked my head up, catching sight of Abby moving about the kitchen. The soft clinking of ceramic on ceramic as she placed the tea cups on the counter was a stark contrast to the cacophony in my head. Watching her, so focused and gentle, I felt an ache deep in my chest—a yearning to let the tears fall, to mourn the innocence I’d lost and the pain I’d inflicted.

“Here,” she said, her voice pulling me back from the edge of despair as she came over with two steaming cups. “Drink this. It might help.”

I nodded, accepting the tea with hands that trembled despite my best efforts to appear calm. She settled beside me on the couch, her warmth a tentative balm to my frayed nerves.

“Nathan, we don’t have to talk about it,” she murmured, her eyes tender yet filled with a sorrow that mirrored my own. “I’m sorry for pushing you.”

“Sorry?” I echoed, the word bitter on my tongue. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m…” My voice cracked, and I fought to steady it, “I’m still that monster, even though you tried to see something else in me.”

She looked at me then, really looked at me, and in her gaze, I found the intense, unrelenting light that had drawn me to her in the first place. Her hand found mine, her fingers lacing with mine in a silent vow of solidarity.

“Monsters have a history—and a future—just like anyone else,” she whispered, her thumb brushing over the back of my hand. “You’re more than your darkest moments, Nathan.”

Her words were a foothold in the landslide my life had become, offering a glimmer of hope when I’d resigned myself to an eternity of darkness. Abby’s belief in me didn’t erase the past, but it challenged the narrative Ba had ingrained in me—that I was nothing more than a weapon, an extension of his malevolence.

“Thank you,” I managed, the gratitude heavy in my voice.

Abby’s eyes held mine, unwavering. “I saw you tonight,” she said softly, breaking the tension that had settled between us. “With Kenny. You were ready to protect your family. That was brave.”

A knot formed in my throat, her words stirring something deep within me. I wanted to tell her everything—to let the floodgates open and drown us both in the truth of my tormented past. But the weight of it all seemed too much, the shadows too dark to reveal.

Instead, I took a slow sip from the steaming cup she’d given me, letting the warmth seep into my bones, hoping it could somehow thaw the ice that had formed around my heart. The tea was a simple comfort, but its familiarity steadied me.

“Can I—“ My voice faltered, uncertainty creeping in. I set the empty cup down with more care than necessary, trying to will myself to look at her again. “Can I just hold you?”

She didn’t hesitate, not for a second, and that alone nearly undid me. Abby moved closer, instinctively understanding the need that pulsed through me—a need for connection, for reassurance, for something that wasn’t tainted by violence or fear.

She settled into the curve of my arm, her head finding that spot against my chest that seemed made for her. Her tea rested in one hand, steam curling gently upward, forgotten for the moment as she gave herself over to my embrace. I kissed the top of her head, a small act of tenderness that felt monumental in its rarity. How did she do it—forgive me time and again?

As I held her, the silence wasn’t awkward but filled with a heavy understanding. The words that had been dancing on the tip of my tongue, threatening to spill out, found their way through the barrier I’d built.

“Maybe it’d be better if you just turned me in,” I confessed quietly, the thought a whisper in the darkness. “To the FBI.” It was a dangerous admission, one that could unravel everything. But then I thought of them—Evelyn, Justin, Lily. My family. The ones who still had a chance at something better. “But it would destroy my mother, my little sister and brother…and they’re worth saving. I have to believe that. It’s the only way I’ll make it through any of this.”

Abby’s hand hesitated in mid-air, the warmth of her mug radiating between us. A silence draped over the room, thick with my confession, the weight of it pressing down on both of us. Then, as if the gravity of my words had pulled her into some resolute decision, she set the tea down on the coffee table with a soft clink.

“That’s why I love you,” she said, her voice steady and sure. She was so close, her breath mingling with mine, her presence an anchor in the relentless storm that was my life.

I wanted to protest, to tell her she was wrong for loving a man like me, but before the words could claw their way out, her lips met mine—a kiss so gentle it felt like the first drop of rain after a long drought. It was nothing like the fierce, demanding kisses I’d given her before; this was different.

This was absolution in the form of a whisper against my mouth.

Giving in was as natural as breathing. I kissed her back, letting all the hardness I carried melt away into the tenderness of the moment. We were locked in a dance as old as time, yet as fresh as the emotions swirling within me—a man scarred by his past, finding solace in the woman who dared to love him.

The world outside faded. There was no Triad, no FBI, no looming threats—only Abby and the softness of her lips. Time stretched, dilated, became irrelevant. The kiss deepened, not with urgency, but with a shared need to just be—to exist in this pocket of calm where nothing else mattered.

As our lips slowly parted, the echo of the kiss lingered, a silent testament to what we’d shared. Abby looked into my eyes, and in them, I saw not pity, but a reflection of my own fractured soul beginning to find its way toward healing.

We rested there, foreheads touching, breath mingling in the quiet aftermath. Her eyes were heavy, laced with a fatigue that went beyond the physical. She was tired—tired of the fights, the secrets, the burden of truths unspoken.

“Let’s go to bed,” she suggested, her words not a proposition but a plea for rest—for the kind of peace that can only be found in the sanctuary of shared silence.

I could barely manage a nod, my throat tight with emotions I had no right to feel. Yet, I whispered a hoarse, “Yes.”


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