Potere | Book II ✓

xxx | brace for kickback

xxx | brace for kickback

kickback – the backward movement a shooter feels when the bullet is discharged.

••━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Michael Davidé Luciano has had every weapon formed against him, but none scarier than his mind.

It was the only thing he could not escape.

He's failed at everything he's ever done. He failed as a husband the moment he slid the diamond on Jaiyana Zara's finger, knowing damn well he wasn't the man she needed. He failed as a father the moment he brought Liam into a world he helped ruin. He failed as a friend the moment he couldn't be there for Vincenzo the same way he was always there for him.

His overwhelming thoughts weigh heavily on his chest. He feels like he's drowning. But she saves him. She always saves him. The faint, sweetest voice to ever pass his ears. She comes in the name of innocence. And maybe, just maybe she will be his saving grave. Maybe he hasn't failed at everything.

"Dad?"

Michael lies in bed, attention stuck on the white, vaulted ceiling of his grand bedroom. His forearm rests gingerly across his forehead. The small girl is too far away to see his lips transition from a frown to a pained smile. She makes him happy.

He doesn't respond, but rather listens to the 6-year old's feet pad across the hardwood floor. "Dad? It's noon. Are you sick?" A small hand pulls at his forearm. He drops it to his side and welcomes the concerned expression on Rosalie's youthful face.

He lets out a faint chuckle at the sight of the little girl. Her hair is still a mess from sleeping, strands sticking in multiple directions. Impressions of her sheets still line her face, paired with a drool stain out the corner of her mouth. Tucked between her side and elbow is the neck of her favorite stuffed bunny. She's had it since she was born, a toy Michael placed into her crib one night and never removed. The bunny's floppy, half torn ear and grungy appearance suggests its age.

His chuckle doesn't lessen the little girl's concern. Rosalie slaps a small hand to Michael's forehead, causing the grown man to wince. "You're not hot." She tosses her bunny over Michael's body and anchors a foot between the mattress and box spring. She grabs at the sheets covering half of Michael's body and pulls herself up and over him. Rosalie positions herself on her knees and slaps a hand to Michael's bare stomach. "Does your tummy hurt?"

Michael flinches. Her hand is cold. "It does now."

Her contagious, high-pitched laugh prompts his.

Rosalie's lips pull apart and pure joy washes over her face as her laughter dies. "Your laugh has an accent."

Michael's chuckle is faint, his smile fading faster than his laughter. He reaches for the little girl, his hand finding the underside of her chin. She's always been somewhat ticklish there. Her head tilts as he wipes at the corner of her mouth. "You're going to be the prettiest king I've ever seen."

She squeals and drops herself beside him. She places a hand on the sides of Michael's face and draws her face close to his. Her small fingers run through the salt and pepper of his thick beard. "No way. You're the prettiest king I've ever seen."

"You're biased," He smiles.

"Because I love you." She positions herself beside Michael, her side pressed against his while she clutches her bunny to her opposite. He tosses an arm around her as she nestles into him. A moment passes before she whispers, "You're sad, aren't you?"