Flaunting his wealth.
That was some new money shit.
Which made me think Lorenzo was onto something about him not kicking up the right amount of money to the Family.
If he was walking around with a cool ten-k on his body, riding around with a private driver, and opening new restaurants, then it was past time for a renegotiation of terms.
Making sure his gaze wasn’t on me, I snapped a couple quick pictures for the boss man, knowing he would want to see the actual proof of all the jewelry.
He took a couple steps forward, but paused, waiting, making my gaze go back to the car.
Just in time to see a pair of long legs slide out in icepick heels.
Fun fact: I once used one of those types of heels to beat the shit out of someone. It was all fun and games until I struck wrong and the damn thing went into the fuck’s ear.
Then I had to end shit quick because he was screaming like a motherfucker.
Anyway.
They were good legs.
In pricy-ass red-bottomed shoes.
I watched, expecting Eren to go back and offer his hand, to help the woman out.
He didn’t.
Neither did the driver.
So I watched as she set her feet on the sidewalk then scooted out to stand, wobbly a bit on those heels before righting herself.
Then, almost as if sensing being watched, her head turned over her shoulder, making her long dark hair cascade down her back.
And fuck.
Yeah, she was gorgeous.
Her olive-toned skin was stretched over the most perfect face my ass had ever seen. She had a sharp, cutting edge to her jaw, a straight nose, high cheekbones, and dark brows and lashes above her light hazel eyes.
My finger was clicking the camera button over and over, catching her angles as she turned back toward Eren.
Who gave her a sharp head jerk toward the restaurant, then headed in that direction, leaving her to follow behind like a dog.
Dick.
I snapped another couple of pictures.
And since Eren closed the door in her face, she’d needed to raise her arm and reach for it herself.
Which was when I saw two distinct rings on her left hand.
“Huh,” I said, closing out the camera and heading to my contacts instead.
“Yo?” Emilio answered.
“Yo, Milo,” I said, watching the woman until she disappeared.
“Problem already?” he asked.
“Question.”
“What is it?”
“Did Eren get himself a wife?”
“Ah, I think I heard rumors about that actually. Last year? Maybe the year before. I’m not sure. Why?”
“‘Cause I think I just saw her. Just wanted to know the players.”
That was complete bullshit.
The wives were almost never players.
Especially when their piece of shit husbands closed doors in their faces.
“You getting pictures?” Emilio asked.
“Yep,” I said, nodding.
“Alright. Good. Let me know if you need to know anything else.”
“Yep,” I said, ending the call, then turning to walk down the street.
There was no need to hang around if he was going to sit down and eat.
I could catch a bite myself, maybe charge up my phone since my power bank was almost dead too.
I found myself at a cafe just down the street, sitting outside so I could keep an eye on the place.
To keep an eye on Eren.
Except my mind wasn’t on that fucker.
No.
It was on the gorgeous woman he’d treated like trash.
The woman who shared his last name.
I didn’t get that shit.
Why get yourself a woman if you weren’t going to treat ‘em right?
On a sigh, I brought my gallery up, flicking through the images of her.
Aside from the rings that claimed her, she didn’t have a single piece of jewelry on. It didn’t look like there was any makeup on her face either.
Not flashy, then.
Unlike her husband.
I didn’t bother to ask myself why a woman like her—young, beautiful—would be with an older, arguably unattractive man like Eren.
She was likely playing the long game.
Rich older man, healthy younger woman. Waiting on the call and the certificate that said everything that belonged to him was now all hers.
It was a tale as old as time.
And I didn’t even fault her for it.
That was what my mind was on as I kept moving through the pics.
It wasn’t until I circled back to the last picture I took of her as her gaze moved from my direction that something gave me pause.
A nasty-looking scar on her neck.
Across the neck.
No one got scars like that accidentally.
Take that from someone who had slit a lot of throats in his time.
That was a deliberate, but unsuccessful, cut.
And just like that, my focus went from catching Eren cheating my Family, to understanding this woman’s story.
Whoever the hell she was.
CHAPTER THREE
Ezmeray
There was a time when Restaurant 1969 made me happy.
It was the restaurant my father used to bring me to every single year for my birthday. Even when the year was lean—as they often were—he would scrape together what we needed to make our usual reservation.