“Good luck guessing the wi-fi password.” Today’s her first day at my place, so I know she doesn’t have it already. Considering she doesn’t want to know anything about me, she probably doesn’t even know I have a sister, let alone her name and birthday.
She huffs, staring at me with blazing fury. It’s hot as hell.
“You really are a monster,” she says at last, her voice calmer now.
“Then maybe we are meant for each other,” I answer. “How’s pho?”
Forty minutes later, the driver calls up to tell us the food has arrived. Eliza has been suspiciously quiet the whole time, fuming in silence and no doubt plotting my death. I’m not the only one who underestimated my opponent. I like knowing I’m impressing her, even if it’s in a negative way.
“I’ll go down and get it,” she says when I tell her dinner is here.
I can’t help but chuckle. “Nice try.”
“What, you think I’m going to trade a blowjob for our dinner? I don’t have any money, as you so kindly pointed out.”
“I think you’re going to tell him some sob story and probably go to the cops, which will ensure your family or mine gets rid of me.”
She gives me a look of pure loathing. “I would never go to the cops,” she says flatly. “I’m a mafia daughter.”
“I’ll get the food,” I say. “Thanks for offering. Maybe another time, if you’re home all day and get bored, you can learn to make something. Or look up a recipe. Or hire a cook if you’re so dead set on avoiding the kitchen. Or hell, just do what I did, and call in an order for food.”
She rolls her eyes. “I had a busy day, okay?”
“Yeah? Doing what?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but we went to a show, and I had to get a mani-pedi after all that sand in my toes, and we had lunch and met up with some friends.”
“Sounds rough,” I say. “I bet you could have fit a phone call in there somewhere.”
“I did,” she says. “Before you took my phone.”
“You’re an adult, Eliza. Act like one. You should know how to feed yourself.”
I don’t know why I even argue with her. I shouldn’t let her get to me. But her entitled little brat attitude makes me want to teach her a lesson. I’m out there forcing myself to beat up guys with families, with wives who actually love them and kids who won’t eat if we take all their money. I hate what I have to do every fucking day to earn that money she spends like it’s nothing, like it rains from the sky instead of my pockets. It would all be worth it, and I’d be happy to give my wife everything she could want and more, if she wasn’t trying to fucking kill me in return.
I’m just handing the driver a tip when Eliza comes racing out of our building past the doorman, waving her arms wildly at the driver. She’s barefoot, and her buttoned blouse is halfway untucked, as if she just fought her way out. “Help,” she yells. “This guy is holding me hostage!”
“Eliza,” I bark. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Take me with you,” she says to the guy, all desperation. “He’s going to kill me!”
The delivery driver looks between us like he’s unsure what to do. The poor guy probably thinks he’s supposed to call 911. She’s so damn convincing I halfway believe her.
She runs for the car, trying to open the back door. I grab her arm and drag her back.
“Hey!” the guy protests in a heavily accented voice.
“Get the fuck inside and stop acting like a child,” I growl at Eliza, who’s flailing in my grip like I really am her kidnapper and not her fucking husband.
I pull her back toward the building, but the driver gets out of the car and comes toward us.
“Hey,” he says again. “Let go.”
“Fuck off and mind your business,” I say. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“Take me with you,” Eliza wails to the guy as we reach the doors to our building. The doorman is watching with slight amusement. This is Al Valenti’s territory, and the guy knows who I work for, so he’s not going to interfere. He also knows Eliza is my wife, and he must think we’re playing some kind of game. He watches with a little grin as I try to maneuver myself between Eliza and the delivery guy, a bag of takeout containers swinging from one arm.
“He’s abusing me,” Eliza howls. “He took my phone!”