“Our families made an alliance, but that doesn’t mean the other families are all going to be peaceful forever,” I say. “Or it could have been one of the Irish or Russian organizations. And for all we know, someone thought both Anthony and Al were in there. They could have meant those bullets for both our families.”
King nods, his brow knitting into a frown.
“It could have been random, someone who just saw Al going in and took the opportunity.”
“It wasn’t random,” King says. “They were wearing ski masks. They had silencers. It was premeditated.”
I nod and carefully place a bandage over his wound. “Does anyone want you dead? If we can rule that out, we’ll know they came for Al.”
King pauses, his eyes searching mine. “What did you tell your dad about me?”
“Nothing,” I say, scowling at him as the guilt sets in. He knows what I said. “Just that you were horrible and you were going to kill me.”
He looks at the window again. “Would he come after me for that?”
I sit back on my heels. “Yeah, if you actually killed me.”
“You told him I was abusing you.”
“My father wants us to work things out, just like I’m sure your parents do. He would never leave me a widow. He loves me, and he wants what’s best for me.”
“Getting rid of your husband might be best,” he mutters. “Especially if he wants the alliance ended.”
“I know what people say about him,” I say. “That he’s a monster, all that, but it’s not true. I mean, maybe when it comes to women, the rumors are true. But what’s he supposed to do, be celibate for the rest of his life because his wife won’t talk to him? And maybe he had his little things on the side before that, but it’s not like they were happy, anyway. It was arranged, just like this. My mom never loved him, never wanted him.”
We stare at each other for a long minute, and I realize I’ve said way too much. He doesn’t need to know all that about my family.
“Like you,” he says quietly. “That’s why you think I’m going to fuck around. Because you don’t want me, the same way your mom didn’t want your dad. And that’s what he did.”
I raise my chin and glare at him. “He’s a good dad, King. As good as he could be, under the circumstances. He had plenty of girlfriends, yeah, and he might have a violent temper, but he’d never, ever lay a finger on me. And he wouldn’t get rid of my husband without telling me.”
“Okay,” he says.
For a minute, we sit there in silence, our wills battling each other. I need him to know that I’d never lie about this, that my father is a good man, even if he’s also a violent monster with a temper when it comes to his job. But never to me. To me, he was the stressed out, overworked dad who had so many obligations that he had to choose between leaving me with more nannies in the evenings or taking me along. I wanted to be with him, and he loved me, so he made the choice that maybe wasn’t ideal, but it’s the one that made me happy.
He chose to take me along, hence the poker games and emergency meetings to talk strategy, the bullet removals at two in the morning, and the certainty that he would never, ever leave me behind if our families were going to war. He wouldn’t send guys to do a job in broad daylight. He’d never have his men cover their faces with masks, either. King may not be convinced, but I can say with complete confidence that this was not my father’s doing.
“You can get cleaned up now,” I say. “But try not to get it wet for a few days.”
“I guess it’s good you fixed me up,” King says, swinging his legs off the bed. “I’d probably have gotten blood on the sheets.”
The image catches in my mind, the comments people made about our wedding night. I’m the one who’s supposed to bleed on the sheets. Maybe he’s thinking the same thing, because he quickly heads for the bathroom to clean up while I put my things away.
He stops in the doorway of the bathroom, turning back. “Eliza?” he says.
“Hmm,” I say, not looking at him as I set aside the bloody instruments that need disinfecting.
“Thank you.”
I shrug. “It’s nothing.”
Our eyes meet, and his dark gaze is so intense it makes me squirm. “It’s something.”
This time, I’m the one who looks away. Sometimes it feels like those espresso eyes pierce straight into my soul.
He hesitates a moment, then steps into the bathroom and closes the door. I’m glad he’s gone, that he doesn’t see me close my eyes to collect myself, doesn’t guess at the shivery, fluttery feeling turning my insides all around.
It’s been a long day, and an even longer evening, and I decide to just go to bed and be done with it. A while later, King comes out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. I close my eyes and pretend to sleep, but tonight I peek through my lashes. King’s not especially modest, but he doesn’t parade around naked in front of me, either. I’ve only ever seen his cock once, and I’m ready for more. Not in a sexual way, like when he gave me the orgasm. I want to see him, all of him. I want to know him in a way I haven’t bothered to do.