He did, at least, send Luca over with groceries and a few evening gowns, for the occasions in which we might need to make an appearance. I tossed them to the back of the walk-in closet I’d made my own in the guest bedroom and clung to Luca’s arm, vying for information on what Elia’s been up to.
Unsurprisingly, he gave very little information, too busy trying to resume our long-dead and much-regretted relationship. His parting piece was to inform me that my father was still trying to negotiate his freedom or find a way to rip mine away. And that he had flown to Las Vegas for business meetings—which meant, temporarily, my house would be free of the scumbag.
When we’ve packed all the items in my bedroom into as few boxes as possible, Benito helps us load them into the car. Liv leans against the sedan, folding her arms across her chest and fiddling with the zipper on her raincoat. She won’t meet my eyes, and it’s starting to grate on my nerves.
“What’s up?” I ask, coming around with my last box. Setting it gently on the ground, I stand beside her, mimicking her pose.
She runs a hand through her curls. “Nothing, really. I just hate all of this for you.”
“You hate that I’m married and moving out of my parents’ house? Come on, Liv, you moved out at seventeen and married your career right out of college.”
After graduation, she secured a small business loan from her father, a lawyer for Stonemore’s Minority Business Development Agency, and opened up her own marketing firm. Now, Liv offers services to residents in King’s Trace and our surrounding areas trying to make their mark on the world.
It was an immediate success, propelled partly by her parents’ influence and connections around town. The hours are grueling even a year later, but she seems entirely satisfied with the results. Jupiter Media flourishes, priding itself on its creativity and black leadership.
“It’s not that I’m upset about it.” She swipes a finger beneath her eye, flicking away dried mascara. “When doyouget to live your life, though? I thought you were gonna open up your bakery finally. Cater to the tweaked-out tourists of King’s Trace.”
That was before my father stole my startup money; before he used it in bad investments. Before the mafia got involved and my name was thrown in as collateral—as payment.
I laugh, bumping her shoulder with mine, ignoring the pain radiating in my chest. “That’s still the dream. There have just been a few... hiccups along the way. But trust me when I say, Elia Montalto will not be a problem.”
“I don’t think he’ll be anythingbuta problem, but I’ll reserve judgment for now. Let's go get you unpacked and then drink until we’re belligerent. Three-day-weekend, and all.”
“Wait. Why? It’s the middle of May; there isn’t a holiday for another week.”
“I know.” She winks, pushing off the car. “I took tomorrow off because I’d planned on being hungover, anyway. You don’t want me to look like a liar to my employees, do you?”
“Liv, you’re the boss. Who cares what they think?”
“Agoodboss trying to set a good example. Most of my underlings are interns, they need to see a thriving work ethic, or they’re gonna start asking me to pay them.”
My stomach sinks as she climbs in the backseat of the car, ready to leave. There’s still something inside I’ve yet to get, and if I don’t do it now, I miss my chance.
Benito rounds the trunk and gestures to the box at my feet. “Done with this?”
Nodding, my gaze drifts to the large, red front door of my childhood home, my body moving of its own accord before I have a chance to stop it.
Inside, I pad across the hardwood floors to the double doors leading into my father’s office. Glancing around to make sure my mother and sister haven’t returned yet, I push the doors open and close them gently behind me, inhaling the deep, musky scent in the air. Dusty bookshelves line the walls, and ostentatious cherry furniture takes up the floor space, making it look like the den of a man with something to prove.
I walk to the desk and unlock the combination to the bottom drawer. When we came here, I hadn’t planned on taking this, but now that we’re about to leave, I don’t want to go without it. Upstairs, I pocketed my knife and the ankle sheath I sometimes wear when it doesn’t fit in the band of my underwear—useful in a pinch, butthisis the ultimate betrayal. His only defense.
The pistol is heavy in my palm, the metal cold and scintillating in the dim sunlight pouring in from the window. My fingers mold around the barrel like the weapon was made for my hands.
I stand and tuck it into the back of my jeans; it digs into my skin as I exit the house, an uncomfortable reminder of the life I’m trying to avenge.
GIA SHAKES A CIGARETTE from the pack tucked in his suit jacket, offering it to me. I wave him off, ignoring the way my blood warms at the slight tobacco scent. “I quit.”
“Really? Luca seems to think you left quite the opposite impression on his mother’s foyer.”
Pushing off the metal wall, I stuff my hands in my pants pockets and turn to the garage door, waiting for Marco to let us inside. “Luca should learn to keep his stupid fucking mouth shut.”
“Must run in the family.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw, ignoring the jab. Not because Gia means well, but because my mind is completely stuck on whatever Caroline might be doing at the house. It’s been a couple of days since I’ve even been able to get back, and I hate that there wasn’t time for me to show her around and help get her settled.
And even though Benny’s at home watching over her, I can’t stop my heart from beating erratically at the thought of something happening to her. Which is completely irrational, considering I’ve known her officially for all of a week and a half—but still.
My legs itch to carry me back to the car and the club, where I can sit behind my computer screen and keep watch over her. Something about her screams trouble—both causation and attraction; a delicate bird with a damaged soul, looking for predators to prey on, with no idea of how small and ineffectual she is.