Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Rico and Elian were already inside the apartment, waiting for me, for an update on Lore, for a plan of action.
“Is she alright?” Elian asked, face tight. Clearly, the guy had affection for my wife. Something like a big brother/little sister connection.
“I gave her some pain meds,” I said. “She’s okay. Split lip. Bruise. Some cuts on her hands.”
“What the fuck happened?” Rico asked, voice aghast. Because this shit didn’t happen. No one put their hands on a Lombardi. Not if they didn’t want to forsake their lives.
“Someone wanted her cash,” I said. “Slammed her into a wall, knocked her down. When she tried to call for help, he hit her.”
“Fucker,” Rico snarled. “Who the fuck would be dumb enough to put their hands on your wife?”
A snorting sound escaped Elian, making both of us turn to him.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said but the look on his face told another story.
“What is it?” I snapped.
To that, he shrugged.
“How the fuck was anyone supposed to know she’s your wife, boss?” he asked. “She stays locked up in here like a dirty little secret—“
“She goes out.”
“She’s gone out exactly three times since she moved in,” he corrected me. “The bookstore,” he said, counting it off on his fingers. “To buy an outfit for the party,” he went on. “And then today. That’s it.”
“Oh,” I said, taken aback. I mean, I figured she was still, you know, living a life. Not staying cooped up in the apartment all the time.
“She sure as fuck hasn’t stepped out of this apartment at your side,” Elian went on. Clearly, he had feelings about this Lore situation, and he knew I rarely ever tried to muzzle my crew on their opinions. Even when they criticized me.
“Okay,” I said, nodding, getting his point.
“How is anyone supposed to know she’s yours if you don’t make any attempt to claim her publicly?” he went on.
“I get it,” I said.
I didn’t tell her about the money.
I didn’t make sure the neighborhood knew she was mine.
I was husband of the fucking year.
I mean, the thing was, I never really thought past the vows. Past the alliance that would remove years of concerns about the other families rising up against us.
I never sat and thought about what it would be like to have a woman in my home. How I would need to claim her. How I would need to give her access to money. Make space for her things.
Come to think of it, save for the luggage at the bottom of the free side of the closet, some shampoo and body wash, and the books that were occasionally left around, there were no signs of Lore in the apartment.
She didn’t even have her clothes hung in the closet.
The fuck was that about?
Did she feel like it wasn’t hers?
Did she need permission to hang them?
Before the thoughts finished forming, though, I knew the answer.
Yes.
Yes, she felt like the apartment wasn’t hers.
Yes, she needed permission to settle in.
Not only had she been uprooted into a new life and apartment, but she was meek and nervous about everything.
She needed invitations and reassurances.
“Did you get a description of him?” Rico asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Yeah,” I said, rattling it off.
“Just a fuckhead who likes hurting women, or a desperate addict looking to score?”
Clearly, both.
But it made a difference for where we looked first.
I was still telling them where I wanted them each to look when there was a loud knock on the door, making us stiffen.
Elian walked over, looking out the peephole, then reached to open the door.
And there was Cinna.
“What the fuck do you mean your wife was attacked?” she said, zeroing in on me.
Rico or Elian must have sent out a text to the capos.
Which was good.
The more eyes on the street for this bastard, the better.
Cinna must have been nearby when she got it.
I was surprised by her anger.
I would never say it was right, but I’d seen this woman pull herself up off the ground, bloody and bruised, spitting out a tooth, favoring bruised ribs from a fight with a man, then snarled at me to stay back so she could finish it herself.
She was as hard as they came.
But, maybe, life had forced that upon her.
Then she saw someone like Lore, who had been protected, whose life had allowed her to stay soft and sweet, and didn’t want her to have to become hard.
Big sister energy type shit.
“She’s okay,” I said, feeling the waves of rage and concern flowing off of Cinna from several feet away. “She was hit in the face. Split lip, bruise. Scraped hands from catching her fall. I cleaned her up. She’s sleeping now.”
“Sleeping,” Cinna said, brows drawing together, dubious. “Did you drug her?”
“I gave her a pain pill. She had a headache.”
“Do you know who it is?” she asked, arms crossing, still pissed about something, but I didn’t have time to suss that shit out.