Page 120 of Fallen Rook

I decided to return the favor and rile him up, too. It was an idiotic idea, but I needed to inflict some of the pain I was feeling on others. Plus, he’d cut the fucking line. Hell reserved a special place for line cutters.

Clucking my tongue, I said, “I hope you don’t intend on getting behind the wheel now.”

“I’ll walk it back.” He smiled big at me. “Twenty-six Federal Plaza is just around the corner.”

“Ah, you’re FBI.” I returned a crooked grin of mild amusement. “So that’s why it smells like a pigsty in here.”

He was on me in a flash, fisting the collar of my shirt, yanking me to him. I raised my hands to the sides in surrender, showing the entire restaurant I wasn’t fighting back. Sully swung his fist toward my face. I braced myself for a blow that never came. When I opened my eyes, Tom was pulling him back, pushing at his chest aggressively. He was fuming.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” He gave Sully another shove, his back to me. He pushed him the rest of the way in their booth’s direction. “You could’ve ruined your entire career over some punk kid.”

“Shit, I know, I know.” Sully rubbed his puffy, red face. He looked like deadbeat Santa. And what the hell did Tom mean by punk kid?

He meant exactly what he said. Just because he likes to put his dick in you, doesn’t mean you’re more than dirt to him.

Breath choppy, head swimming, I staggered toward the door. I’d had e-fucking-nough of this shit. I was heading home without the money, with my tail between my legs, knowing exactly what’d happen the day Tom and I met in a setting that wasn’t the cocoon of secrecy he loved so much.

And the worst part was, I was still pathetic enough to hope, to wish, that he’d follow me outside.

He didn’t, of course. I swung my leg over my MV Agusta Superveloce and squeezed my helmet to my chest, staring at the door with red-rimmed eyes.

Get out of there.

Come back to me.

Tell me it was all a lie.

Tell me I’m not the only one who is struggling to keep this thing between us in the shadows of darkness and craving to drag it into the light.

The glass door stared back.

Then it opened.

My spirits lifted, my heart soared, my toes curled inside my boots.

Alas, it was a young couple who left the restaurant, holding hands and ducking their heads to steal a quick kiss.

I faltered.

He wasn’t going to come.

He’d made his choice clear countless times today.

And what he chose wasn’t me.

The rest of the day was a whirl of chaos and violence.

I normally postponed punishing people late on payments as much as I could, hoping Luca and Achilles could broker some kind of arrangement with them and spare them my wrath, but not today.

Today, I chose violence.

I beat three people who owed us money to a pulp, before dragging the criminal I’d put off killing for raping a Camorristi’s woman to my basement of horrors and skinning him while he was still alive. It felt good to be back in my element. The tedious work of flaying kept me busy and focused. Plus, Mama’s basement had zero reception, so I wasn’t tempted to send Tom needy messages or check if he’d texted me back.

I wasn’t planning to send him anything at all, to be honest. Instead, I decided to cling to the shreds of my self-respect and move on with my life. Or, at least, pretend to.

And marry Katya.

I was going to marry the fuck out of Katya and make a thousand babies with her just to spite the son of a bitch.