Page 56 of Fallen Rook

Achilles groaned. “Now I’ll have to make it up to her. I’m thinking a Hamptons summer house, at the bare minimum.”

“You’re pathetic.” Luca made a face.

“No, you’re just bitter my wife actually fucks me and not her bodyguard, and can stand being in the same room with me without vomiting.”

Luca launched himself at Achilles, his fist exploding in our brother’s face. They both sailed down to the floor, Luca pummeling him like a fucking madman. I had to rip the motherfucker from Achilles using all my strength, which meant something, because both Achilles and I were bigger than Luca.

Luca elbowed my eye socket as I peeled him off Achilles, awarding me with what I knew would be a nasty shiner.

“Ti stai comportando come un’idiota.” I hurled Luca’s ass to the other side of the room. “Timeout for both you motherfuckers. Jesus Christ.” I touched the skin around my eye, the burning sensation searing me to the bone. “Goddammit, motherfucker!”

Achilles was up on his feet, heaving as he pointed at Luca. “What’s the matter, I hit a nerve?”

“One more word and you’ll hit the grave.” Luca raised a finger. I’d never seen him like this. So raw, so angry. So…alive.

“Act like a little bitch all you want.” Achilles chuckled sardonically. “You lost Sofia because you chose the throne over the woman, and now you’re making all of us pay by going to war with the Bratva.”

“I did what you didn’t have the guts to do.” Luca bared his teeth. “I made the sacrifices needed to ensure the Camorra remains the biggest crime organization in America. While you pranced around the globe chasing after Tierney like a lovesick puppy, I worked myself to the bone. I’m keeping our business alive.”

“Yeah.” Achilles grabbed his phone, pocketing it on his way out the door. “But at what cost? Look at you. You’re already dead.”

Chapter Eighteen

Enzo

It was Sunday, my only day off, and I chose to spend it stalking Agent Boneswell.

The chip in Tom’s sweatpants led me to an apartment building only three blocks from my place. It was almost as bougie as mine, not that I cared. My grumpy dreamboat could live in a swamp, and I’d still think he was perfect.

Once I had the address, I was able to run it through a software that told me who owned every single unit in the building. Of course, Tom had incorporated a Cayman Island company through which he owned his property, but used his legal name as the director and sole proprietor of said corporation.

I was a little disappointed. I’d expected more mystery and sophistication from him, but I guess he didn’t take into consideration that the criminals he stalked might start putting surveillance on him.

Never underestimate Karma, Tomcat.

Anyway, once I had his full legal name—Thomas Nigel Rothwell, but we were totally going to ignore the lackluster middle name—and his company, it was a smooth ride from there. I was able to put a tracker on his Audi, which was actually part of the reason I’d been too busy to message him the day after he spent the night. After that, I knew exactly where Tom was headed at all times. Unless he decided to take the subway or a taxi, which, let’s admit, he wouldn’t. He’d never risk interacting with other humans if he could help it.

Crushing on a misanthrope definitely had its perks.

Today, we were headed to Staten Island, of all places.

I drove about ten vehicles behind him—I didn’t need to visually follow him; I had the tracker app running on my phone—and used one of my lackeys’ cars to stay incognito.

I was actually in a decent mood for once, despite the black eye Luca had given me, which I concealed with a ball cap.

The Cash debacle had seemed to die down. Whoever sent him hadn’t tried anything since. Work was under control—I didn’t even have to kill many people this week—and Katya was coming home next week, but now that Luca had decided to feud with the Bratva, our engagement’s days were numbered. She wanted out of this union just as much as I did, so I didn’t feel too guilty. We were both going to be free soon.

No, asshole. You’ll never be free. You’ll always pretend to be someone you’re not.

Tom’s car slid into a residential area with trimmed front lawns and modest houses. Was he visiting his parents? Relatives? Friends? The thought of other people having regular access to him, that he deigned to visit them regularly, willingly, singed my chest with jealousy.

He parked in front of a brown colonial in Ward Hill. I parked across the street and slinked down, watching him get out of his car with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

Okay, fucker, this better be your gram’s or mama’s house.

Not that I had any right to lay claim to him. We weren’t exclusive or anything, but I’d been clear on how I felt about cheating.

The door opened the moment he got out of the car, and to my utter shock and confusion, a pretty blond in a red gingham dress burst outside.