Page 66 of Fallen Rook

This is not how normal people think, Enzo.

Well, I’ve never claimed to be normal, have I?

Sweet. I was now having entire conversations with myself. That was super healthy.

Monday, I went about my business. Hit the gym, dermatologist, then put my enforcer cap on and broke a few legs and a couple of teeth of those who didn’t pay us on time. From there, I drove to the Forbidden Fruit Club, the Camorra’s stronghold in Manhattan, for a Camorra-Bratva meeting. Luca had invited the pakhan and his affiliates to town under the guise of my wedding preparations to get a feel for what was going on.

Although, maybe he did plan to marry me to Katya after all. It was hard to get a read on my older brother these days, because his mind was a million miles away, with a wife who didn’t want him.

I was determined not to be the first to contact Tom after our convo about Matt and Iris. Already, I was coming on too strong, blowing up his phone, dedicating my entire social media to pursuing him, stalking him, and serving him my ass on a silver platter. I’d come to the conclusion that I needed to at least pretend I had some self-respect when it came to him, no matter how good he was with his fingers and tongue.

He wasn’t emotionally available.

He was still in love with his dead boyfriend.

And he was right—even if he wasn’t all those things, I was still engaged to be married, very much a criminal to his federal agent status, and not out yet.

Our relationship wasn’t just impossible, it was nonnegotiable.

Still, when his name popped up on my phone screen on my way to the Forbidden Fruit, my heart slammed so hard against my rib cage, it nearly broke a bone or two.

Tomcat: 10pm, my place.

Me: Do I need to bring anything other than my sexy self?

Tomcat: No.

Me: Lube?

Tomcat: No.

Me: Have you smiled today?

I knew I needed to cool things off and keep it strictly about sex, but it was impossible. I had a soft spot for Agent Rothwell. He was pretty much the only person who tried to understand what was going on with my skin, and…well, in the process, he’d kind of gotten under it. He was definitely a hard-ass, about as friendly as a rabies-ridden porcupine, but the way he took care of Iris and Silas told me there was a good man underneath all the heavy layers of antipathy.

Tomcat: No.

Pffffft. He really liked that word.

I went through my gallery and sent him the same dick pic I’d sent Cash.

Tomcat: JFC, not another dick pic.

Me: Excuse me?! That’s my art. This masterpiece happens to have a name.

Tomcat: Enzo, don’t…

Me: He Is Risen.

Tomcat: Sadly I’m not a believer, because surely that secured you a spot in hell.

Me: Did you smile?

Tomcat: No. I just got hard, horny, and annoyed.

Me: Annoyed?

Tomcat: That you’re not next to me.