Page 71 of Fallen Rook

I watched from across the street as a private town car pulled in front of Enzo’s building and a leggy brunette strutted out. The driver got out, wheeling her Louis Vuitton suitcase behind her.

My hand curled tightly against the handle of my drugstore bag containing lube, organic soap, and Brookside acai dark chocolate. I’d seen the treat on Enzo’s kitchen counter every time I visited and noticed he was running low.

Katya swaggered toward the entrance, stopping momentarily to produce a small pocket mirror and reapply her lip gloss. The driver returned to the vehicle, but waited with his eyes on her through the rearview window.

It was seven forty-five in the evening, and he was supposed to meet me in a little over two hours.

She was a few days early. I wondered if Enzo was aware, and if so, what he made of it.

I got my answer less than a minute later.

Enzo’s eye-wateringly hideous, Italian-flag-emblazoned Lamborghini burst into view, double-parking in front of the building on the busy street. He slipped out in his usual uniform of gray pencil pants, a ribbed black polo shirt, and designer sunglasses, the gorgeously murderous and charming creature that he was. He tossed the keys to the valet, just when Katya rushed from the sidewalk to greet him.

“Surprise!” she squealed, jumping on him and lacing her legs around his waist. “You’re not mad, are you?” Katya caught her lower lip in a bite, fluttering her eyelashes seductively at his face.

He caught her effortlessly, suspending her by the ass using one hand and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “At you? Never. About you? Absolutely.” He carried her entire weight with one palm, radiating clean, muscular power.

A rush of heat surged through my bloodstream, and my heart thudded so loud in my ears that the city noise evaporated into nothing. As the scene in front of me unfolded, so did my mood.

Everything turned red at the sight of them.

Her. Wrapped around him. Smiling. Lowering her lashes seductively. Murmuring in his ear.

Him. Touching her. Smiling down at her. Giving her his time and his attention and his—

“Whoa! Watch out!” A cyclist slammed into me, making me tumble two steps backward. I ignored the pain in my shoulder.

Why was I feeling like this? I’d seen Matt with Iris plenty of times. It was never fun, but it was never earth-shatteringly painful, either.

It was a stupid idea, deciding to surprise Enzo ahead of our scheduled meeting. I’d told myself all day that I could hold off until nighttime, physically prevented myself from checking his socials. I’d made it to seven before I slipped out of work early, took a shower, and decided to run by the drugstore to stock up on what we needed.

Only Enzo wasn’t going to come to my place today.

I just knew.

“Hey, asshole, you’re in the way!” A pedestrian with a leashed poodle stepped around me, muttering obscenities and shaking his head.

Enzo and Katya were whispering to each other with stupid, happy grins, looking like the perfect couple.

The bag slipped from between my fingers, and its contents scattered to the ground.

The world kept spinning, and I stood there, fraying at the edges, watching as Enzo grabbed the suitcase from Katya, clasped the back of her neck in pure masculine possession, and did the one thing he’d never done with me—invited her into his world.

At eight thirty, I cracked open the first beer.

At nine, the third.

At five past ten, I switched to vodka. All the beer in the world couldn’t bring me to the level of numbness I needed to pull through the night.

I hadn’t drunk excessively in years. Not since my PTSD episode with Matt.

I had especially not been drunk since I’d gotten off the hallucinogenic drugs I was prescribed after said episode.

Now, at eleven thirty, I was in shitfaced territory. Completely fucking drunk for the first time since that night.

The numbness never came.

I lay on my couch, checking my phone for the millionth time that minute.