Bloody Heart (Brutal Birthright #4) - Sophie Lark Page 0,63
else, Inspector Clouseau?” one of the cops says sarcastically.
“No,” I say. “Nothing else.”
The cops keep dusting the room for prints—useless in a hotel—and combing the carpets and drapes for evidence. Riona and I head back down to ground level.
“So?” she says in an expectant tone.
“Wasn’t much to see in the room.” I shrug.
“No—I’m wondering if you’re planning to go to the cocktail reception.”
“Why would I?” I frown.
She lets out a snort.
“You’re going to pretend you don’t care in the slightest? I saw your face when you saw her crossing that stage.”
“Did you know she was going to be here?” I demand, rounding on Riona.
“No,” she says calmly. “But I’m not sorry that she is. You two have unfinished business.”
“No, we don’t,” I say, in the tone of voice that would usually scare the other person off of saying anything else. But Riona argues for a living. Nothing short of complete removal of her vocal cords is going to stop her talking.
“Right,” she says. “That’s why you’re so cheerful and optimistic. Because you’re emotionally healthy in every way.”
“You’re not my psychiatrist,” I snap at her.
We had to see a shrink sometimes in the army. I fucking hated it.
“I am your friend, though,” Riona says, looking at me with her steady gaze. “I think you should go.”
“She left me nine years ago because her family thought I wasn’t good enough for her. I doubt they changed their minds.”
“Why not?” Riona says. “You’re a decorated veteran. A successful real estate developer. Plus, you just saved her dad’s life for fuck’s sake.”
“I’m still a Gallo,” I say.
I didn’t stop blowing people’s heads off just because I came home from Iraq. I’m still the same gangster I was nine years ago. Worse, actually. The fact that our legitimate business has grown along with our criminal organization . . . I doubt that’s going to impress Yafeu Solomon. Not that I give a fuck what he thinks.
“I think you should go,” Riona repeats. “Not to start anything up again. Just to get closure.”
“Nobody gets closure by opening the door again.”
“They don’t get it by sulking either,” Riona snaps.
Her patience has run out—she’s done being nice to me.
“I’m heading over there in an hour,” she says. “And I’m picking you up on the way.”
I’m so nervous getting ready that my hands are shaking—almost as much as they did after that sniper’s bullet missed my father’s head by a matter of inches.
I wonder if Dante will actually come tonight?
I don’t think he will. He certainly didn’t seem very interested when Tata invited him.
I don’t think he wants to see me again. He didn’t speak to me at all after the shooting. Well—he asked if we were alright. But I think he would have asked that of a complete stranger. It doesn’t mean anything.
He saved my father’s life. I don’t think that meant anything, either. Dante was working security—he was just doing his job.
The redheaded woman was Riona Griffin. She’s the sister of Callum Griffin, the Alderman of the 43rd Ward. Dante must be connected to their family. That’s why he was supervising the event.
They must be dating. That’s the only explanation I can think of.
It’s been nine years. I should have known he’d be taken now. I’m surprised he’s not married already. A man like that, a walking specimen of masculinity . . . he must have women chasing after him everywhere he goes.
I saw it myself, when we were dating. Everywhere we went, women couldn’t help but stare at him.
Every woman wants to know what it’s like to be with a man that big. To be lifted up and thrown down on a bed like you’re feather-light. When you get a look at those hands, twice the size of your own hands . . . you can’t help but think how big the parts of him that you can’t see must be . . .
I already know the answer to that question, and my mind is still racing.
Of course Dante has been with other women since we split.
I’ve had other boyfriends myself. But none of them compared to him.
It’s an awful thing, when the first man you ever sleep with is built like a Greek god. Everybody that comes after seems all too mortal.
I dated photographers, designers, other models. I dated an Israeli banker and a man who owned his own island on