“You love it.”
I would if it were from anyone else, and that pisses me off. “I don’t fuck with costume jewelry.”
His chuckle makes me grit my teeth. “Nothing but the best for you, baby. This ring is special. Did you know that?”
Despite myself, I can’t help perching the phone between my face and shoulder and tugging the ring out of the box. “Don’t tell me you’re proposing. The answer is no, Wolf.”
“You haven’t earned the right to be my wife, Red.”
That stings, and it has absolutely no right to sting. I glare at nothing and slip the ring onto my finger. Just to see. It fits perfectly. “Fine. I’ll bite. What’s so special about it?”
“You’ll find out.” A pause. “I can’t wait to see it on your finger in person. Soon, baby.” He hangs up.
The front door opens.
I don’t stop to think. I jump to my feet, my fear and adrenaline surging to the fore again. I knew this motherfucker was arrogant, but to walk through my front door? Absolutely not. I charge through the bedroom door, gun raised—
And nearly shoot Luke in the face.
He ducks. “Holy fuck, Ruby!”
“Sorry! Damn it, I’m sorry.” I take the time to unload the gun and set it on the kitchen counter. “You startled me. I thought you wouldn’t be home until later.” It’s not really the truth, but it’s the best I can come up with on the fly.
“I wrapped the job up early.” He approaches me cautiously and presses a kiss to my temple. “Is everything okay? You seem tense. I didn’t even know you had a gun in the apartment.”
“You know how my parents are. Overprotective and all. But it’s just work stress.” I don’t exactly mean to lie, but if I tell him someone is bothering me, then I might have to admit what started it and . . . Fuck, Michelle is right. What are we doing? I cheated on Luke, and I don’t even feel bad about it. I’m entertaining a fucking stalker because it makes me feel more alive than dating Luke does these days. “Luke . . . this isn’t working.”
To his credit, he doesn’t seem surprised by me blurting out that statement. He gives me a sad smile. “No, it’s really not, is it?”
“I’m sorry. I love you, but—”
“It’s not like it was.” He drags his hand through his thick dark hair. “We aren’t like we were.”
“No.”
His expression is devastatingly sober. “I don’t want to fight, Ruby. I love you, too, but I don’t know how to fix us either. Not like we’ve been going.”
My chest feels tight, but there’s too much relief to get this train off the tracks. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that. Me too.” He sighs. “I’m going to need some time to find another place. I guess I can sleep on the couch . . .”
“No, that’s silly. This might be ending, but there’s no reason to be dramatic about it. I promise not to jump you in the middle of the night. You can stay here until you get another apartment lined up.”
He nods slowly. “Okay.” Luke takes a step toward me and then shakes his head again. “Sorry, habit. I’m going to take a shower.”
It’s only when he walks away that I realize there was a smudge on his collar. Was it lipstick? I have absolutely no urge to investigate. If he slept with someone else, well, it’s nothing more than I’ve done.
Those in glass houses, and all that.
3
The next day, there’s a giant display of flowers sitting on my desk when I get into my office. My stomach drops. Luke was gone when I got up again, and he hasn’t given me any indication that he’s changed his mind about breaking up. Why would he buy me flowers?
I circle the vase warily. This feels wrong the same way the ring—still on my finger—felt wrong. That doesn’t stop me from approaching and plucking the card from the arrangement. Before I can open it, I see something else. A little rectangle nestled into the petals of one flower. I pick it up and go cold.
It’s a bar of soap.
“Fuck.” I drop it onto my desk and pick up the card.
We’ll be using this later, dirty girl.
“In your dreams, asshole.” I will not be washing my mouth out with soap. Ever. I pick up the vase and drop it into the trash. The bar goes in after it, followed by the card. I shouldn’t be entertaining this guy, shouldn’t be accepting gifts from him, no matter how perfectly suited to me they are.
I grab the ring and try to pull it off, then whimper when fiery pain erupts. “What the fuck?” I tug on it again and have to bite down a second whimper.
“Ruby?”
I drop my hand and straighten so fast, my head spins. “Oh, hi, Da.”
My fathers have similar coloring—dark hair and pale skin—but that’s where the similarities end. Dad is about my height. Da fills a doorway. He’s doing that right now, his dark eyes concerned. “Did you hurt yourself?”
I am not about to explain that I was trying to take off a ring that apparently has prongs set into it to prevent removal. I guess I know what’s special about it now. “No, not at all. Just tossing this in the trash.”
He eyes the flowers. “Trouble in paradise?”
I stare. He sounds almost . . . happy. But that doesn’t make sense. “I thought you liked Luke.”
“I do.” He shrugs, not even bothering to deny his tone. “He’s a good kid, but that’s the problem. He’s not like us. And you might be a pampered mafia princess, but you’re not like him either. It was never going to last.”
I stare. “But you’ve treated him like you’re ready to walk me down the aisle to him.”
“You liked him. That was enough for us as long as he treated you well. You seemed happy enough.” Another shrug. “It’s all a father can ask for.”
Somehow I think Dad has a different standard. If Da gave Luke a fair chance, Dad never did. Not that he said much about it, but he doesn’t say much about anything. “Well, we broke up. He’s looking for another place right now.”
He walks to me and pulls me into his arms. “I’m sorry, honey. I know you cared about him, even if he ultimately wasn’t a good fit. You’ll be okay in the end, though.”
I let myself sink into his hug. He has a way of wrapping me up that drowns out whatever has worried or scared or bothered me. It works now, too, beating back my conflicting feelings about my current situation.
It’s enough for me to take a deep breath. “What are you doing here so early?”
“Oh, that.” He gives me one last squeeze and steps back. “One of our guys was killed last night. Or the day before. Hard to say.”
A chill slides down my spine. “We’re not at war with anyone.”
“I know.” Da shrugs. “But people are going to people, and he was a mean motherfucker. He probably just pissed off the wrong person and they dealt with it. But he was one of ours so I’m looking into it.”
My mouth goes dry, but I can’t stop myself from asking, “Who was it?”
“I don’t think you’d know him, honey. It was Rafe, one of our newer enforcers.”
The timing seems suspicious in the extreme. I can’t remember the last time violence broke out in our territory, let alone murder. There are bar fights from time to time, but even the most trigger-happy of enforcers doesn’t go too far for fear of bringing the territory leaders down on their head.