“Business.” He won’t look at me. “I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up for me and don’t hold dinner back.”
And then, just like that, the motherfucker unlocks the door and walks out on me.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
LUCA
Ilose my goddamnmindwhen I’m alone with Finch.
What I planned to do once he was settled and happy and all the boys had fucked off: write out a list of potential crew members to run by Tino.
What I did: spent an hour in bed plundering his body.
Every time I look at him, I want to give him the world. I want to do everything in my power to make those eyes shine gold, gleam green, light up with joy. God help me, I want to make my husband the happiest man on earth.
But I can’t. I need to remember the bigger picture. Maybe one day when our enemies have been dealt with…but to make sure that day comes, I need to be able to think. To plan. To strategize.
I take a long walk around Central Park, and the night air helps cool my blood. I’m familiar with the Park at night; I cut my teeth in the New York gay scene cruising in the Ramble. It occurs to me I’ll never be able to do that again. But thinking about those days doesn’t make me nostalgic for what I’ve lost.
If anything, I feel happy about what I’ve gained.
I stop at the Alice in Wonderland sculpture on the way back and think about how my own life has been turned upside down. It’s only when I find myself grinning at the Cheshire Cat that I come to my senses.
“Stupido,” I mutter to myself. What the hell am I doing, letting my thoughts creep back to Finch? I need to hold back those emotions that are threatening to creep up and over the walls I’ve built around them. Now isnotthe time to let emotions baffle and bemuse me.
We’re not safe, not yet.
I make sure I get back late, hoping he’ll have taken the hint and gone to bed. Thankfully, he has, although there’s a note on the kitchen counter when I go in there to make myself a sandwich.
I ordered takeout. Olive Garden. That’s what you Italians eat, isn’t it?
And when I look in the fridge, just like he says, he’s ordered food from Olive Garden.
I’d never tell Tino Morelli or anyone in my crew this, but I actuallydolike Olive Garden. And I’m fucking starving, so I dive right in, even though I’m bristling at the sarcasm.
To keep my clear head, I don’t spend the night in the master bedroom with him. When we moved in, I made sure Finch saw me set up another bedroom down the hallway. It was smaller than the master, but still bigger than any bedroom I’d had in my life. It has a bed and a desk in it, and that’s all I need. Predictably, Finch objected to it.
“But wehavea bedroom, right down there, for both of us. And a big bed for us to fuck ourselves silly in every night.”
Frank, who had come upstairs with us to have a look around the townhouse, turned tail in the doorway and walked off down the hall. I looked down into Finch’s face.
“I work late most nights, angel. I don’t want to disturb you when I come home.”
“You won’t. Iwantyou to wake me up.” The pout had returned.
“I won’t stay in hereeverynight, only if I’m out really late,” I’d said as a compromise, because it was hard to deny Finch anything when he was looking at me with those eyes of his.
I go to my own room now and lock the door behind me. I need to keep my head clear, keep hold of the ideas I’ve had during my walk in the Park. When I’m just about to fall asleep, I hear padding feet in the hallway outside, and the door knob twists.
“Luca?” His voice is soft, uncertain.
I don’t reply.
After a moment, the footsteps retreat.
* * *
The next morningI’m out early, before Finch has a chance to catch me. Marco is here, thank God, and I let him into the kitchen to wait for Finch.
