Nodding, I slide out of the booth. “I just need to use the bathroom first. Give me two minutes.”
Instead of heading to the toilet, I walk straight up to Rick. “Hey, limp dick,” I shout. My gaze drops to his hand, the one with a scar I’m proud to say I gave him.
“Lena,” he says curtly.
“Just wanted to see if you still wear my mark,” I grin coldly.
When he scoffs, I slowly pull the knife out of my pocket and open it. “So,” I say. “This is awkward. But I’m only in town for a few days, and I really want to drink here tonight. With my brother. Do you remember him?”
Rick glances nervously at the woman plastered to his side. “Umm… whatever.”
I look at the woman. “Hi, I’m the one who gave your date the scar across his hand,” I say as a way of greeting. “Because he was a homophobic shit beating my brother. So—”
“What?” the woman hisses, pulling away from Rick immediately. “Is that true?”
“I was sixteen,” he argues.
Now it’s my turn to scoff. “Like that matters…” I’m stunned silent, unable to complete my sentence when his date picks up her drink and throws it in Rick’s face.
“You fucking disgusting piece of shit,” she snarls. “Don’t call me again. Ever.”
I take that as my cue that my job’s done and return to Ollie and Leo.
Chapter 7
Matteo
It’s funny how the mind keeps score, even when you pretend not to care.
My penthouse is full of reminders of many things. Yet, it’s the note of Raven’s perfume that refuses to fade from my couch and bed.
I reach for the silver flip-top lighter that should be on my coffee table, fingers closing around empty air for the hundredth time this week. The absence burns worse than the flames it once held.
Seven fucking days since she took it—seven days of phantom weight in my pocket where my father’s lighter should rest. I’m not used to wanting things back. Usually, when something’s taken from me, I just take something bigger in return.
An eye for an eye leaves everyone blind, but I’m already halfway there, so what’s one more socket to empty?
My phone buzzes against the glass tabletop, skittering across the surface like a dying insect. I snatch it up, thumb swiping across the screen with more force than necessary.
Vito: Raven’s back in the nest. Just spotted entering her apartment building.
A smile stretches across my face, pulling the scars tight along my left cheek. I can feel the difference between normal skin and damaged tissue—one gives, the other resists. Like people. Most bend when I apply pressure. Some resist until they snap.
Me: Keep eyes on her. Don’t engage.
Stretching, I grab my tablet and wait, its screen reflecting the storm clouds gathering outside my penthouse windows. Fitting weather for my mood. I tap in the passcode and open the folder labeled Carter, L.R.
The employee file Holston sent over glows with sterile professionalism.
Name: Lena Raven Carter.
Age: 28
Education: Georgetown graduate.
Then come the performance reviews that read like love letters.
Exceptional client management, innovative problem-solving, and an unparalleled ability to diffuse tensions.
