I don't linger. The ride home is quiet. I'm lost in thought, trying to figure out how to get the guys out of graveyard duty, when the elevator doors open. I step into the long, sleek corridor, barely noticing the gray tile, soft overhead lighting, and the faint hum of HVAC. I unlock my door, step inside, and my instincts flare.
It's a subtle flicker in my gut. Then I inhale a whiff of perfume that isn't mine.
I close the door quietly behind me, keys still in my fist, and reach into my pocket for my knife. I glance around, but don't see anyone.
Someone is in here.
My hallway mirror catches movement just beyond my peripheral vision. There's a blur of purple hair at the far end of the corridor.
That fucking girl!
I open my knife and call out, "I know it's you, Blue. Come out before I slit your throat!"
She steps out of the shadow like she's been waiting for applause. Her hair is loose, wild around her shoulders, and her eyes are glossy in a way that screams she's been crying or screaming or both.
Her red mouth twists. "Valentina."
"You don't belong here."
She takes a step closer. "You don't belong anywhere you've planted yourself lately."
My jaw locks. "Did you pick my lock or bribe security?"
She laughs, sharp and unstable. "Maybe they're tired of your family's poison dripping into Chicago."
I keep my voice level. "Get out."
She moves closer anyway, boots clicking on the tile, eyes darting over my body like she's searching for a weakness.
She spits, "You play them so well. Even I'll give you that."
"Them?"
Her nose wrinkles. "Brax. Sean. All of them. You Abruzzos always think you're clever."
I warn, "Careful. Your obsession is making you sloppy."
Her face crumples for a second, then hardens. "Obsession?" She presses a hand to her chest like I've stabbed her. "I have history with him."
The words are a blade slid right between my ribs. I step closer and state, "History doesn't mean ownership."
Her smile turns mean. "That's rich coming from you."
She has the nerve to come toward me, closing the distance between us. Her gaze drops to my hand, and a flicker of disgust crosses her face. "You're not fit for that ring."
The words land, and for a heartbeat, my lungs forget how to work.
Don't listen to her.
I tilt my chin. "Yet here I am wearing it. I'm the one he chose, not you. You're delusional, Blue. You need to get professional help."
She laughs so hard I stare at her, unsure what's so funny. She stops and her voice cracks. "I see how he looks at you. You're a weapon he's using until he decides how to use it."
My pulse jumps.
She leans in, her perfume heavy, invasive. "He used to look at me like that."
Jealousy is a weakness I don't often give in to. It's inefficient, loud, and distracting. But when Blue tilts her head and gives me an intimate stare, like she actually knows what's between Brax and me, the green-eyed monster I keep at bay bares its teeth.
