“Looking for who?”
“Your husband,” Lazlo says quietly.
I stare at them.
“He came around,” Milo continues. “Soon after you left. Then every few weeks after. Asking questions. He wanted to know where you were and wouldn’t take our word that we didn’t know.”
“And?” I say, heart hammering hard enough to distress my ribs.
“We told him to go to hell,” Lazlo says with grim satisfaction. “Accused him of mistreating you. Losing you.”
My chest swells, pride cutting through fear.
“He wasn’t, but good.”
Milo winces.
“Yeah, not sure about how good that was. We may have… offended him.”
That pride falters.
“How badly?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Bad enough that the room went cold.”
I close my eyes briefly.
Giovanni does cold like a weapon.
Still. Still, I’m proud of them.
Then Milo clears his throat.
“There’s something else.”
Every instinct in my body screams.
“What?”
“We heard you were back,” he says slowly. “Two days ago.”
My heart stutters wildly again.
“And?”
“Word was that you were alright. That you’d reconciled whatever differences you had. So… we went ahead. Asked him for a loan.”
The words hit like a punch and my vision blurs for a second.
“You what?”
“He wired it yesterday,” Lazlo adds. “No fuss. No conditions.”
I’m on my feet before I realise it, fury ripping through me so fast my hands shake and my coffee splashes over the table, drops landing on my Prada heels. The barest hint of irony tickles the back of my neck, but I ignore it.
“Are you insane?” I shout. “Of course there are conditions. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“We were desperate,” Milo snaps back. “And he’s your husband. Family.”
