“It’s more than a nick and requires five stitches,” Sloane said. “You’ll be sore, but I’ll have the mob doc call in a prescription and antibiotics just to be safe.”
“How long do you want me to keep her?” De Lucci asked.
“Excuse me?” Chloe cut in. “Are all these mafia men overbearing as hell?”
“Yes,” Lucy and Sloane answered at the same time.
“The pieces are falling into place—” Lucy started.
“Lusenka,” I interrupted firmly when the puzzle was taking form in my head as well. “Do you remember what’s in our prenup, hmm?”
“No conflict of interest with bratva business.” Lucy shot me a sheepish smile.
“You’re treading very close to it, baby,” I added mildly.
“You don’t know that for sure,” she responded. Our eyes locked. She knew I would not voice my concerns in front of the others.
“All done,” Sloane said. “If possible, try not to get the area wet. And for fuck’s sake, if it looks infected, go to the hospital.”
Great. Now, to get out of here. I was overwhelmingly outnumbered, but it seemed Lucy was determined to convince Chloe to go with her brother.
But did it have to be green-flag Trevor Hayes together with my wife leading the convincing? My back molars had done enough grinding this evening. I almost burst a blood vessel when I realized who Lucy was meeting after she escaped the house. If my mind had not been fixated on following my wife, I’d have cut off that fucker and put a bullet in his head. He was lucky the desire to fuck my mark on my wife was greater than my desire to end his boring heroic existence.
De Lucci grabbed another chair, spun it around, and straddled it to sit beside me. He crossed his arms over the back and rested his chin casually on top of them. “So, why did my sister shoot you?”
“For simply existing.”
He emitted a derisive snort. “I would believe you except Trevor told us Lucy was panicked when she called him, but seemed to change her mind on what she needed after he told her about Chloe. He didn’t register it at first, but then it bothered him enough that he followed her.”
“How chivalrous of him,” I said sarcastically.
“He’s everything you’re not, for sure.”
My head whipped toward De Lucci. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve been staring daggers at Trevor since we arrived.”
“He seems to be heavily involved each time Lucy plots trouble.”
“You didn’t answer my question: why did Lucy shoot you?”
“I don’t have to explain anything to you.”
“Did you threaten her?”
“Absolutely not. I’ve been nothing but a doting husband.” I repeated the last two words so loudly, Lucy glanced over her shoulder and rolled her eyes.
“Hey.” Sloane stopped in front of her husband. “Help me clean up.”
“I’m not about to ruin these designer jeans with this fucker’s blood, and you’re not a cleaner anymore, remember? Let Lucy and Zahkarov clean it. It’s their mess.”
Lucy came over. “Kirill’s injured, I’ll help you.” Her eyes scanned me pensively. I fought a smirk. Good. She was feeling guilty as fuck. Even if I understood why she shot me, it didn’t mean I didn’t feel offended. Okay, I was more than offended. I was hurt. Like I’d been shot in the heart instead of nicked inthe shoulder. I was suddenly looking forward to our vacation. I could play the martyr card and hasten this along.
“De Lucci is right. Even though I’m still faint from blood loss, I should clean up the mess.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” De Lucci snapped. “Sit. I don’t want you keeling over and causing more problems.”
“Appreciate your benevolence,” I quipped.
