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Rena grasped my hand. “Okay, but you have my number if you need anything.”
“We’ll settle everything when we meet with her uncle tomorrow,” Vincenzo stated.
The mention of my uncle had me shaking beneath the tough façade I was projecting. Mark was dead, but I was pissed at him for leaving me to handle his fuck up and even more pissed at myself for agreeing to his crazy scheme in the first place.
The car approached Vincenzo’s massive condo, and we all piled out. I trailed after Vicenzo as he greeted the doorman. He was like a president with all the extra security.
Rena stretched her arm around my waist. “Everything will work out.”
I leaned my head on her shoulder. “Thanks for helping, Rena.”
“You remind me of myself.”
Her words surprised me. “How so?”
“Sweet, full of life, and feisty. But there’s a lot of hurt beneath this hard exterior.” She tapped my forehead.
We stepped onto the private elevator, and the gold doors whooshed closed. Vincenzo punched the button for the top floor. His cold gaze landed on me, and I dropped my eyes to the floor. I hadn’t seen this side of him before: ruthless and deadly.
We exited the elevator, and Vincenzo led us to his high-rise condo.
My eyes widened. The living room alone was bigger than my modest two-bedroom apartment in downtown Chicago.
“When was the last time you stayed here?” Rena asked, looking around.
I wondered that, too, because he didn’t seem like a condo type of guy.
“Probably a month. I’ve been staying at my house.” Vincenzo grabbed mail off the stand next to the door.
“Did you hire a housekeeper?” Rena swiped her hand across the fireplace mantel.
Vincenzo put the mail back on the stand. “Yeah, she comes twice a week.”
Rena turned to me. “Are you sure you’ll be okay here?”
“She won’t be alone,” Vincenzo said.
“What do you mean?” Rena and I asked.
Vincenzo raked a hand through his hair. “I’m staying here with her.”
My stomach dropped.
Rena marched toward him. “Vincenzo, that’s not a good idea.”
“She’s right,” I blurted.
Vincenzo ignored our glares. “I’m ensuring my investment doesn’t bolt again.”
“You don’t trust me,” I stated.
He moved toward me. “Why would I? Your track record speaks for itself.”
“That was a mistake, and I’m here to fix it.”
“A mistake is leaving a cup on a table without a coaster. Stealing five million dollars is a fucking choice!”
Our faces were inches apart, our chests heaving.
