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“I’ll check the color manual,” I comment, but notice she doesn’t reply. I stay still on purpose, watching her breathing slowly and how relaxed her limbs are. I doubt she realized how tense she’s been since last night, but with a good nap, I bet she’ll agree this was good for her.
For us.
I end up cleaning her up, putting her in a new shirt—which isn’t Domino’s—and covering her up.My shirt looks better on her.She only stirs when I lay a kiss on her lips, but she’s muttering something about cupcakes and motorcycles before she’s deep asleep again.
It’s not until I’m zipping my pants does the bathroom door open.
“Quiet my ass.”
I give the culprit a side glance as I watch Kian walk out of the steam-filled bathroom. He’s dressed in a t-shirt and shorts while a towel is still on top of his soaked locks.
“I tried.” I shrug. “I’ll accept my defeat if you get out of my face.”
Kian sighs.
“You ever going to give up hating my guts?”
“Not sure yet.” I mean it. “I don’t trust easily.”
“You trust her,” Kian mutters under his breath. “No. You love her.”
“Maybe.”
“Nah. You don’t do ‘maybe,’” Kian whispers and walks until he’s next to me. “You don’t clean up after your women. You don’t take care of them. You pack up your junk and ditch faster than a man fighting a paternity test that will ruin his life.”
I hate how right he is.
“Gonna use it against me?” I wonder. “Or better yet... tell Domino?”
“You know, out of the three of you, I dislike Domino the most,” he mutters and steps away. “Leave him in the dark. He loves not knowing shit, anyway. Runs in the family.”
Why would he say that?
“What do you want me to dig up?” There’s a reason for his tiny clues. I read them faster than anyone.
Anyone but Dolcezza, but she’s asleep.
“I think Daddy Dearest is setting you guys up for failure,” he whispers and looks back to see my confused gaze. “And you know what?” He pauses to look at my sleeping Dolcezza. “She’s warning you that this game is only going to get messier.”
“So, what’s my only option?” I whisper.
He looks away.
“Join the side that will never betray you,” he summarizes, as though it’s that easy to conclude. “The side that always gives you the attention your heart has yearned for.”
With that, he’s out the door, leaving me to do whatever the fuck I want with that information.
Looking back at Dolcezza, I let out a breath and pull out my phone. Dialing a single digit, the phone rings three times.
“Arlo.”
“Results?” My voice is far from calm. It’s filled with seriousness.
“In our database, yes,” he begins. “But they’re masked.”
Meaning the bastard is either rich as fuck or has more control over the dark web than we can imagine.
Expected.
