When we get to Madison’s driveway, two men are standing by the gate.
“What’s going on?”Madison sounds fearful.“Should we turn around?I don’t want any more drama tonight.”
I shake my head.“I know these guys.Hang on.”Rolling down my window, I greet Dan Buster and Kristoff Manolo.“Damiano sent you?”
They nod.
In the seat next to me, Madison is tense.Of all the absolute worst fucking times for Damiano to stick his nose in her business.Any other night, we could talk through it.But right now, she wants to be alone.Fuck.
I can’t get mad at Buster and Manolo—they’re only doing their job.So I nod at them and take the car through the gate, driving Madison up to her porch.
“Are you pissed?”I ask before she can open her door.
She gives me a little laugh.“I don’t know.I’m feeling way too many things right now.I can’t keep anything straight.Ask me next week, and maybe by then I’ll have it figured out.”
When I open my door to walk her up, she touches my arm, then leans over to kiss me on the cheek.“I’ll be fine from here.I love you.”
“I love you, too.”I’m numb.I feel like she’s getting farther away from me.
My feelings of love for her haven’t changed.Have hers?
MADISON
Of course Damiano would send some of the Nove men to protect me.It’s just like him to jump in without being asked.Mostly, I’m grateful.Grateful that he thinks of me, that he wants to help me.I’m especially grateful that he believes I saw a face in my goddamn window, when even I am doubting my own eyes and mind.
But irritation is worming its way through me, chomping at pieces of my goodwill.He always steps in without asking.He didn’t consult me, he just ordered his guys here.What if I hadn’t wanted them?What if I said no?Would he listen?I doubt it.
I step inside the house and pull my phone from my bag.He left me a voicemail while I was at that absolute disaster of a Thanksgiving meal.
“Madison.”His voice is warm, but authoritative.“I’m sending Nove guards to stand at your gate.With your permission, they will periodically stroll through your grounds, but that is up to you.I’ve already informed Ironwood.”
I can’t believe this guy.I toss my phone on the couch and stick my tongue out at it.How typical that he would check in with my existing security company before he would check in with me.
“Heavy-handed,” I mutter toward my phone.“Absolutely overbearing.”
I make my way to the kitchen.Unsurprisingly, I didn’t eat much at the Coltons’ house.Sonia killed my appetite with her non-apology, and Seth and I left before the meal was finished.
Worst day.
I don’t have the energy for cooking, so I go to the pantry to find instant ramen.
I pause in the doorway of the tiny room.The shelf is off-kilter.Cans and boxes of nonperishables have toppled off the shelves, with several spilled across the floor.Some of the plastic and glass containers have broken.A glob of mayonnaise mixed with broken glass congeals around a leaking box of corn flour.A bottle of wine has cracked and slowly leaks like a murder victim.What the fuck—was there an earthquake?I didn’t feel one at the Coltons’, but that doesn’t mean much.Leaving the pantry, I take a closer look at the kitchen and living room.Everything seems to be where it belongs.No messes, no crooked pictures on the walls.
Returning to the pantry, I blink back tears.I don’t want to clean this shit.
Since no one is here to see me, I stop blinking and let the tears fall.I’m crying for Kyle, for Seth and Damiano, for my betrayed, confused, and bruised heart.
And I’m crying for the mess in my fucking pantry.
6
DAMIANO
On Saturday, I stand up from my desk and stretch my back.All morning, I’ve been approving and reviewing new contracts.We have people to do this, and they’ve done their jobs on the first, logical level.
But many of our new clients have come straight from Point Ops.I want to make sure they run solid, ethical businesses.Erich Pointer was a crook, and he associated with other crooks.Nove doesn’t want their business.
After turning down an internet start-up which wants to move its headquarters to South America—likely to take advantage of the people living there—I need a break.
