Page 107 of The Ache That Stayed

After that day, she’d gone right back to avoiding me. And the more she did, the more it pissed me off. Because I wasn’t just some stranger she could shut out. She doesn’t get to bleed into me, cling like I’m the only thing keeping her from falling apart—and then walk away like I’m nothing. That’s not how this worked. Not with me.

I tried giving her the space she deserved. But every time she laughed on the phone, voice softening—every time I caught a glimpse of her slipping back into that composed, controlled version of herself, my tolerance snapped tighter.

Because I’d seen the other side. The one she didn’t show anyone else. The real one she buried. The one that broke too easily and felt too much. And now, I couldn’t unsee it.

She could pretend all she wanted. Play perfect. Play control. But I knew better now.

My phone rang, dragging me out of my thoughts.

Sean Coonan.

“What?” I answered, voice clipped.

“Got what you asked for, lad,” he said.

I let out a deep breath. Perfect timing. A distraction. Finally.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“Someone who’s been tracking your girl for a while.”

My grip tightened on the phone.

“It doesn’t look like a casual interest,” Sean added.

“Send me everything.”

Sean chuckled. “Never thought I’d see Santino Rossi end up like this.”

“Like what?”

“Pussy whipped.”

That fucking bastard.

“Fuck off,” I replied.

“So how do you plan to repay this time?” Sean asked.

That prick was always keeping score.

“My eternal gratitude,” I mocked.

“Worthless currency,” he said dryly. “I’ll collect later.”

The line went dead.

My phone buzzed again. I opened the file. Scrolled. Stilled.

A man in his sixties. Familiar. China. Two years ago. I’d seen that face before. A parasite. The kind of man who came crawling out whenever he smelled money.

A flicker of memory surfaced—the bastard had been sniffing around, trying to get in with the Triads after Lorenzo’s empire went up in flames. Didn’t remember his name. Just the face. And now that same face was tied to Roxanne.

Suddenly, the blood in my veins turned cold. My jaw tightened. He’d sent men before asking about her. To get close. Some got close enough to be noticed. The rest—disappeared.

No one touched her. Nobody got close enough. Not once. Not while I was breathing.

But now, this felt different. Personal. This wasn’t curiosity. It felt targeted. And I didn’t like it. Not one bit.