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11
SCAR
Some days, I swore to God if Ivory weren’t married to Matteo I would kill her myself. The conniving, meddling pest of a woman would be the death of me.
“It’s just lunch,” she said, bending over to pull Luna out of the car seat in the rear while I hovered at her back.
“I loathe you. Did you know that?” I asked. She turned a beaming smile my way, showing just how little she cared. Most men would be terrified to have my hatred directed at them, at least the ones who had half a brain or had seen me crush skulls in The Underground.
Yet the food blogger with a diaper bag on one arm and a baby strapped across her chest didn’t bat an eye. If I hadn’t made men cower in fear or straight up piss themselves, I might have questioned my masculinity.
“I think you meant love,” she said, closing the Range Rover door and raising up onto her tiptoes to touch her lips to my cheek mockingly. She and Luna were the only two who could do something so simple without sending me into a panic, or, in the case of a man touching me, a rage I couldn’t control.
I snorted, following at her heels as she strode toward the modern building. Knowing I’d be inside the place where I’d sat in the car and watched Irina like a creep a few days before didn’t make me feel good about myself.
When had I become Ryker?
“Why didn’t we just meet her at the restaurant if it’s just lunch?” I asked. Lunch was easy. I could fill my face with food and pretend to ignore the women, too busy scanning the public place for threats to their safety.
I wasn’t dumb enough to think it was just about getting food. Ivory always cooked. She always invited people over for lunch at the safest place in the city, rather than going out. The problem for her would be that I could escape to Matteo’s office.
“I may have asked for a tour. I’ve been curious. This place has such a reputation for being a haven for these kids; now that I’m a mom, I think maybe I want to get involved somehow,” she explained.
“Good luck convincing Matteo to let you hang around a bunch of at-risk youth with potential connections to people who want him dead. That one will go over well, for sure,” I said, stepping around her to grab the handle on the glass door. I tugged it open, guiding Ivory inside. “The glass is a security hazard alone. You’d be an open target.”
“It’s bulletproof,” Irina said, her melodic voice carrying across the lobby as she approached us. “I had it all replaced a few years back when Adrian started getting a little more courageous.”
I stilled, staring at her with newfound appreciation. She made no effort to hide what she knew of Bellandi turf wars, not with everything out in the open. Not now that she knew who I was.
I couldn’t seem to reconcile the woman who bounced kids on her hip and tended to their every need with the one who was aware of the criminal empire that ran the city.
Didn’t women like her have values that went against those kinds of things?
“It’s good to see you again, Scar,” Irina said, reaching up and touching a gentle hand to straighten my tie. She seemed to carefully avoid touching me, letting just the faintest hint of her essence coast over the skin on my neck.
Her scent consumed my senses, delicate roses and something that smelled like chocolate commanding my attention.
As if just the sight of her wasn’t enough.
“Butterfly,” I croaked, swallowing around the word that sounded far too nervous to have come from me.
Ivory stumbled at my side, shifting her attention from Irina to me. “You called her butterfly,” she said, her lips turning down into an awww. She gave me wide eyes, even without understanding the origin of the nickname.
I suspected the fact that every man in her life had a special name for his wife gave her false hope that the same could be true for Irina and me, but it would never happen. Irina was more like a butterfly than I’d first imagined. Beautiful, but with a fragile heart. Something that should be kept inside a cage and protected from the ugliness in the world.
“Where’s your security?” I asked, changing the subject away from the uncomfortable topic of her nickname. I’d intended to call her Irina, but something about it coming from me just felt wrong.
“My security?” she asked, smiling at me and tilting her head to the side in an adorably confused way.
“The man your father puts on you for your safety,” I added slowly, tilting my head toward Ivory.
Hello.
“I don’t have security, Scar.” Irina laughed, leaning forward and touching the tip of her finger to Luna’s chest. The little girl opened her eyes wide, studying Irina with that quiet intensity that was so like her father’s and not like a baby’s.
“You should be protected. He has enemies that could use you against him,” I growled, watching as she smirked at me. I’d tipped my hand, implying that I cared about her safety.
Shit.
“Not all women are willing to be controlled by their fathers. It will take a different kind of man to get me to agree to that,” she said, tilting her head to the side in challenge.
I bit my tongue, wondering how long I could hold it between my teeth before it bled.
This fucking woman.
She had no idea what kind of monster she was tempting, what I would do with permission like that. A woman like Irina needed a gentle hand to support her through life, not a walking disaster who would take everything she had and still demand more. Who would need to be the center of her entire universe and take her eyes off her work that mattered.
Luna wiggled in the sling, and Irina reached inside to pull her out gently. Cradling her with well-practiced ease, she spun on her heel and motioned for us to follow as she led us on the tour of the building. There were more rooms than I could count: offices, recreation areas, an art room and a music room. “We like to foster passion, whatever form it comes in. Obviously, a career in art or music is very competitive, so we try to get them enrolled in the right courses and schools as soon as possible.”
“That sounds expensive,” I pointed out, trailing behind the two women. I kept myself alert, staring at the supposedly bulletproof windows as a disconcerting feeling spread through me. I’d been willing to give my life for Ivory—had taken six bullets to do it, in fact. But if someone ever ambushed us when the two women were together, I didn’t want to think about what I’d do.
Ivory was my charge. She was my friend. The only woman I came close to loving in the way I’d loved Cesca.
Irina was something else, something I didn’t have a hope of ever understanding.
She felt like a heart.
Mine, which now existed outside my body.
“It is,” Irina agreed, nodding her head. “We fund it all, of course.”
“How is that possible?” Ivory asked, wearing an intent smile while watching Irina with her daughter. If Ivory thought I would suddenly become a family man and have a hoard of kids running around, she’d have another think coming. I’d eliminated that possibility years ago.
“Fundraisers and donations, mostly. We are one of the most well-funded non-profits in the city.”
“Easier when you have someone who looks like you to be the face of the company,” Ivory said, a comment that might have sounded sexist coming from a man, but there was no judgement in her tone. Only respect and an acknowledgement that sometimes beauty could be used for the right purposes.
“It probably doesn’t hurt,” Irina agreed, taking us around the rest of the common areas. I was overcome with the sudden urge to see her office, to know how she spent her day and what that could tell me about her. Who she was outside of her job and her identity as the daughter of the most notorious and respected judge in Chicago.
But she led us to the doors, the tour over.
I’d see her office one day. She just probably wouldn’t be in it, since I’d evidently become a stalker in the last few days.
* * *
