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ChapterEleven
Tony glanced at the time on his phone. Again.
“She’s late.”
It was pushing midnight, and typically he and Rhys would have already headed to bed. The fact Rhys was still up and hanging out proved his roommate was worried too.
Jess—thank God—had quit her weekend job at Crossings Motel. Tony had been prepared to raise holy hell if she’d tried to go back, but as Rhys had pointed out, Jess was savvy and not reckless. The attack had scared her, but Tony sensed the worst part of it hadn’t been the bruises or the beating for Jess. It had been her fear for Jasper’s safety.
So, she’d called Rocco the day after agreeing to live with them and quit.
However, because Jess was Jess, she’d found another second job, this one parttime and not particularly dangerous. Except that it meant she would be out late on weeknights and working for the Russo family. Something that pissed Tony off more than he cared to admit.
The Morettis and the Russos were the Philadelphia equivalent of the Hatfields and the McCoys. Every time the Russo name came up in the presence of Tony’s dad or his uncle Cesare, they’d slide the tips of their fingers forward under their chins aggressively and scowl, gesturing that they didn’t give a fuck about the Russos and didn’t want to hear the name.
Unfortunately, Philadelphia’s Italian society wasn’t so big that the Morettis and the Russos weren’t forced to cross paths more often than either side enjoyed. The Moretti brothers were the same ages as the Russo boys, which meant they’d gone through school with Matt, Gage, and Conor. The Russos owned countless businesses in the city, and with the growing success of Moretti Brothers Restorations, that ensured he and Matt ran into each other at fundraisers and other local events as they both rubbed elbows and attempted to make connections.
The Russos were old-money, big-wealth, wimpy-white-collar types who’d never eaten anything that wasn’t on a silver spoon. Meanwhile, the Morettis were men’s men, proud of their blue-collar roots and not afraid to roll up their sleeves and do a solid day’s work.
“We should have told her not to take that damn job,” Tony grumbled.
“She only would have kept looking for something else, and at least the job isn’t dangerous.” Rhys had fielded this same complaint from Tony countless times, so his answer was delivered by rote, with very little inflection or emotion.
Jess had accepted the job cleaning the offices at Russo Enterprises three weeks ago. After doing her shift at the diner, she’d come home, eat dinner with them and Jasper, give her son a bath, read him a bedtime story, tuck him in, make sure he was asleep, then she’d leave to do job number two.
Typically, she could clean the entire floor in three hours, always home by eleven.
The clock hit midnight.
He stood up. “To hell with this. I’m driving over—”
Before Tony could finish telling Rhys he was going out to look for her, the door to their apartment opened.
Jess looked surprised when she found them both in the living room. “You’re still up,” she said tiredly.
“You’re late,” Tony said.
At the same time, Rhys rose and asked, “Is everything okay?”
“Sort of,” she said. “Actually, not really. My car died at a stoplight when I was on my way home.”
Tony frowned. “Where is it now?”
“Resting peacefully on a quiet city street. A couple of guys helped me push it to the curb and I left it there. I walked back to work because it was closer than here.”
Rhys helped her take her coat off as Tony closed his eyes and counted to ten. She’d been in yet another dangerous situation.
“I swear to God I’m going to start dressing you in bubble wrap,” he murmured. “Never met any woman so prone to bad shit happening.”
Jess laughed. “I hardly think my car dying warrants bubble wrap.”
Tony put his hands on his hips. “You were walking, alone, in the middle of the night. Why didn’t you call us?”
Her exhaustion meant her temper was riding just as close to the surface as his. Never a good thing. “That’s what I wastryingto do. I was going to use the phone at the office.”
“What’s wrong with your cell?” Rhys asked as he led her to the couch.
She sank onto the middle cushion, sighing when he draped a thick fleece blanket over her lap. “The battery on my phone won’t hold a damn charge, so it was dead when I got home from the diner. I plugged it in and then forgot to grab it before I left tonight.”
