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Two
“Please explain to me why I’m not on Luca’s visitor list.” I tapped the bottom of the steering wheel, praying the asshole had answers.
Marco didn’t respond.
“Hello? Am I talking to myself?”
“Sasha, can we do this later?”
I vibrated with annoyance as I glared at the jail. It was a welcomed change from the aching sadness that had filled me since the judge denied Luca bail. With nowhere else to point it, Marco bore the brunt of my emotional whiplash.
Every single Moretti had lied to me and had given me false hope. Luca was decidedly in jail, the judge at the bail hearing was not the one who “owed” the family, and I hadn’t seen my own fucking husband in two weeks. Annoyance was quickly escalating to anger.
“No. You’ve put me off for weeks, and I’ve let you, thinking you were handling shit.”
“I’m in a meeting with Aldo and Joey. I’ll call you back later.”
“Don’t bother.” I ended the call and tossed my phone on the passenger seat. My body tensed with pent-up emotion, and my breaths came out in heavy pants. The rest of the world was carrying on while it left Luca behind, and there was nothing I could do to save him. I slammed my palms against the steering wheel and yelled, “Motherfucker!”
A woman walking by jumped, her hand flying to her chest. I gripped the steering wheel and gave an apologetic Midwestern tight-lipped smile. Of course, she couldn’t see through the tinted windows of the luxury SUV Luca gifted me right before the wedding. So I was sitting there, looking like a dumbass for no reason.
I made it home just as angry as I was outside the jail. Sitting in the driveway, I stared up at the beautiful brick house I shared with Luca. The cliché of a house not being a home echoed through my mind, making me even more irate.
I roughly grabbed my belongings and stomped up the walkway and through the door. My piss poor mood didn’t improve when I caught sight of the disaster inside. Unopened gifts spilled out of the dining room, blankets and pillows covered the couch and floor, and I shuddered thinking about the mess waiting for me in the kitchen.
Ryan blinked awake on his cat tree, a wide mouth yawn welcoming me home.
Dropping my purse on the cluttered entryway table, I grabbed my phone and hit Jazz’s contact.
“Jazz Graves.” The sound of shuffling papers muffled the voices in the background.
“Hey.” I smoothed the corner of the rug on my way to the kitchen.
“Give me a second.”
“Okay.” The line went silent as I opened the fridge and stared at the barren shelves. The freezer wasn’t much better and had the added pain of seeing the cake box. A few days after they denied Luca bail, I broke down and shoved it in the freezer between plates of wrapped meals. Now, all that remained was the cursed cake and a pint of freezer-burned chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.
I eyed the empty takeout containers on the counter above the cabinet that held the trashcan, wishing I hadn’t finished off the Pad Thai.
Luca’s beautiful kitchen was an absolute disaster.
“Hey, how are you?”
“Ya know, my husband’s in jail, I can’t go into the office because the media is camped out waiting for me—oh—and I just found out I’m not on Luca’s visitor list. So pretty shitty. How about you?” I got a trash bag out of the pantry.
“Doing better than you.”
Wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder, I slid the boxes off the counter.
“Geez. Thanks, Jazz.”
She laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m deep in this negotiation and in full bitch mode.”
“You’re fine. I was wondering if you had Fern Robison’s contact info or could get me a meeting?” I tied off the bag and leaned it against the cabinet. Since they insisted on invading my space, one of the guys could take it out to the trashcan.
There was a moment of silence before Jazz said, “Isn’t his family handling his legal?”
“Yes, but I can’t say I’m too impressed.” I grabbed a bottle of expensive red from the rack and went to my little fort in the living room. Flopping on the couch, I realized I’d left the opener in the kitchen.
