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Mona can.
Whether she missed out on the first part of their conversation or it hit a point where she just couldn’t ignore it any longer, the grandmotherly housekeeper finally snaps.
Laying her wooden spoon on the spoon rest, she wipes her hands on her apron, storming across the kitchen. When she reaches the threshold, she perches her hand on her hips.
“You talk like that in Ms. Ava’s home, tak? When she can hear you?”
Oh, God. This is even more embarrassing. I mean, I know what Mama Mona is doing. Like always, she’s standing up for her children, but I was hoping I can slink out of here without passing the two gangsters.
Welp. Not now.
Because staying hidden in the kitchen would make me look like a coward in addition to being awhore,I join her at the threshold, looking at the two men who were talking about me.
One is the shaggy-haired, twenty-something who’s been here all afternoon. The other is a skinny blonde with a perpetual smirk and an ill-fitting suit. I don’t recognize him—he must be a new soldier on babysitting duty—but his dark eyes look right through me.
Next to me, Mona says something in Polish, too fast for me to pick up any of the words I’ve learned from her. Whatever it is, she’s obviously scolding them, and the one with the shaggy hair actually looks contrite; he must understand the language. The other one just throws a leer at me.
Right. Because I’m Devil’s whore, huh?
And despite how often he calls me his wife, or the fact that he branded me with his name, I can’t even argue that they’re wrong.
It’ll be real from the moment you say ‘I do’
For me, maybe. Obviously not for Link.
Pushing past the leering asshole, leaving Mona to ream them out again, I disappear down the hall. I can’t find it in me to go to our bedroom right now, and I let myself into Link’s library, flopping down on the chaise lounge I’ve never seen him use.
Right. Because he’s rarely fuckinghere.
Oh, Ava… I always knew I was naive.
I guess I thought, by the time I reached my mid-thirties, I’d have grown out of it.
Too bad I obviously haven’t.
FIFTEEN
DINNERTIME
LINCOLN
Having dinner with Ava is the highlight of my day.
There’s something about coming home to a shy smile and a homemade meal, sitting down at the table with her, and just talking about regular shit. I don’t have to talk about the hits I approved or ordered, the guns that arrived at the warehouse, or how much the Playground made overnight.
We have an unspoken rule that, when we’re together at home, I can go back to being Lincoln—to being Ava’sLink—while leaving Devil and all that poor bastard’s responsibilities and dark reputation at the door.
Do I know that I’m fooling myself?
Of course I do. I can’tnotbe Devil any more than I can go back in time and return to being the boy that Ava first fell in love with. But can I do whatever it takes to make my wife fall in love with me again?
Fuck if I know, but I’m going to try.
I bring her flowers. I ask her about her day, and she lies about how much she doesn’t hate being trapped in the penthouse. I promise to take her out before, inevitably, my business phone rings and I have to grab another soldier to watch over her while I go out to take care of things…
Maybe it’s not what I thought married life would be like when I fantasized about marrying Ava Monroe when I was seventeen, but we’re still working things out. It’s only been a month, and while I’m damn sure to spend every night in bed with my wife, everything’s still new for both of us. I still lose my temper when I think about that stupid bastard who laid his hands on my Ava. Add that to how Burns keeps me updated on how the “search” for “missing person” Joseph Maglione is going—strong-armed by a member of the Libellula Family, the cop confirms—and I can’t risk letting her step foot out of the penthouse again unless I’m right there at her side.
When we’re sitting in the dining room, sharing a meal, chatting about stupid shit like a real couple, I can fool myself into thinking that shechoseme. That she wanted me as her husband instead of being forced into saying ‘I do’ with me.
