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I’ve said what I had to about that. Turning as Mona appears in the doorway, I hold up my hand. She comes to a stop, a curious look on her weathered features.
“You called for me, Mr. Lincoln?”
“Yes. I was just talking to my wife and she mentioned that there might have been a few of my men not treating her with the respect she deserves. Now, we both know how sweet Ava is.” As Mona nods in agreement, I try to keep the predator’s edge out of my grin as I add, “And we know what kind of man I am. So, please, as a favor to me… what did they say?”
I’ve known Mama Mona since I was four. She’s always treated me as her own, and when I found out she was being evicted from her shitty apartment through a landlord’s slimy loophole all because it was rent-controlled, I moved her in with me, giving her a job, and a second lease on life.
My mother kicked me out on my eighteenth birthday. I’d stopped thinking of her as any kind of maternal figure long before she did. That was all Mona.
Sometimes I think she still has some idyllic idea of who Lincoln Crewes is. Deep down, she has to know how I built my wealth, but she’s spent eight years pretending that she doesn’t.
As she wrings her hand together, looking from me to Ava and back, I’m sure she’s weighing how much to tell me.
That right there is a big clue that I’m not going to like it.
“Mona. Please.”
Her bottom lip trembles. “Oh, Mr. Lincoln. They think she’s… I can’t say it. It was so cruel.”
Cruel? “I still want to know.”
“Whore,” snaps my wife. “Happy? I heard one of them joke that you finally fell for one of the whores, okay? And they were looking right at me when I heard them talking about it.” She lets her own fork fall to her plate, covering her face with her hand. “It was humiliating.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Lincoln. I sent them away, and I was going to tell you—”
“But I told her not to,” Ava cuts in, speaking through the gaps in her fingers. “It’s not her fault they got the wrong idea about me.” She pauses, dropping her eyes to the table. “About us.”
No. It’s not Mona’s fault, is it?
It’smine.
Ice floods my veins. I haven’t felt that sort of detachment since the fateful night when I hacked Skittery’s head off of his neck, but it hits me now as I realize just how oblivious I was in my happiness.
So damn pleased that I maneuvered Ava into being my wife, I was blind to how some of the men were treating her. Just because they got their kicks, getting close to the girls at the club, somehow they got the idea that Ava was one of them.
It’s my fucking fault. I didn’t make it clear enough after the altercation at the club. Those in my inner circle—my underboss, my counselors—they know she’s my wife. The soldiers just know she’s to be protected.
Lord knows rumors spread, too. I beat the shit out of a wallet for trying to bring Ava upstairs, so why wouldn’t some of the lower-ranked syndicate members get the idea that she was another one of the sex workers at the Playground.
But for her to hear them… for her to think that’s what she is to me… for my Ava to even doubt for one second that she’s the most important person in this world to me?
That she’s my goddamnwife?
It’s my fucking fault—but I’ll fix it. I’ll find out from Mona who exactly spoke about my wife like that in her hearing, and I’ll take care of them.
And that’s not all.
What do I have to prove that she’s mine?
Show those who are putting doubts in my Ava’s pretty little head that I’mhers.
SIXTEEN
ON DISPLAY
LINCOLN
The Devil’s Playground isn’t just our moneymaker.
