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“You have a fucking problem with that?”
“It’s just… she’s kinda beat up, Boss.”
I sit up straighter. Kat only has one living relative. Mia, I think. I vaguely recall meeting her at Kat and Dante’s wedding. She left early. “What do you mean, beat up?” My short tone matches my patience.
He frowns. “Like someone hurt her real bad. Her face is a mess.”
I jump to my feet. What the fuck is going on? “Who hurt her?”
“I-I don’t know. I didn’t ask. She just asked for Kat and said she has nowhere else to go.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, slipping on my shoes. “This is all I fucking need.”
“Should I tell ’em to open the gates, Boss?”
“Yes,” I reluctantly grumble.
He tries to hide his smile by dipping his head and hurrying from the room.
I stalk through the house, my head pounding and my hands balled into fists. Kat and Dante have one fucking night away in two years, and that’s when her cousin decides to show up. This is just my luck all fucking over.
By the time I get to the driveway, there’s an old green Mustang pulling to a stop a few feet away. Folding my arms across my chest, I wait for the damsel in distress to get out and run crying to the safety of our mansion. If she thinks she’ll get any sympathy from me, she’s sorely mistaken. I’ll show her to the guest room and leave her for Kat to deal with tomorrow. I don’t have the time or the energy for emotional women.
The car door opens, revealing one long tanned leg, followed by another. She’s wearing a bright yellow dress—the color of sunshine. She turns and spots me, and I frown. Cue the tears, right?
Wrong. She gives me a smile; a huge ass smile that lights up her entire face. Even from here, I can see the dried blood on her lip and eyebrow and the colorful welt covering most of her cheekbone. Assessing for further damage, I allow my eyes to travel the length of her body. Down her neck and the fingertip-shaped bruises partially hidden by her honey-blond hair. Her collarbone. More bruises. My lingering gaze comes to a halt at her chest, where her tits strain against the taut yellow fabric.
“You must be Lorenzo?” Her voice, sweet like nectar, cuts through the quiet night. The guard who alerted me to her arrival returned to his station at the gate, and the others are making their rounds, patrolling the perimeter. She and I are alone. My pulse thrums against my neck, and I swallow harshly.
“It is Lorenzo, right?” she asks again, and I finally manage to tear my eyes from her chest.
“Yeah.” My voice comes out an octave higher than usual, and I’m fucked if I know why.
She walks closer. “I’m so sorry about this, but I literally have nowhere else to go.” The breeze ruffles her hair, carrying the scent of jasmine and lemon through the air between us. “You might not remember me, but I met you at Kat and Dante’s wedding. You and your lovely wife. Anya, right?”
The sound of her name makes me sway on my feet. Nobody says her name. Nobody talks about her for fear that they will unleash the rage that’s lived inside me since I lost her. I’d forgotten the power of her name. Forgotten how it’s like music to my dark soul.
“I was so sorry to hear about her passing.” She continues to approach me, seemingly oblivious to my distress. “She was a beautiful person. We spoke about her illness.”
I frown at her, unconvinced. Anya never talked about her cancer with anyone. “You did?”
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “I think it’s sometimes easier to talk to strangers, you know? Although I can talk to anyone. I talk too much. I always have. I’m a babbler.”
“Yeah, I got that,” I mutter, turning on my heel and walking back into the house.
Not bothering to wait for an invitation, she follows me inside. “Will Kat be back tomorrow?”
“Yes. After breakfast. I’ll show you to a guest room and you can see her when she gets home.”
“Oh, I need to grab my bag.” She giggles lightly. “I was so excited to get here and finally pee that I forgot to get it out of the trunk.” She’s certainly very happy for a woman who looks like she went a round with a heavyweight champ not too long ago.
“I’ll have one of my men fetch your bag.”
“Thank you. And that bathroom?” Gazing up at me, she chews on her bottom lip.
I frown. “What?” My brain feels like it’s misfiring. Maybe it’s having my sleep interrupted? Or maybe it’s listening to this strange woman talk about my wife like she knows her.
She laughs again. “I need to pee,” she reminds me.
