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“I’m not in the mood, Riff.”
He pushes past me after glaring at the socks and goes into the living room, looking about for something . . . or make that someone.
I think of getting the gun, but I don’t. Because even though I didn’t invite him in, I did open the door knowing who it was. But Diego’s here, and it’s not like Riff’s going to do anything to me.
Still, I don’t feel like talking to him. I take a swallow of my drink and stand while he perches on the sofa, eyeing the seat next to him like I should sit. I don’t.
“Where is he?” Riff asks.
I don’t answer exactly. “You sure have a lot of interest in Diego. Do you want to date him?”
“He’s a bad influence on you.”
“I’m not a child, Riff. No one’s an influence on me.”
He sighs. “Can I have a drink?”
“Why are you here?”
He folds his hands together. “Peabody told me the trouble you’re in.”
“So, you’ve said. Sort of. And that’s your problem because?”
He lets out a noisy sigh. “I’ve got plans for the future, Nadia, our future. And it’ll be beautiful. You don’t have to worry about work.”
I frown. “I like my job.”
“You’re suspended. And you thumbing your nose at the school isn’t going to improve that, just make it worse. But once we clean up the town, I get more money and power, you won’t have to worry about jobs.”
“As I said, Riff, I like my job. I like to work.”
“I don’t want my wife working, and when we have kids —”
“Riff, I’m not sure I want children. And as for your wife, I’m not marrying you, so it doesn’t concern me.”
He stands, glowering. “It’s that fucker, Fernandez, isn’t it? Offering you a little rough and tumble and adventure, putting ideas in your head. He’s a criminal. Do you know he works with organized crime? I don’t have proof, but I will, and—”
“Riff.” I set my glass down with a click and stalk up to him, poking him in his flabby dad bod stomach. “Diego Fernandez is not a rough and tumble adventure. He’s—”
“A piece of shit mafia gofer.”
“No, he isn’t. I’ve known him since I was twelve and Diego’s one of the best men I know. So, please go.”
“He’s poisoned your mind. Stop being a stupid bitch—”
A crack fills the air, and I stare horrified at my hand.
I just slapped him.
I don’t hit people.
I try to be nice, the voice of reason and understanding.
I just hit Riff, who’s jealous and probably hurting. My stomach clenches.
“I’m—”
“Fucking stupid slut.” He grabs me, fury blazing in his eyes as his fingers bite into me.
