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“What’s wrong?” Tony eyes me, his gun still pointed at one of Jianjun’s thugs.
“Andiamo, adesso,” I hiss out. We have to get the fuck out of here right now.
He nods quickly, no questions.
I race to the door with Tony at my heels and call out over my shoulder. “You’re right. I should give you a little more time. I’m a rational man, after all. The countdown has started, Jianjun, find Feng and deliver him to me or you’ll lose one man aday.”
* * *
Police? What the fuck? The cops drive off, and I shout at Mickey to pull over in front of Rose’s apartment. I texted her about a dozen times during the ride over and each unanswered message drove my blood pressure up a hundred points. A lethal mix of dread and rage twist in my gut as I shove the car door open and sprint across the sidewalk.
“Hey, D, you want me to come?” Tony calls out.
“No, stay there. I’ll let you know if I need you.”
Some woman opens the door to the building, and I barrel by her nearly knocking the grocery bag from her shoulder.
“Hey, watch it!” She yells from behind me, but I barely make out her words over the roar of my pulse.
Cazzo, Rose should not be living in a building like this. No doorman? No security? Any asshole can just barge in.
When I reach the third floor, sweat already soaks my shirt, sticking to my jacket. Since the moment I got that text, irrational fear has been carving at my insides. Rose was so pissed at me. Whatever happened must be bad for her to reach out.
Apartment 3D stands at the end of the hall and even from this distance I can make out the splintered wood.Cazzo. It was a good thing Stella had given me her best friend’s address when she made me vow to keep an eye on her, otherwise I never would’ve found the place.
I sprint the last few feet and barrel through the teetering door. “Rose?”
She sits on the couch, knees tucked to her chest. Her eyes are puffy and red, and a swollen welt mars her left cheek. Fury soaks my being, surging through every inch of me. “Who did this to you?” My voice isn’t my own, it belongs to the monster I keep buried deep inside. I fall to my knees in front of her and wrap my hands around her bare ankles. “Rose, please, tell me what happened?”
A tear streams down her cheek, and she swats it away. “I—I don’t know.” She glances toward the kitchenette, and I spot a withered yellow rose on the counter, then an entire vase full of them.
“Rose, talk to me.” I force my voice to soften, but a tremor of rage laces my tone. I cant my head toward the dead flowers. “Who are those from?”
She shakes her head and swallows hard, the delicate column of her throat bobbing. Her shoulders heave, and she sucks in a ragged sob.
My fingers clench into fists, my nails digging into my palms. I’m fairly certain I’ve drawn blood. Wouldn’t be the first time and sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. I jump up and cross the small living room to the wilted bouquet. My nostrils flare at the pungent odor of death and decay. I pluck the notecard from the vase and scan the dark scrawling.
Crumpling the card in my fist, I slam it onto the countertop. The entire damned kitchenette trembles. “Thatpezzo di merda! It was that patient from your office, wasn’t it? Did he come here? Did he hurt you, Rose?” I eat up the space between us and fold onto the couch beside her. “Tell me, damn it!” No one threatens what’s mine and lives. And while Luca and Stella are gone, Rose is mine.
Her lips screw into a pout and more tears spill down her cheeks. They race a track across the bruise beginning to form on her left side. “He… he was in my apartment when I got home,” she stammers.
“When did he send those roses?” I didn’t know much about flowers, but they seemed dead as shit.
“A couple days ago,” she whispers.
“When exactly, Rose?” If the cops were here, they must have asked the same.
“The night before my interview at Palestra.”
“Cazzo, Rose! Why didn’t you tell me?” I leap up and drag my hand through my hair. I knew something was off when I saw her that morning at the gym.
“I’m not your problem, Dante. And I didn’t think it was such a big deal. I can handle myself.”
“Obviously you can’t,” I hiss. I pace the short length of the studio, and my gaze catches on a pile of discarded clothes beside her bed. Her yoga pants, the ones I’d seen her in earlier today and her panties. Torn.
Deep crimson consumes my vision, and I spin back toward her, my heart a battering ram against my ribs. “Did he--?” I can’t even say the words. Raw fury consumes my chest, and I can barely drag in a breath.
Rose draws her legs tighter against her chest, and she dips her chin to her knees, squeezing her eyes closed.
