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I pull up into my apartment complex and grimace at the state of the parking lot. It's always dirty here, despite the regular tenants like me trying to clean things up. People smoking weed in the apartment below mine wave as I make my way to the stairs, and I keep my eyes down as I pass other apartment doors of people who make me nervous.
I don't feel safe where I live. I never really have, especially now that Ace and the Wild Seven gave me the ultimatum to join them. And now that he's pissed and never wants to see me again, I doubt Domenic will send Caputo mafia members to keep an eye on me all the time.
That must have been why Big Luck found me when he did. It was good timing, despite the unorthodox interruption. I doubt he even saw Ace holding the gun to my head because he and Domenic clearly believe I'm still working with those guys.
And wasn't I tempted earlier?
Yes. So I'm no better than I was three years ago.
My chest aches as I unlock my apartment door. Evelyn and my mother aren't home right now. My mom had an appointment doing hair at a client's home and brought my toddler along to play with that client's child. They'll probably be gabbing while she puts in highlights or some shit for the next three hours.
As soon as I'm inside my apartment with the door closed, I feel moisture pool in my eyes as the panic fully sets in. God, what am I going to do? I have no income now. I can't hack here in Las Vegas, not with the Wild Seven here, ready to find me and end me or force me to join them again. We need to get out of here, but we have no funds, a mountain of debt from my father, and no other family members nearby willing to help us.
It's not the first time in my life I've felt helpless. I used to feel this way whenever my father came home, fueled by alcohol and anger at losing too much at one of his favorite casinos. He would storm in, shout, slur, and scare my mother before throwing a tantrum. She and I would sometimes hide in her bedroom under the covers on the bed with the door locked as we tried to ignore him, and I always hated seeing her cry.
Now I find myself crying as I sink into my kitchen chair and curl up, sniffling and feeling downright pathetic.
I'll allow myself just ten minutes of this. Ten minutes of tears, and then I will figure out where to hack some quick cash and leave Vegas. Debt will follow us, and danger probably will, too, but I can't be here anymore. It's home, but it's not safe. There has to besomethingwe can do.
A loud knock on my door has me shrieking and ducking under the table. For a moment, I tremble, thinking Ace has found me here. I shut my eyes tight.
"Loren. Open the door."
My chest constricts. It's Domenic. Why is he here?
Did he come to question me more? He doesn't trust me, so that must be it. I don't want to let him in, so I debate pretending I'm not home.
"I saw your car," he says through the door. "You're home. Let me in."
Damn it.
He wouldn't hurt me. I know that deep down in my bones—despite his threats, anger, and coldness, Domenic Caputo would never hurt me. Maybe his family members would, but the man who so tenderly stitched me up and whispered warm Italian in my ear in his bedroom wouldn't lay a hand on me.
Still, I hesitate, not wanting to look weaker in front of him than I already have.
"Loren."
"Go away."
"No. I need to know if you're hurt."
He's being protective now, of all times? I scoff and get out from under the table, my temper finally rearing its familiar head along with the broken, crushed sensation lingering in my chest. I crack the door open slightly to give him a dark look, ignoring that he looks so fucking handsome in his suit with his dark hair styled and that tic in his jaw.
"Am I hurt? You really want to know?" I snap.
"Yes."
He tries to push through the door, but I left to top latch in, the chain preventing the door from opening. He scowls at me, and I lift my chin, letting him see how angry I am beneath the pain in my chest.
"You asked if I trusted you. You're a fucking mafioso, Domenic. We both know we've done things we're not proud of, but I stilltrusted you. And now here I am, finding out you don't trust me. So yeah, I'm a little hurt. But physically, I'm right as rain, so get back in your fancy-ass car and get the hell out of here because I don't want to see you right now."
He examines me long and hard, something softening slightly in his dark eyes. "I do trust you."
"Bullshit. You fired me without asking a single question."
"Loren, you willingly got in that car. You were cruising along with the fucking Wild Seven. I had no way of knowing what you were talking about, and they didn't harm you, so it was natural to assume—"
He's not wrong about his assumptions—Idohave a past with them. But right now, I'm so fed up with everything going wrong in my life, including that he just assumed the worst of me, that my mouth unleashes itself before I can think twice about it.
