Lorenzo (Chicago Ruthless, #3)

by Sadie Kincaid

How God has called her home. Fucking liar. Her home is here. With me.

What if I could drown in this? Open my mouth and let the rainwater fill my throat and my lungs while everyone stands around crying fake tears and holding handkerchiefs to their faces? Or what if I simply opened her casket and crawled inside with her?

Took her in my arms and lay with her for eternity, like I was supposed to. That was the fucking deal, Anya! Forever! You promised me forever.

The devil himself dragged me to hell with the visceral tearing of her soul from this world.

My heart shudders violently, reminding me that it’s broken beyond repair. As if I could fucking forget.

And I’m left to endure this life without her. Left with no heart and only half a soul and the knowledge that I’ll never love another woman for the rest of my days. I promised her that when she closed her eyes for the final time, and it’s a promise I will keep with my dying breath.

To compare my husband to a dog would be far too kind; dogs are loyal and protective and sweet.

Tears stream down my face, and he wraps his arms around my head and neck, pulling me into his shoulder. “This has to stop, Loz.” “I know,” I admit. But what if I can’t stop?

I’ve learned since my wife’s death, it’s that those memories bring nothing but grief. Better to concentrate on my anger at not having her than any of the love or happiness that we shared. That’s the only way I can keep putting one foot in front of the other. The only way I go on surviving for the people who need me. Because the thought of my family having to suffer even a fraction of my torment is the only thing that stops me from giving into the darkness completely.

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.

“The way you looked at her. Like you would hang the moon for her.” She sighs softly. “Every woman deserves a man who looks at her like that. Everyone deserves someone who adores them. Someone who would die for them.”

“Who did that to you?” Her eyes flicker to mine. They’re hazel again now. “My husband. Like you said.” I knew it. That fucking bastard.

“And now you’re wondering why I stayed so long.” “I never said that.” “I’d ask me that if I were you. Ten long years I stayed with him. Hoping …” She shakes her head. “But hope’s a dangerous thing, right? Sometimes I think it’s the most powerful force in the universe.”

I take a sip of my coffee to distract myself from thoughts of her having sex, because for some reason that I can’t identify, the thought of the asshole who gave her those bruises putting his hands on her in any way makes me see red.

I need to break this connection between us, but I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from her.

Joey scoffs. “That’s like a snack. Not breakfast.” “You only say that because you can’t function without coffee and sugar, baby girl.” Max teases her good-naturedly, and she flutters her eyelashes at him in response.

She doesn’t look like she’s buying my feigned disinterest; she’s staring at me with an expression full of curiosity and awe—as though I’m some hero who’s going to save her. I’m not. I can’t even save myself.

“Anyway, help yourself to the books in there. I added my own special section,” she adds with a pop of one eyebrow. I waggle my eyebrows back. “Oh?” “You enjoy reading porn too, Mia?” Dante asks with a wicked grin.

She presses deep into my muscles, causing waves of pain and relief to roll through my body. It hurts so fucking good … I close my eyes and clamp my mouth shut so I don’t groan her fucking name, because fuck me, her hands are magical.

Her warm breath dances over my cheek and, without warning, all the blood in my body rushes south. What the motherfucking fuck!

She looks just like … Just like what, asshole? Just like a ray of fucking sunshine.

I despise him for making her feel bad for being who she is. But I despise myself even more for having anything in common with that motherfucker.

After Mia left the library, I kept seeing that tormented look I put on her face. The hurt I etched there. And then I imagined her gazing at me like that for an entirely different reason. What if I could give her a completely different kind of hurt? The kind that walks the thin line between pleasure and pain.

I hold out my hand. “Friends?” “Friends.” She curls her delicate fingers around mine, and I try to ignore the warmth that spreads through my forearm at her touch, curling itself like a snake through my veins.

But he’s just a friend. Nothing more. He’s clearly still grieving for his wife, and I’m still married.

“You’re welcome.” He takes a bite for himself, licking the fork—the one that was just in my mouth—clean before scooping up another chunk and holding it out to me.

“It’s a pleasure to watch a beautiful woman enjoy her food.”

He places the wet dishes on the drainer to dry, and I’m struck by how comfortable he looks doing such a domestic chore.

“For the record, I think your ass, and the rest of your body, is fucking perfect.”

Honey-blond hair. No! Ash-blond hair. I recall the sweet scent of her. Jasmine and lemon—no, vanilla and almond.

Cop or not, I will shoot Brad Mulcahy where he stands before I let him anywhere near Mia.

Mia smiles sweetly. Is she aware of the effect she has on me? If she is, she should run. Instead, she comes closer. So fucking close, I swear I can hear her heartbeat. Or is that mine? I can’t even think straight anymore.

My heart beats frantically against my ribcage, like it’s trying to break free and remind me that we’re broken and we can’t do this. But I am lost in the feel of her

I want to feel. It’s been so long since I’ve enjoyed the pleasure of a woman. So fucking long.

Two years’ worth of anger and guilt and frustration and sadness. And she took it all.

I was too rough. Too hard. I didn’t even get her off. And now it’s over, the rush of endorphins already leaving my body, replaced by more guilt and anger.

Zipping up my pants, I avert my eyes, unable to look at her. “Lorenzo?” “I’m sorry, Mia.” There’s nothing else I can say. I still don’t look at her as I walk away, leaving her alone in the library.

“She’s my wife’s cousin. She’s not …” I frown at him. “Not what?” “In a good place?” he offers with a shrug. “Mia is one of the strongest, most together women I’ve ever met.” My instinct to defend her takes us both by surprise.

The way it almost ripped my fucking heart out when she told me we had no chemistry—the knowledge that if I still had a heart, she would have eviscerated it.

His eyes darken to black orbs. “You should be more careful, sunshine.”

Then he dips his head, hot breath dusting over the skin of my neck and making me shiver. “You seriously think we don’t have chemistry, Mia?” he asks with a low growl that travels directly between my thighs.

make my way to the library. She’s here. Of course she is. I can’t avoid her—or maybe I can’t stay away from her.

“Please?” I whimper, desperate for more. He arches an eyebrow. “Begging, sunshine? You have no idea how much I enjoy that.”

I’m practically fucking feral with the need to drive my cock inside her, but establishing her consent is a big deal for me. Thank fucking god she said yes.

She’d make an amazing sub.

“We can’t do this again, Mia,” I say quietly, unable to look her in the eyes. She curls her fingers in my hair, her warm breath tickling my ear as her heart races against my own. “I know.”

“If it’s still the same day, it counts as the one time, right?”

Family is everything, and Kat is my family. At least that’s what I’m telling myself to justify my commitment to Mia’s well-being.

How many times did their hands caress these pages while being absorbed in another world? That’s the true beauty of reading—being able to be anywhere you want while staying right where you are.

“You know what hearing you beg does to me.” I do know. It drives him wild, and I love it. “Please, Lorenzo,” I whine.