Lorenzo (Chicago Ruthless, #3)

by Sadie Kincaid

To my beautiful Fin, Know that I would trade it all for one more anything…

What a kind soul she was. How she was a light in this dark fucking world. Both true. How God has called her home. Fucking liar. Her home is here. With me.

I want to feel anything other than this deep gnawing emptiness that consumes me—eating through my bones and feasting on my soul. The shadow of the umbrella arches over my head again, and a growl of warning rumbles in my throat. There’s a sigh of exasperation. The shadow disappears.

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.

Her final words ring in my ears—my dearest love—and they rip a fresh gaping wound in the center of my chest.

How could I, the most powerful fucking man in Chicago, not save her? Despite all my money, my resources, and my family’s name—a name that can move fucking mountains—I couldn’t give her even one more moment.

My heart shudders violently, reminding me that it’s broken beyond repair.

She was the best person I’ve ever known. The best part of me. And now she’s gone.

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.

TWO YEARS LATER

“And I want you and this entire goddamn house cleaned by the time I finish my shift tonight,” he says, his bared teeth making him look like a diseased weasel. To compare my husband to a dog would be far too kind; dogs are loyal and protective and sweet. He fastens his belt, the metal buckle clattering loudly. “I ain’t fucking you in that state.”

With a final curl of his lip, he turns around, grabs his gun, and strides out of the kitchen—transforming into Sergeant Mulcahy, upstanding and decorated officer of the Boston PD.

With the light on, my gaze is drawn straight to the mirror over the sink, but there’s no need to prepare myself for the sight that greets me. How sad is that? I can’t remember the last time I looked in a mirror after one of Brad’s outbursts and felt shocked or surprised by what he’d done to me. Sad and hurt—that still gets me every time—but not surprised.

I always clean my face before getting into the shower to survey the rest of the damage and to clean his cum from between my thighs. Bruises on my body I can hide, but bruises on my face require more care.

There’s a gash above my right eye and the deep purple bruise spreads over my entire cheekbone. Lifting my chin, I study the fingertip-shaped bruises around my neck and touch the cut on my bottom lip. I give myself a confident smile. This is the last time.

I climb into the car and, with a deep breath, run my hands over the steering wheel. This is it. My ticket to freedom. It’s been a long time coming.

I look down at the droplets of his blood on my black shoe, and that simmering rage bubbles dangerously close to the surface. They’re made from the finest Italian leather, but I don’t give a fuck about that. I do give a fuck about the fact that my wife bought them for me a few weeks before she …

Okay, so maybe I do still have a heart, but it’s shattered into a thousand fragments. The few slivers capable of any positive emotion belong mostly to this little girl and her two younger brothers. “What are you running from, my little Ella?” She stares up into my face, her dark brown eyes so full of trust and innocence that I sway on my feet. “Dinosaur Daddy.” She lets out another giggle as Dante comes charging down the hallway after her, the pink tiara on his head at odds with his dinosaur-like roar.

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?

“There’s someone at the gate.” I check my watch. “It’s 2:00 a.m. Tell ’em to fuck off.” I stretch my neck out and the sharp pain turns to a dull ache. “I would, but …” My scowl has him flinching back. “But?” “She says she’s Mrs. Moretti’s cousin.”

“Her cousin is here? Now?” “Yeah. That’s what she said. She asked for Kat.”

“Tell her to come back tomorrow.” “I would, but …” He scrubs at the stubble on his chin. God, who the fuck is this guy? Is he new? He’s really testing my fucking patience. “But what?” I snap. “I told her Mrs. Moretti wasn’t home, and she said she has nowhere else to go—” “So tell her to wait in her fucking car.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “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.

“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.

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.

“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.”

“Thank you so much. I can’t imagine what you must be thinking having me turn up on your doorstep like this.” “That you’re running from your husband?” I offer with a disinterested shrug. My tone is clipped and harsh, but if she takes any offense, she doesn’t show it. “Yup. You read me right,” she says with a soft laugh. “I guess you’re good at reading people in your business.” I arch an eyebrow at her. “And that is?” She shrugs. “Mafia stuff.”

“People don’t usually say it so bluntly. Not to my face.”

“Do you always say what you’re thinking, or is it a nervous thing?” “Oh, almost always,” she says, walking past me into the kitchen and leaning up against the massive wooden table. She studies me curiously. “And I’m not nervous.”. I narrow my eyes at her. Who the hell is this woman? “You’re not? You’re in this house, alone, with a man who does Mafia stuff, and you’re not even a little nervous?” “Not even a little.”

“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.”

“You got all that from a few hours in our company?” “Love like that can’t be masked. A few moments in your company would have told me the same.”

I watch her intently, fascinated by this woman who seems to have every reason to be terrified and depressed but might just be the happiest person I’ve ever met.

“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. “Why?” “Why?” The bitter laugh sounds unnatural coming from her lips. “You think there’s ever a reason to do this to someone you’re supposed to love?”

“No, but I meant did something provoke him?” “Umm …” She presses her lips together as though deep in thought. “This morning it was because the cereal was too soggy.” My brow furrows. “What?” “I poured the milk too soon, therefore rendering his cereal inedible,” she says with a resigned shrug. “So this was a common occurrence?” “If you call once every other month common, then yes.” “And it was always your fault, right? You made him act that way?” “You know the script?”

“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 …”

“But hope’s a dangerous thing, right? Sometimes I think it’s the most powerful force in the universe.”

“We can live without most things, even love. But without hope, well, we have nothing left worth living for.” I

“No. There isn’t always a ray of light, Mia. Sometimes there’s just darkness and nothing beyond it.”

“But there’s a ray of light to be found in even the darkest of situations.”

“It’s true. Sometimes you have to look real hard to find it. But it’s always there, even if it’s just the tiniest speck of light. And when you do find it, well, then it’s your job to nurture it until it grows bigger and the light begins to outshine the darkness. Eventually, light will be all that’s left.” “That’s your philosophy, is it?”

The smile that lights up her face makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I need to break this connection between us, but I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from her.

Dante is really pleased you’re here, and I know Lorenzo seems a bit grumpy …” “He was quite sweet actually.” She pops a perfectly manicured eyebrow at me. “Lorenzo? Sweet?” “I mean, I rocked up in the middle of the night looking like this.” I wave a hand over my face. “But the guy barely batted an eyelid. Then I talked his ass off and he didn’t tell me to shut up once.” “Hmm.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Brad set the bar way too low if you think Lorenzo Moretti is sweet.”

Dante’s holding Gabriella upside down and pretending to dip her into a bowl of oatmeal. “No, Daddy!” she squeals with delight, and he pulls her into his arms and tickles her. Joey sits on the other side of the table with her husband, Max. I met them both at Kat’s wedding, but they weren’t together then. Joey shouts to Marco that he needs to save his sister from their monster Daddy while Max laughs at them all. Lorenzo is seated at the head of the table, holding baby Micah in his arms and shaking his head in bemusement. He says something to Micah, who smiles up at him in response, but the kitchen is too noisy for me to hear what he said.

“So, what’s the plan?” Max asks as soon as Dante sits down at the table. “I can be there and back in a day. Make it look like an accident? A suicide?” Lorenzo scowls. “No. I’ll do it.” “You sure that’s wise?” Dante asks him. “You think I’m not capable of handling this?” Lorenzo barks. I watch them with morbid fascination. They’re clearly talking about one of their enemies, but I’m shocked they’d discuss killing someone so openly in front of me. I guess I really am family, huh? Dante huffs and rolls his eyes. “Don’t be fucking ridiculous, Loz. But you have been a little …” He winces. “A little what, D?” “Psycho?” Max offers. “Not helpful,” Joey chides her husband. “You haven’t been your usual levelheaded self is all,” Dante says. “And this needs to be clean. The guy’s a cop.” “I fucking know that,” Lorenzo says with a snarl. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “A c-cop?” Everyone turns and looks at me. “Who are you talking about?” I ask, even as my heart races. I think I know the answer. “Your piece-of-shit husband,” Lorenzo replies,

don’t know. But I don’t want you to kill him.” Lorenzo’s jaw ticks as he glares at me. “Shame you don’t get a vote.” “Loz,” Dante warns. “Are we killing this guy or not?” Max asks. Lorenzo scowls. “Yes.” “No,” I insist.

“I’d hate for anyone to get hurt or get into any trouble because of me. Brad’s a cop. He has a lot of friends in high places. I just don’t think he’s worth anybody’s time or trouble.” That’s not what she means at all. I see it in every movement of her body. Every shadow on her face. What she actually means is that she doesn’t think that she’s worth the time or the trouble. That motherfucker really did a number on her. “What I don’t get is why you wouldn’t want that sick fuck to feel even a fraction of the pain he forced you to endure.” “It wasn’t that bad—” “Have you looked in the fucking mirror today, Mia?” She flinches,

“I am well aware of what I look like, Lorenzo. But how is hurting Brad going to change any of what he did to me? You think if I could take back every single bruise, every single scar, every single time he raped me, every single moment I lived in fear that the next time he might kill me, that I wouldn’t do it in a heartbeat?”

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.

“Muscle pain?” “Mia’s a trained and certified massage therapist,” my cousin explains. “Really? Huh. Lorenzo’s had a stiff neck for a few weeks. He insists on sleeping on the sofa instead of in a bed.”

“You play beautifully.” He doesn’t respond. Instead he glares at me so fiercely that I feel like I might burst into flames. “It’s really hard to play Tchaikovsky. I’ve tried,” I add with a weak laugh. His eyes narrow. “You know that song?” “‘Flight of the Swans?’ Of course. It’s from the most famous ballet ever.” Looking down, he rubs a hand over his beard. “It was Anya’s favorite.” I pluck up the courage to step closer. “Where did you learn to play like that?” “My mom taught me.” “She must have been a good teacher.” A faint smile flickers over his lips. “She was.”

It’s my fault he stopped playing, and now he’s leaving and I desperately want to ask him to stay. I’m sure that his wife’s favorite song brings him some comfort, and now he looks so sad and lonely. But I also want him to stay because I feel something in his presence, something I haven’t felt in such a long time that I don’t even know how to describe it. Safe? Seen?