Page 57 of The Boss
I clear my throat—clogged up at the sight of her raw and honest. Helping, in the dead of night, in my house, cleaningmycousin’s blood—and quickly shut the door.
Yeah. I’m fucked.
CHAPTER 28
Luna
“We’re going into the city?” I repeat back to Quinn who’s just found me in the kennel to inform me of the news. I put Marlon down carefully. He trots off with a pep in his step I’m envious of.
“Unless you’d rather keep sleuthing pointlessly around the grounds,” he says. His face is unreadable but his voice seems light.
Collin is going to be fine.
The whole house celebrated the news this morning, cheering for the doctor when he took a seat next to Quinn at the table during breakfast. The kitchen offered the usual meal plus special cinnamon rolls Shae only makes for special occasions. A fact Sheila, tired but as sunshiny as ever, informed me when she insisted I cut the line and eat first this morning. As if she didn’t stay up working too.
“Is this a reward for cleaning the floors?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes and sneers, “Sure. It’s not because I have to go to the office and I’d rather keep an eye on you than leave you here.”
“Why is that, when you keep claiming there’s nothing here for me to find?” I bat my lashes at him.
He sighs, annoyed. Maybe he’s not in a great mood after all. He says quickly, “I’m going to the city for the afternoon and evening. If you want your Insta phone thing, come.”
“Holy hell,” I laugh, “You really are a hundred years old. It’s Instagram. Insta-gram.” He starts to walk away. “And it’s an I-phone,” I tease, over-pronouncing the phrase. “I-ph-one.” I run to catch up with him. “Why do you need to go to the office?”
He doesn’t look at me or slow his long steps. “Why do you keep asking questions you know I won’t answer?”
I huff out a little sigh. Good question. Why do I engage with this asshole at all? He’s repeatedly rejected me, ignored me and insulted me. He’s strange and smug and irritating as hell.
But last night.
After sparring with his own men, he led his own raid. My fatherwould never.A leader plots and plans, teaches, trains. He oversees. Meet a fellow billionaire in some gentleman’s club? Sure. Show up and finish off some enemy who’s already hog tied and near death? Of course. Interrogate a rat? Occasionally. But most of the dirty work in our world is handled by soldiers and underbosses. Not the dons themselves.
“I just need to change real quick,” I say when we reach the house.
“Why? That’s fine.” He quickly glances down at my clothes. I chose fighting clothes again this morning, hoping I’d get a chance to spar at some point today.
“It’ll just take a second,” I say but he’s already turned away. Meanwhile, I have to drag my eyes away from him before hurrying into the house.
I can’t stop looking at him. He’s…
He blasted out of that car last night, screaming and gripping his fallen man to his chest. I saw the display because I was up waiting at the window, tracking arrivals. I couldn’t believe he was running, holding Collin like he weighed nothing. Collin is aQuinn. A junior version of my husband, but large compared to an average Joe off the street.
I ran down the stairs, watching his team in action. Two men moved furniture out of the way so Quinn and the others could walk through the entry. One guy pulled a whole ass armoire out of that room, the blue room. The guy who left to get the doctor was literally sprinting. Shae and Sheila were a bit panicked but they did their jobs.
And at the heart of it all was Quinn, calm and steady. Concerned but confident. All eyes were watching the doctor and Collin but mostly they were looking to him. Their leader, their don. And damn if I didn’t too. And have been ever since.
His thick dark hair, black eyes, stunning symmetrical face. He’s actually brutally handsome under the scar across the top half of his features.
And when he smiles? What scar? What psycho skull crusher? I can’t see either.
He just simply cannot be the madman the rumors have made him out to be.
So, then, who is he?
Maybe I’ll be able to find out some answers today.
“Vix, you little Russian genius, you better be right about this.” I whisper as I open the bottom of one of the pretty black bird bookends she sent. They’re huge and solid, some kind of marble. She drilled a hole and buried the tiny USB device deep. I grab it, and, as she instructed, take off my pants.
