Page 74 of The Mafia's Bride
“Who?”
“The guy with the gun.” Her shoulders deflate. “He took everything. My phone, my purse. Even my new clothes. The bastard even took my mother’s cross.” Fresh tears fall from her eyes, and I hurriedly wipe them away. “I was so scared, Lex. I didn’t know what to do. I’ve never had a gun held up to me before.”
She laughs, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “That’s so stupid to say out loud given who my father was, but I’ve never touched a gun. Maeve never wanted us to.”
Nodding, I rub soothing circles along her back. “Don’t apologize, Sloane. Having a gun in your face is not something just anyone can handle.” Tenderly, I kiss her temple, feeling her relax further against me.
That prick’s days are numbered. The rage I feel is hotter than what I savage. The urge to defend my family, to protect my wife, thrashes in my gut.
This city will know my wrath before the night is over.
“Let’s get you home.”
She nods again, letting me lead. She’s so pliable, standing when I move her, waiting for me by the door while I grab my phone and keys.
I wanted her submission but not like this. Someone broke my wife in ways I never would, and I have to fight the urge to hunt the streets for him. Sloane needs me first and I’ll be damned if I leave her now.
“He didn’t take it,” she whispers. I stop to stare at her, and she waves her hand in my face.
The diamond ring.
It’s odd that the five-carat ring wasn’t the first thing snatched. Why would someone take an old gold cross, worthless by most thieves’ standards, but not the most expensive item on her person? I’m going to find out.
I don’t release her hand as I take us down to the car, ignoringTony rubbing his sore neck. “Drive,” I growl at a guard, throwing him my keys.
I settle Sloane into my lap and hold her as the guard takes us home.
29
LEX
Icarry her bridal-style into my room, bypassing Maria and Nico’s concerned looks. I can’t tell them what happened, not yet. I’ll fucking lose my mind. And right now, I need to focus on Sloane’s wellbeing.
Entering the bathroom, I place her on the counter, turning to the soaking tub, throwing every kind of bubble bath imaginable into the hot water. I’m sure that was Maria’s contribution to Sloane’s arrival. She always wanted a daughter.
I glance back to my wife, seeing the far-off look. She’s hunkering into herself, avoiding the trauma. My wife will fight for anything, fight anyone, but when things get too real, she runs.
She’s hiding from me, now.
That won’t do.
Grabbing her chin, I make her eyes lock with mine.
“Tell me what you’re feeling.”
She shrugs limply. “Nothing. Just numb.”
I tilt my head, studying her. Things fall into place rapidly. “Does that happen often? The numbness?”
She sighs, body deflating, nose sniffling as the room fills with steam. She bites her bottom lip, debating on answering.
How little does anyone ask her if she’s alright? Or do they see her mask, the party-girl persona and assume that’s all she is? Sloane is so much more than that superficial woman. She can offer so much more to this world.
“It does. Not as much in these last few weeks.”
The giant map begins to take shape, everything leading me to view the beautiful picture of Sloane.
Her refusal to release me until we were somewhere safe. Her need to be accepted. The party-girl routine that the tabloids love to exploit.
