by Bethany-Kris
Well, had she even seen him?
It felt like her mind and heart had played a trick on her. It was as though she stepped out of that car, and saw what she wanted to see, and maybe … not what was there. Was that even possible?
Lucia didn’t know.
It felt like it.
Jesus.
But in her heart?
Her gut?
Her lungs?
That lost soul of hers?
It all said the same thing … she’d seen him.
She knew.
The parts of her that mattered—they knew.
• • •
“I thought you weren’t coming. What took you so long? I told Diego you were here, and he freaked—”
Rose Zulla’s words instantly came to a stop when her gaze fell on Lucia. Standing on the other side of the apartment’s front door staring at Renzo’s sister, that was when Lucia knew without question that it had been Renzo outside. Rose was talking like she knew someone was coming over. As though she was certain she knew who it was, and that it was someone Diego would be crazy happy to see.
Someone like Renzo.
And instead, she opened the door to find Lucia standing behind it, and not the person she expected. That was probably why when she buzzed the apartment to be let in, Rose didn’t even come on the speaker to ask who it was downstairs. She just believed it was going to be someone else because that’s what was supposed to happen.
It shouldn’t have been Lucia standing there.
It should have been him.
Renzo.
Yeah, that’s when Lucia knew for sure.
“Lucia,” Rose said quietly.
Lucia felt the way her jaw tensed in an effort to hide the fact that her bottom lip trembled. Why she felt like crying, she didn’t know. She couldn’t explain the heaviness in her heart, either, or the tightening in her chest.
Like a panic attack was coming.
The breakdown.
She’d been holding it together for so damn long. Pretending was a game she had become good at playing alone. Everyone else thought she was okay, and she was so great at making them believe it, that she could trick herself into thinking the same thing.
Nothing was wrong.
Everything was just fine.
Fuck.
She was such a liar.
Nothing was fine.
It hadn’t been for a long time.
Rose stilled in the doorway, her fingers tightening around the edge of the door like she didn’t know what to do. There was concern shining back in her eyes even as she looked beyond Lucia like she expected someone else to be standing there, or maybe even coming around the corner. No one was; it was just Lucia in the hallway.
Still, it was another sign.
“I wanted to stop by while I was in the city,” Lucia whispered.
Rose’s gaze came back to her. “You’re always welcome here.”
Yeah, sure.
Lucia nodded. “He’s back, isn’t he?”
She stopped asking Rose about Renzo a long time ago. Every time she did ask, Rose didn’t have very much to tell. It almost seemed like the young woman had given up on her brother, or at least, that’s how it felt to Lucia. She didn’t know if it hurt Rose to talk about him, but she was sure it caused Diego pain because the kid didn’t hide it. So yeah, she stopped asking.
Now, she wondered if Rose didn’t talk about him because … she had a reason to.
“He is back, then,” Lucia said quieter.
Rose sucked in a breath, and drummed her fingers against the edge of the door. “Lucia—”
“Just tell me. I thought I saw him outside, but then I thought my mind was playing tricks on me … but it couldn’t have been. I fucking felt him, Rose. He’s back, isn’t he?”
“He’s … in the city.”
Oh, my God.
Her heart screamed.
Lucia didn’t know what to say.
Rose saved her from saying anything at all when she added, “I don’t know for how long, and I can’t say much, but—”
“How long have you … known where he was, or … anything?”
She didn’t want to put a guilt trip on Rose. She certainly didn’t want to make the woman feel badly for making a choice to exclude Lucia from the details about Renzo’s life, freedom, or whatever was going on with him.
But it was hard.
Damn, it was hard.
“Two years, or so,” Rose said, glancing away. “I couldn’t tell you, Lucia. He told me I couldn’t because of their ru—”
“Okay,” Lucia murmured.
That was all she needed to know.
She didn’t need details.
“Did he happen to see you, too?” Rose asked.
“I think so.”
Rose met her stare again, and stepped back a little to open the door. “Okay, well then I don’t think he’s coming, so do you want to come in and have dinner with me and Diego? He’s going to be disappointed that Renzo isn’t coming like he thought, and you will help with that, I bet.”
Lucia should have said no.
She wasn’t in the mood to eat. She certainly wasn’t in the right state to entertain. She needed to go back to her hotel, and breakdown privately where no one could see her.
She was a mess.
Still, Lucia nodded. “Yeah, sure. Dinner sounds good.”
SEVEN
Fuck.
Renzo swore way too much as it was—he used fuck like the interchangeable word it was in his thoughts and everyday conversations. It could be anything and everything he needed when he used it. An adjective, verb … noun. A compliment, or insult.
It didn’t matter.
Right now, though?
Fuck was the only thing his mind was screaming. It was the only word that seemed to accurately describe the screw up that was this goddamn day. He knew it wasn’t that big of a deal, in a way. He could head out of the city, and pretend like Lucia hadn’t seen him. If he didn’t entertain it, then it didn’t happen.
Yeah, shit.
He could pretend.
Not that he wanted to.
God.
More than anything, he wanted to go find her. Right now. Five minutes ago. Hell, if he had the ability to turn time back, then he would have walked right across the street as soon as he saw her step out of that cab.
Except … he couldn’t.
The League and their stupid fucking rules. Lucia was the one line in the sand he didn’t even attempt to cross. He didn’t even toe it, for Christ’s sake. It wasn’t because he was unwilling to push their limits—because clearly, he would—but Lucia was the one thing he wanted so very badly.
She was the one thing that, after all these years, he still didn’t have back in one way or another. He was able to speak to his sister, and get updates about his brother. He wasn’t followed twenty-four-seven anymore. He could live on his own, and do work without someone constantly looking over his shoulder.
But her?
Lucia?
She was the only thing he didn’t have.
And whether or not The League allowed him contact with her before the five-year contract was up meant nothing once it was over. Still, he followed that rule. He stayed in line when it came to her, and their demands.
He did what he was supposed to do because Christ, he wanted her. He had to make it to the end of those five years, so he could get her.
Simple as that.
Renzo threw open the door to his hotel room, and slammed it shut far harder than was necessary. He wasn’t even thinking. Mostly, he felt like he was currently running on autopilot for the most part.
He’d hoped his stay in New York would be a couple of days longer than this—at least long enough for him to spend some time with his sister and brother. Maybe take a walk on his old streets, and get that familiar comfort running through his veins.
He was going to have to cut his time here short, but that couldn’t be helped. He knew exactly what would happen in this
city if he stayed knowing Lucia was here, too. Now that he’d laid eyes on her, and felt her near?
Oh, yeah.
He fucking knew what he would do.
Run.
Right to her.
He’d not felt this way when he was following that stupid Italian fuck around California. Even knowing she was there—somewhere nearby—he’d not purposely tried to seek her out. He knew better; knew what it would mean for himself. He thought New York was going to be safe; he figured it would be fine because she wasn’t even here.
Clearly, he’d been wrong.
Renzo was weaker than he thought.
Fuck him for it, too.
Yanking the small, navy blue duffle bag out from under the bed, Renzo tossed it to the sheets. He didn’t even bother to prop it open before he was coming back to the bag with an armful of shit that he basically just grabbed up from the table where he had set it after arriving in the city, and checking in to the room.
Clothes and other things he had brought along for this short trip. Certainly nothing he gave much of a damn about, but he was going to need it when he headed back to work. The Savino job was still very much on the table.
Renzo didn’t think he was in the right frame of mind to be working right now, but at least it would keep him focused on something else instead of the thing he wanted to do the most. He wasn’t very good at denying himself something he wanted, and so, he was going to have to put his attention somewhere else for as long as he possibly could.
He’d been willing to argue about being some fucker’s babysitter before, but screw that, now. They wanted him to babysit? Fine, that’s what he would do. Whatever got him out of this city, and kept him as far away from it as was possible.
Renzo zipped up the duffle bag, and slung it over his shoulder at the same time the phone on the bedside table started to ring. He glared at it—knowing who it probably was, and wishing he could just ignore it. He’d only given the room’s phone number to one person. His fucking sister. It would be far easier for him to apologize to Rose at a later date, over the phone instead of face to face, let her rage at him, and then she’d be over it.
Yeah, easier.
But he wasn’t a damn coward, either.
At least, he could say that.
Even if was stupid.
Before he could go ahead and prove himself wrong on the coward thing, Renzo leaned over the bed, and grabbed the ringing phone. He put it to his ear, already cringing because he knew what was about to come his way from Rose.
“Yeah, it’s Ren here,” he said calmly.
“What happened?” Rose demanded almost instantly. “Did you even consider what you did today, Ren?”
No hello.
No you’re late.
Nope.
“Avoided a problem?” he asked.
Not that he expected his sister to understand what he meant by that, but he understood. That was more than enough for him. It’s what counted.
“I told Diego you were coming, Ren!”
The level of her shout was enough for him to yank the phone away from his ear to try and save his eardrums. Jesus, Rose could get loud when she wanted to. Not that he was able to ignore the words she said because he couldn’t.
They were still ringing in the back of his mind—knives stabbing into his heart, honestly. Fuck. Yet another thing for Diego to add to his list of things Renzo failed him on. Something else to add to an already huge pile of issues he was probably never going to be able to fix where his kid brother was concerned.
Life was a joke.
Or … it liked playing jokes on him.
“Rose,” Renzo tried to say.
“No, you listen,” his sister snapped back just as fast. “I was so happy. And I thought … you were here, so it was safe for me to let him know. He’d be okay because he would get to see you. And do you know what? He was excited. He wanted to get out of school to come right home when I called in, and got them to bring him into the office.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t—”
Nope, his sister didn’t even let him try to talk.
“He loves you, Ren. He misses you all the time,” she practically hissed. “And yeah, I know he won’t get on the phone to talk when you call, but that’s because out of all the fucking things you taught him—you forgot to teach him that it was okay to say goodbye because it doesn’t always mean you won’t be back when you say it.”
Shit.
Rose wasn’t pulling any punches here. Each one that she threw out hit Renzo like a ton of bricks right to the gut. Whether or not she knew that, he couldn’t say, but they did. It hurt like a motherfucker.
“And I’m the one who has to deal with that. I am the only one tonight who will be here picking up the pieces of a little boy when he breaks all apart again. Fuck you for making me do that to him again.”
The phone line went so quiet after Rose finished her rant that Renzo almost thought she might have hung up the phone on him. After a couple of seconds, he didn’t hear the dial tone, so he figured she hadn’t hung up, and maybe it was safe to speak again.
Well, he tried to speak.
His voice failed.
What could he say?
Renzo blinked at the wall.
He’d … messed up.
Badly.
“Rose, I’m sorry.”
His sister let out a shaky breath. “God, I thought this was going to be a changing point, or something, Ren. I know you didn’t say that when you came to my shop earlier, but you were there … and I just assumed things were going to be different if you—”
“I’m sorry.”
It was the best he could do.
It was the only appropriate thing to say.
“I shouldn’t have come around yet,” Renzo muttered. “It wasn’t the right time. I just … acted rashly. I know better than that. Will you tell Diego I’m sorry?”
“No, you can do that when you see him.”
“I’m not staying in the city, Rose. I’m leaving before the night is out.”
“But you’ll be back someday, right?”
Her question came out more like a demand than anything else, and it almost made Renzo chuckle. It was like he could hear the threat in her tone—she didn’t try to tamper it. There was only one appropriate answer, and his sister wasn’t going to accept anything else.
“Someday,” he echoed.
“Good, then someday,” Rose said firmly, “you can apologize yourself. She saw you, by the way. She knew it was you.”
Renzo stilled in place.
So … then Rose did know.
Lucia had been going to visit.
Huh.
“Did she?” he asked.
Stupid man.
He knew better than to put himself in this position; knew better than to ask about her, or the conversation she might have had with Rose after he took off like an idiot. Not only would it be punishing for him personally, but it would also feel like a dangling treat on the end of the rope. One he was all too likely to chase, especially when catching the treat meant getting Lucia.
God.
He was fucked.
“I told her you were back in the city for a bit,” Rose added.
Great.
That meant a lot of things—none of them good. If his sister had confirmed to Lucia that he was well and good, plus around … well, what did that mean?
“And?” he asked.
“That woman, Ren …”
“Yeah?”
He didn’t want to know, except he did.
He shouldn’t ask, but he had.
“That woman still loves you, but it’s messed her up … you know what I mean?”
Yeah, he did.
Because he was the same.
“I gotta go, Rose,” Renzo muttered.
He waited just long enough to hear the goodbye and I love you his sister mumbled into the phone before he hung up. Readjusting the bag over his shoulder, and leaning back over the bed to hang up the hot
el phone, he straightened up with a sigh.
He had to leave. He couldn’t chase a dream he wasn’t allowed to have. He had to get out of New York.
Now.
Renzo was just stepping out of the hotel room, and readying to go downstairs to check out when the cell phone in his pocket rang. He didn’t even think about it, simply fished in his pocket as he headed down the hallway, and answered the call.
“Ren here,” he muttered, balancing the phone between his cheek and shoulder. “What’s up?”
“Got news on your subject.”
Renzo’s walk came to a stop.
He knew that voice on the phone—one of the contacts he was using to keep him informed on the whereabouts and movements of Christian Savino.
Fuck.
What now?
“What’s happening?” Renzo asked.
“Your guy is hitting a flight tonight. Thought you might wanna know because this is where my watch ends if he’s headed out of Cali.”
That was fine with Renzo. He would follow after Christian Savino, and take over the watch he was supposed to be doing, anyway.
As long as it took him out of—
“He’s going to New York,” the guy said, interrupting his thoughts. “After layovers, and all, it looks like he’ll land at about five in the morning.”
Of course.
Because this was his life now.
A fucking joke.
• • •
Renzo pulled the black rental to the side of the street a good eight car lengths down from where Christian Savino’s driver parked. He took note of the busy, popular club across the street—he suspected it had to be popular considering the line of people that went halfway down the block.
Damn.
How long had it been since he enjoyed a club?
Too long, likely.
Renzo put his attention back where it needed to be which was on his current subject. Christian didn’t step out of his vehicle until the driver who had been accompanying him during his entire stay in New York—a week, so far, though it felt like a million fucking years to Renzo—came around to the back of the vehicle, and opened his door.
The man liked his respect, Renzo noticed. He didn’t open his own doors, and hell, he wouldn’t even clear an empty dish away from himself lest it seem like he was a servant. The man never left his hotel unless he was impeccably dressed, and usually, with a man or two following behind. Always one, at the very least.
