Page 92 of Devil's Iris

After meeting Lori, the executive director of The Meadows, she walked me through everything about the rehab center, even showed me pictures of the home. And without thinking twice, I signed the papers, leaving Mom with no choice.

Romero and I stand side by side in front of the house, our differences forgotten for now, as we watch the car drive off.

“She’s not your problem anymore,” he says quietly.

I manage a sad smile. “She’s always going to be my problem.” Whether I like it or not, she’s my mother. And despite everything, I love her.

He turns toward me, and something in his expression softens—just a fraction. But I catch it.

“You didn’t have to come here,” I whisper. “Didn’t have to get her into rehab.” Didn’t have to spend more money on a marriage you no longer want.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just studies me with those intense eyes until I start fidgeting under his scrutiny. Then he tilts his head towards the SUV. “Come.”

“Romero…”

His hand finds my waist, and my whole body sparks to life as warmth spreads from that single point of contact. His palm flexes against me like he feels it too, but he doesn’t say a word as he leads me towards his SUV and opens the back door.

When I climb in, he shuts it and walks over to Dean, who’s been standing patiently by the Maybach. They exchange a few quick words, then Romero circles back and gets into the SUV from the other side.

“Now, let’s make something crystal clear since you don’t seem to get it yet,” he says when he settles into the seat. His eyes bore into mine, and I can’t look away even if I wanted to. “You became mine the moment you came to me for help, Leni. You’re mine. And you’re going toremainmine.”

His voice thickens as he speaks, his eyes growing so intense they send fire racing through me. My chest heaves with my heavy breath, my core clenching.

Mine. He said mine.

“Do you understand?” he asks, and I nod, even though I don’t really get it. “Use your words, Leni.”

“I understand.” It comes out as barely more than a breath, but he hears it and nods, satisfied.

“Good. Don’t ever try to talk to me about a goddamn divorce again.”

33

ROMERO

“Did you know your mother–in–law has been in touch with Mikkel Verona?” Sandro drops this bombshell while I’m scanning the report he just slapped on my desk. A report that clearly states the Verona Outfit as responsible for John Barlowe’s death. The same criminal gang that sent John to spy on me.

“She can’t cause much trouble from the rehab,” I mutter, glancing up at Sandro’s smug face. “Now, tell me what the hell this report means.”

“Oh, you’re going to love me for this.” Sandro grins and drops into the chair across from my desk. “When I noticed how smitten you’d gotten with your wife–”

“I’mnotsmitten.”

“—I decided to have a little chat with Hansen. You remember Hansen, right? He was the one assigned to take Barlowe out back then.” He continues talking right over my denial, which is probably smart. “So I asked him straight up: how exactly did you kill John? And why didn’t we get a trophy? A finger, a toe, hell, even a tooth—anything. And guess what? Hebroke.”

I raise a skeptical brow. “He confessed he didn’t actually kill John?”

“Bingo.” Sandro snaps his finger. “When he went to get John, the wife had already filed a missing person report with the cops. So our boy tried to track him down first. Traced his last known whereabouts all the way to Verona’s clubhouse.” He pauses, letting it sink in. “Turns out Mikkel beat us to the punch—discovered John was playing both sides and handled the problem himself.”

“And Hansen kept this little detail to himself because…?” I frown, the story not adding up, even though every fiber of my being wants it to be true.Because if it is true, then I’m not responsible for the death of Leni’s father after all.

Sandro shrugs. “Ego? Fear? Maybe both? He told me he wasn’t sure how you’d react to that news. Figured it was easier to let you think the job was done clean.”

So helied. My frown deepens. I’m not sure I believe that. “Keep tabs on Amelia’s visitors’ list at the rehab. And put eyes on Mikkel too.” Whether he killed John or not, he can’t have a good reason for reaching out to the wife of a man who betrayed him. He must have something up his sleeve.

“Bring Hansen to me and?—”

My phone pings with a text. It’s my investigator. When I read his message, everything else fades to background noise.