Page 110 of Forgotten Sacrifice

Smirking, I make asnip snipwith the scissors in the air before I unlock the door and walk out.

Chapter

Forty-One

Vince

“I’m going to Bridget’s apartment this evening to eat pizza and hang out,” Luna announces from my bedroom doorway. “Before you say no,” she points at me, “Aldo weaseled himself an invite, so I’ll be supervised.”

“I have business tonight, so that’s fine. I’ll be out late; Aldo will bring you home.” My gear is laid on bed, and I pack my bullet proof vest and pistol in my duffle bag.

“Was that a bullet proof vest? Why are you packing a bullet proof vest?” Luna says, her voice rising in octaves.

“Better safe than sorry.”

“Will you stop with the Vince-isms! Where are you going?”

“Family business.”

“Ugh, you are so annoying!” She storms off.

I finish getting ready, joining Luna in the living room. She silently grabs her backpack, walking to the door. I’mrewarded with a nice view of her ass in those leggings, but something’s different.

I grab her wrist, turning her around. “You’re not wearing long sleeves.”

She looks to where my hand’s banded around her wrist. “Soft launch of me not hiding my scars.”

I bring her wrist to my lips, kissing each and every scar.

The air’s become intolerably thick between us as she watches me. “Vince?”

“Yes, Luna?”

Her emerald eyes bore holes into mine. “What’s your endgame?”

“We need to go,” I say, dropping her arm.

She lets me off the hook.For now.

We make the drive to Bridget’s place, and I tell Luna, “Do not leave your friend’s apartment unless it’s with Aldo. I don’t have time to be tracking you down tonight. Understood?”

Luna makes an annoyed sound in the back of her throat. “Fine. Can we stop at the liquor store?”

“Ab-so-fucking-lutely not.”

She crosses her arms. “To get Bridget a housewarming gift, you buzzkill.”

I stop at the Italian market, popping in and out with a brown paper bag and handing it to Luna.

She pulls out a bottle of olive oil and a small box of salt. “What the hell, Vince? I meant a bottle of wine.”

“Olive oil for health, and salt for variety in life. There’s your housewarming gift.”

“I should’ve never let a chef go into the market by himself,” she grumbles. “When does your new restaurant open, by the way?”

“Bluebeard’s wife,” I remind her.

Luna purses her lips. “You told me you didn’t dream of becoming a chef, but I saw the proof in your office.”