Page 13 of Heartfelt Pain (Ruling Love #3)

“I’ll spend the night on Fridays,” Lennie volunteers. “Oh, I’ll bring Ads with me. She knows how to shoot a gun.”

That’s an understatement, but I get the threat. It’s one guy, who’s professionally hired, or my friends up my ass all day.

I stamp my foot. “I don’t like this idea!”

“Would you like a sheet mask?” I ask Trevino several hours later.

He vetted my apartment with surprising speed. He added his own cameras throughout the building as well, hiding them so no one is aware of their presence. Making no comment on the state of my apartment, he went from room to room, inspecting every inch of it.

I had to hand over my calendar, both paper and the electronic one I share with Ben. Trevino is now my shadow.

A bulky, grumpy shadow, sitting on my couch.

I’m on the floor, my back against the coffee table. I can’t remember the last time I came home this early. Normally, I hang out at Fujimori’s. But I’ve been locked away in my tower of safety.

“No,” he says, watching the TV. I can’t imagine he’s thinking good thoughts about the reality show playing, but he’s impeccable with the professionalism.

His back remains ramrod straight as he sits on the couch. He keeps his answers short.

“Here you go,” I try to hand him one of the fancy Korean sheet masks I’ve got. I do one every other day because someone on the internet told me it’s good for my skin .

He makes no move to take the mask.

I peel the package open, taking out the slimy thing. The soft scent of coconut fills the living room. I crawl around the coffee table and lift on my knees.

He sighs, his forearms tensing as I drape the mask over his face.

“So pretty.” I pat it along the edges to make sure it sticks.

I remain on the floor, my back to the couch. I offered him a Coke but he wouldn’t take it. I’m thinking with as many muscles as he’s got, he’s on a pretty strict diet.

“Hey.” A thought comes to me.

Trevino might be grumpy, with his crossed arms and frowny face but I noticed when asked direct questions he usually answers.

“You worked for the Irish, right?”

It’s one of the few details I managed to figure out before Isolde met him. They hired him on as a gun despite Trevino growing up in a different neighborhood.

His eyes appear darker thanks to the ghostly-looking sheet mask. “Yes.”

“What do you think about Cain Murray?” It’s still not a good idea to get in between Cain and Boris, but I’m curious.

Trevino doesn’t answer at first and I don’t push, but then the show goes to a commercial break.

“He’s a selfish bastard.”

My spine twists at his voice. In the sheet mask, I shouldn’t take him seriously, but he’s deathly still. Trevino doesn’t swagger about with confidence, but deep self-assurance runs through his veins. I already know when he speaks, people listen.

“He was born in Dublin, right? Does he still have family there?”

Trevino doesn’t laugh, but there’s a small snort. “He wasn’t born in Dublin. ”

“He wasn’t?” I’m on my knees now so I can face him as we talk. “But I thought he came here when he was a teen.”

He’s still got an Irish lilt.

The sheet mask blocks what I know must be an unimpressed facial expression.

“He was born in London to an Irish mother. For obvious reason he doesn’t like to mention the fact that he grew up in England.

He landed in Dublin when he was a teenager.

Fucked shit up so bad, he jumped ship to America.

His dad is American so he legally obtained citizenship twenty years back. ”

I love Trevino’s candor despite his crossed arms. “What shit did he fuck up?”

“I never got a concrete story, but knowing him, I imagine it had something to do with being a cocky bastard.”

“Well that’s not changed.”

Trevino lets out an aggrieved sigh. “No. It’s not.”

“You know anything about him and Boris Akatov?”

It’s subtle, but Trevino reels himself in.

“Come on,” I prod.

“Some shit isn’t worth talking about.”

“That statement only makes me more nosy. What happened?”

“It’s just rumors.”

“I’ll take unverified. It’s just for my own curiosity’s sake.”

But I can admit what comes out of Trevino’s mouth takes me aback.

“Boris always thought Cain had something to do with his wife’s kidnapping.”

I choke on my Coke. “Holy fuck.”

If Trevino is my age, then we both weren’t alive when Gia Akatov got kidnapped. Rumors and stories have pervaded the city since then. The bloodiest ones are all about what Boris did to find his wife. How red the city went with his fury.

“He thinks Cain kidnapped Gia?” My mouth drops open .

No one has ever publicly claimed the kidnapping. Boris took down every person in the building when he found his wife. But who the men truly belonged to remains a mystery.

“He’d be dead already if that were the case,” Trevino says.

He’s not wrong about that. Boris had calmly walked away from me that day in the alleyway. It’s not retribution I seek but peace. That’s what he had said. But what inner peace is Lennie’s dad looking for?

“Do you think the Irish like him?” I’ve always gotten the feeling they find Cain annoying, but can’t break ranks.

“No. He’s lucky he could legally obtain his citizenship.”

I almost snort up a sip of Coke again. If it weren’t for the mask—I can’t believe he’s still wearing it—I imagine I’d see Trevino raising a brow.

“Why are you asking?” Trevino questions when another commercial comes on. I don’t think he cares about the show, but he doesn’t talk when it plays.

“Just curious.”

After a moment, Trevino’s next words come out slowly. Like he’s unsure why he’s even talking. “He does have family in Dublin.”

Part of me wonders why Trevino is being so open with me. He’s avoided Fujimori’s like the plague so I don’t think it’s my stellar reputation that’s got him talking. I think it might be because I know Isolde.

“Two sons,” he says.

“I didn’t know he had sons.” And the dude seems like the type to brag about sleeping with women.

“They took their mother’s names. He never even claimed them until one of them forced the courts to order a paternity test.”

My face mask crinkles as I frown. “Are they like Cain?” As in do they work for the mob ?

He nods, but there’s another pause and then a, “They’re nothing like their dad.”

“Oh.” I get an inkling that he wants me to know this one detail. He must’ve come into contact with them when he worked for the Irish.

“He got two women pregnant at the same time. That’s why Cain came over here originally,” Trevino admits, finally telling me the complete truth.

“Jesus, he really didn’t want to have to take that paternity test.” Now it all comes together. Cain really is a piece of shit. “What are their names?”

He hesitates. “Ian Hayes and Ciaran O’Connell.”

O’Connell.

“Boris pushed out the O’Connell’s years ago.” They came to New York, claiming a type of family reunion. It was just as I took over for Aunt Macy.

“Notice how Cain Murray managed to stick around? Let’s just say Cain knows even with Akatov’s hatred that he’s safer over here than if he went back to Dublin.”

I tuck away that tidbit knowing it could be worth something one day. “You worked with the Irish around then?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, but it wasn’t any skin off my back. I’d already decided to leave New York.”

“Toronto?” I ask. I know his friend Tyler went across the border.

He says nothing, but I get the sense he doesn’t appreciate this line of questioning. Considering he kindly answered my earlier ones I go back to watching TV.

At least until my phone lights up.

Roma: I need your help again.

I bite back a laugh. I bet he does.

Lifting my phone, I snap a picture .

“What was that?” Trevino growls.

“Nothing,” I quickly say.

Ren: Sorry, I’m busy.

I attach the picture. It’s completely innocent. Trevino’s on the couch, I’m on the floor. We look ridiculous in our matching sheet masks.

I’m sure Roma will find it amusing.