Page 34 of Heartfelt Pain (Ruling Love #3)

Ren

F ujimori’s is quiet.

Jane spots me as I come in through the door that leads to the kitchen. She’s behind her hostess stand and her eyes light up before she glances at my arm. Her concern is motherly, but she doesn’t get a chance to come over when a couple comes in.

Ben is sitting at our table. He prefers sitting on a chair instead of in the booth. His hair is messed up and there’s a cup of coffee in front of him. It’s that late afternoon slump.

“Hi.” I lean in the doorway.

He startles before taking in my blazer and heels. “I thought you’d taken the rest of the week off.”

“Yeah, I am,” I assure him. “Something came up.”

“Something?”

“Figured out who’s killing all my ex-boyfriends.”

“What?” His head swivels, probably on the lookout for my bodyguard. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“Turns out the Stuarts want in on the business.”

He frowns, his whole face creasing. “The Stuarts? ”

“You know, those British fucks.”

“Yeah.” Of course, he’s heard the name. They own most of London. A lot of boats full of products pass through customs without another look. “What the fuck do they think they’re doing?”

“Having fun.” I step back into the kitchen, grabbing coffee.

I want something in my hands so I may as well get a bit of caffeine.

“It’s a bit of cloak and dagger,” I say when I come back.

Ben motions to the empty booth but I linger in the doorway.

“I think I know where Leopold’s dramatics come from. ”

“Leopold the Idiot?”

I wrinkle my nose, though the coffee in my hands smells divine. “Yeah, turns out it might be in the gene pool.”

Don’t get me wrong. The Stuarts didn’t acquire all their power and wealth from luck. They’re aristocratic, Cambridge-bred twats.

“What’s going on?” Ben lets the pen in his hand drop.

“They want to dispose of me,” I say simply. “They did the whole scare tactic bit, hoping I’d move on quicker.”

“They can’t kill you out right.”

It’s not like when I took out Cliff. Aunt Macy left me the business and everyone knew it. The Brits coming in and trying to take over would lead to a bloodbath.

“What do you want to do?” he asks.

My shoulder digs into the doorjamb. “She brought up a few good points.”

Apparently, my skincare regime’s done nothing to hide the fact I only get about five hours of sleep a night.

“Good points?” Ben’s incredulous. “I’m sorry, are you actually entertaining an offer from them?”

“Not just them,” I quietly say. “Anyone.”

It’s hard to shock Ben. But for a moment I don’t think he can suck down air .

My hip knocks against the doorframe. The black coffee ripples with the movement. “I just want to see the options.”

“Options?” Ben croaks. “Lennie called me three times thinking she’d upset you on Sunday. You’re not talking to any of us.”

“That’s not true.”

“You acted like we’d shanked you with a dull blade because we brought up a few points about how busy you are all the time.”

“And I’ve thought about them.”

“You love this job!”

“I do.” I won’t lie about that. “But maybe it’s time to take stock of everything going on in my life.”

Ben makes a sarcastic noise. “You’re going to sell your business because of a guy.”

The idea of Roma and I has solidified over the past few days. Trevino isn’t even alarmed anymore when he shows up at my place.

Ben’s annoyance is sharp enough to stab me.

“No.” I cross my arms, the bottom of the mug warm against my upper arm. “I’m not choosing a guy over my business.”

“This could be more Zimin underhandedness.”

“Let’s ask Lennie and Elijah if that’s the case.” There’s no way in hell Lev would work with the Stuarts after the Leopold debacle.

“So you magically start dating Roma again just as you decide it’s time to quit the business. What are you going to do. Be a housewife?”

“Obviously, I’ll build something up back home.” I’ve missed those Midwestern days.

Ben outright laughs. “What the fuck is this, Ren?”

He’s not wrong to wonder. Until two days ago, I’d never taken a day off. Now, I’m opening up my business to bids. Packing up shop and calling it a day.

“I’m proud of my business,” I tell him. “But I want to know what offers people will put in. And I don’t want to be like Aunt Macy.”

Meeting with clients hooked up to an oxygen tank.

“Then quit smoking!” Ben shouts.

Jane’s head whips over. The recently arrived couple bow their heads together, clearly wondering about the entertainment.

Ben runs a hand through his hair. He needs a haircut. “Are you really that angry?” It comes out as a frustrated whisper, aware there are other paying customers. “We pointed out that you needed to take care of your body. Not retire at the age of twenty-seven.”

“But I can retire at the age of twenty-seven.” I graduated with a general studies degree. I expected boring office work and a pension. They say money can’t buy you happiness but it can get you some peace. I’m more financially stable than I ever thought I’d be.

I don’t have to get up at five in the morning. I don’t have to cram my feet into heels. Or work until eight at night.

“I want to go on an Alaskan cruise.” In some ways, it feels like the most honest I’ve been with my cousin in a long time.

I didn’t mean to stop talking to him. It felt like complaining if I ever brought up how tired I was.

I pulled him to New York. Asked him for help.

If it weren’t for me, he could focus solely on his law firm and not spend so much time on me as a needy customer.

Ben is at a loss as he stares at me, eyes wide. “We could help,” he says after a moment.

“I know.” My friends are trying to help. I know that.

“You. . . you’re really considering this aren’t you?”

I grip the coffee mug, clinging to the warmth.

“You know if you put the idea out there and change your mind people might take it as a sign to try something in the future.” Ben might mean it as practical advice, but it’s also a warning.

“I’m sure about this.” As sure as I’ll ever be.

Abe comes flying out of the kitchen. I clutch my coffee tighter, the man whirling past me.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?”

The last time I saw Abe this upset, he and his dad had argued about tickets to the Knicks.

He places a hand on the back of Ben’s chair. “You can’t actually be serious?”

I give a half-hearted shrug.

“All because I called you out for your appalling lifestyle habits?”

“I just want to point out that you’re hardly the healthiest person either,” I mutter.

“You can’t just spring this on us!”

Jane smiles at a customer walking out. When the door shuts, she says a few words to her son in Japanese all the while refilling someone’s water glass.

“Mom! She’s quitting!” he replies.

“I’m retiring.” I don’t appreciate the implication that I gave up. “I’ve been given a lot to think about regarding my financial and lifestyle decisions.”

“Decisions.” Abe stomps a foot, and I’d expect nothing less from his dramatics. “You’re making a crappy decision, Ren!”

“Why?” I bat back. “Why can’t I retire early and sleep in and not deal with crime bosses who don’t even wipe their own asses?”

Both their mouths drop open. Abe’s is a perfect little ‘O’ and his brows nearly reach his hairline. I might not like all my clients, but I don’t shit where I work. Other than ragging on the Zimins, I keep my harsher opinions to myself.

“I’m going to retire,” I tell them, my chest swelling with a tired breath. “And I’m going to go on an Alaskan cruise. And if you’re nice, I’ll send you a postcard.”

“Have you even thought about us!” Abe shouts, his hand at his side balled into a fist.

“It’s not like we’ll stop being friends.” Abe and Ben are practically married. We spend Christmas mornings with the Fujimori’s.

“You think I want the Stuarts hanging out at my restaurant all day?” he asks. “You think they’re going to abide by the rules, Ren? Chances are they’ll fuck shit up. This could ruin us.”

My insides squirm. It’s one thing to retire and sail off to the Bahamas. It’s another to fuck over the Fujimori’s.

“Think about my dad,” Abe says, throwing a hand despondently toward the kitchen. “Think about what you’re doing to him. He has all these followers on social media now. People watch his videos every day to see what song he plays on the jukebox.”

“The jukebox I had to fucking fight you for?” I hiss.

Abe stomps his foot again. “The jukebox you forced on us, only for you to abandon it!”

“I’m not abandoning it! Your dad’s going to continue to be a social media sensation. Whoever buys my business isn’t going to make you get rid of it.”

I’ll have Ben write it into the contract if I have to.

“Did we ever discover where the jukebox came from?” Ben asks.

Abe recoils. “Did those British fucks try to bribe you with a jukebox.”

“They killed my boyfriends. I doubt they fucking gave me a jukebox just so I could annoy the shit out of you,” I say .

I fought Abe tooth and nail for it. It arrived last New Year’s out of the blue. Occasionally, people send gifts which we normally decline. This time I let it lie. In fact, I kind of assumed Elijah might have gotten it as a thank-you after the shoot-out with Leopold.

Ben tips his chin up, eyes glinting as he follows my train of thought.

A Zimin did buy the jukebox. But it wasn’t Elijah.

Heat unfurls in my chest, spreading across my skin.

The jukebox arrived months ago. Roma didn’t approach me until a couple of weeks ago.

“Babe, let it go,” Ben says to Abe. He rubs at his eye, resigned. “I suppose, I’ll be the one helping you gather bids?”

My hair sticks to the back of my neck. “Yes, please,” I murmur.

An air of desolation swirls around Abe. “Seriously?”

Ben grabs his hand, pulling the knuckles to his lips.

Jane meets my eye from the hostess stand. She heard enough to know what’s going on. She focuses on customers and I ignore the stab of guilt as I turn back to the kitchen.

I wash my coffee cup and hand it to Abe’s dad, who patiently waits nearby.

“You know I look forward to seeing what song you’re going to play too,” I tell him.

He gets giddy like a kid. Abe started filming him in the mornings, picking out the song he wanted to play that day. He posted them on social media and kept at it because of the marketing. But now people on the internet just like Abe’s dad for being Abe’s dad.

It’s cute and heartfelt and I make myself believe that my leaving won’t harm his status as an influencer.

He smiles softly, taking the cup from me.

“Really?” I ask Trevino. The man leans up against a steel worktop eating from a bowl of ramen. The remains of a sushi platter are on the table next to him. “So you do actually eat carbs?”

“Everybody’s got to get their carbs.” He straightens, setting the dish aside. “You okay?”

I nod and exit through the back alley. Trevino—making sure to thank Abe’s dad—follows me after a beat.

It’s still early and though Luis has the car, I walk down the sidewalk. The last time I went walking around, I’d followed Isolde to Trevino’s place. Or rather the weird warehouse he uses.

I’m caught up in my thoughts, pulling my blazer tighter to my body. I need a jacket, but rage had fueled me when I ran off to meet Joan Stuart.

“Do you have eyes on Isolde?” I ask. I sent her a text and she’s yet to respond.

There’s an aggrieved sigh from Trevino. “Don’t worry about her.”

“Don’t worry about my friend who currently has a hit out on her?” I reply. “Some bodyguard you are.”

“I’m your bodyguard,” he points out.

I hum under my breath, debating how to annoy him when a familiar outline pulls my attention. I know those shoulders and the leather jacket.

Roma is walking ahead. His sneakers beat against the pavement and his hands are pulled into his pockets.

I check my phone. There are no messages and Roma is headed in the opposite direction of Fujimori’s so he’s not going there.

“Are we stalking now?” Trevino quips.

“Oh God, you’ve decided you’ve got jokes now.” I pick up speed, afraid I might lose Roma.

But that’s not a problem. He pauses by a door, pulls some keys out of his pockets, and lets himself in.

It’s a garage of some kind, but I don’t spot a sign. Bay doors remain closed. NYC might be known for its walkability but people do own cars.

“Oh my God.” I rush to the door, banging my fist on it.

Movement through the frosted glass shifts. Roma pushes it open, nearly staggering in surprise when he comes face to face with me.

“You found a place already?” I ask, pushing past him.

I come to a complete stop.

The garage is already in use. There’s a worktable with tools. Currently, only a Plymouth Barracuda is parked.

I look again at the table. At the tools. There’s a framed photo on the wall. A black and white photo of an older man admiring a car.

This is all Roma’s stuff.

My heels click against the stained concrete. “You already bought it?”

Except that’s not quite it. There’s a worn-in aspect to the place. Roma didn’t just move in.

“Roma, you already bought a place?” I ask.

Trevino admires the Barracuda. “This is nice, man.”

“Roma,” I echo. My heels move in little circles. “This place isn’t even a block away from Fujimori’s.”

It’s literally one street over.

“When did you buy this place?” I ask.

“It came up on the market a couple months ago,” he admits, hoarsely.

There’s a set of stairs. “The whole building?” He nods. “Is this where you live?”

I know the Zimins take their real estate seriously, but what is with them always buying the whole building? Elijah owns a row of warehouses and it wouldn’t surprise me if Max owned most of the other floors in the building where his penthouse is located.

The garage has six bays. It’s huge, by city standards. And there’s an apartment upstairs.

It’s perfect for Roma.

Heat licks my skin again. He bought the perfect setup for himself and it’s only a street away from Fujimori’s.

“Roma.” I stop my pacing. His warm brown eyes remind me of a puppy dog as he watches me process. “Did you buy me a jukebox?”