Page 110 of Ruthless Lord

I snort softly and look down at my empty plate. “I guess I’m just having trouble figuring out who I am if I’m not a Westbrook.”

“You’ll always be a Westbrook,” he says quietly, leaning forward. The intensity of his stare is magnetic. I can’t look away. “No matter what you do, that’ll never change. Your life is your life.But you don’t have to keep drifting in one direction. You get to choose. That’s the magic of it all.”

“Weird hearing you talk about magic. Since it feels like the only thing you care about is breaking faces.”

“That and you.” He reaches out and takes my hand. “I didn’t expect this when we got married, but I’ve been changing too. Slowly, day by day. I used to only care about breaking the monotony, but now that you’re in my life, it’s like I’m awake again. And I love you for that.”

“You love me?” My eyes widen.

“I love you, Charlie. You have to know that by now. I’ve killed for you, and I’ll kill for you again. I’ll bleed for you too if that’s what it takes.”

“I love you too.” I squeeze his hands tightly. “But I probably won’t bleed for you. I’m very squeamish.”

“That’s why we work so well. I do the painful bits, and you do everything else.”

“What a wonderful team.”

“Exactly what I was thinking. Before you came along, I was just starting to feel old. My age is catching up with me.”

I shake my head, grinning. “Come on, don’t start doing the whole old man routine. You look ten years younger than you are.”

“Twenty, but fine. I mean it though. My knees ache. My back feels like shredded wheat. Most days, rolling out of bed is harder than a boxing match. Now you’re here?—”

“And all your age-related injuries have disappeared? I have that effect on people.”

“Not exactly. But I don’t mind it so much.”

I lean across the table and lift his hand to my lips. “I’m glad we got married.”

“I am too. Most of the time. Except for when I’m trying to be earnest and you’re responding like a smartass.”

“It’s just my defense mechanism.”

“I know. And I’ll punish you for it later.”

“Promise?”

“Always.”

He leans across the table and kisses me. We sit a while longer, drinking wine and talking about nothing very important, just enjoying each other’s company. By the time Stefano pays and leaves a generous tip, the restaurant’s closing and the streets are empty.

I lean against his side as his arm hugs me against him. We walk together toward the car parked a block away. It’s cool and comfortable, the summer turning to fall. I love these transition times. Not really one thing or the other. I can pretend either way if I want. Shorts or sweaters. Sneakers or flip-flops. Pumpkin spice or?—

I look down at the ground. A shiny new penny glitters in the streetlight. “Hey, check it out.” I pause to pick it up. Stefano moves a few steps past me. “You don’t see these all that often anymore.”

“Aren’t they getting rid of them?”

“Hopefully.” I look up, grinning. “Can’t come soon?—”

A shadow comes hurtling out of an alley behind Stefano. I cry out in alarm, and he reacts on instinct, dodging downwards, lowering his shoulder as a man slams into him from the side.

That move saved his life. A knife whistles in the space where his throat was a second before. Stefano moves like liquid, and I stare in dumbfounded horror as he slams fists into the man’s body, knocking him sideways, taking a knife slash to the cheek in the process.

The attacker dances back, clutching his ribs, holding the knife up. “I’m not here for you,” he snarls, eyes flicking to me. “I just want the girl.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Stefano circles him slowly.

“Micky.” My eyes go wide when I recognize the voice. “You’re working for my father.”