Page 96 of Ruthless Lord

I turn to leave, but there’s a knock at the door. Albert opens up, pressing his head in. He looks at me for a moment, and there’s a strange curiosity in his gaze. Like he hurried here to make sure I was okay.

“Fight starts in five,” he says, glancing over to Stefano. “You should make your way to the ring.”

“Gladly.” My husband grabs his bag. “Wish me luck, wife?”

“I hope you end up a vegetable.”

“Sounds like that’s another thing you won’t be getting.”

He strides out, leaving me alone in the room. Albert lingers for a moment, and I wonder if he’s going to check on me. But instead, the old mafia fixer discreetly slips away, closing the door behind him.

I refill my wine glass and perch myself on the outside balcony to watch my husband.

Stefano’s noseis crooked and stuffed with cotton from where his opponent caught him with a lucky hook. His knuckles are swollen and bruised from breaking his opponent’s jaw in ten places. He storms out into the parking lot, leaving me to trail behind him. We get into his truck together, not saying a word, until the engine’s on and we’re safely behind the dark-tinted glass with the radio turned on.

I throw myself across the seat and kiss him. He kisses me back with equal hunger. “I’m so sorry,” I breathe, tugging at his hair. “God, that really sucked.”

“I’m sorry too. I was worried I went too far.”

“Too far? You were perfect. I almost believed you hated me.” I kiss his cheek, his nose, his lips. “I shouldn’t have slapped you.”

“No, baby, the slap was great. Very believable.” He strokes my cheek lightly. “Hurt like hell. You’ve got a good arm.”

“Thank you.” I kiss him again, lingering against his lips. “I hate watching you fight.” I lightly pull the cotton from his nose. Luckily, the bleeding’s done.

“Even when I win?”

“If you could win without getting hurt, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Wouldn’t be a fight worth having then.”

“Which is how I know you’re a sicko.” I kiss him, harder this time. “Still going to punish my filthy mouth?”

“You know I absolutely am.”

“Good.” I grin, biting his lower lip, before returning to my seat. He puts the truck into drive, and we pull out. “Did you notice the way Albert appeared right as our argument was heating up?”

“It seemed like a coincidence.”

“No way. He was checking on me. They hadn’t given the five-minute call yet.”

“You think so?” His lips tug deeper. “That means?—”

“I saw him surrounded by his lieutenants on the way out here.” I lean on the center console and put a hand on his leg. “All the top-level guys were at his table. What do you think they were discussing?”

“Plans to play bridge?”

“Or maybe the biggest coke deal of the century happening soon.”

Stefano grunts and stares straight ahead. “Bastard really was listening.”

“I bet they have all those back rooms bugged. Not just for us, but for everyone. You ever talk about work in the warehouse?”

“Occasionally, I’ll take a call.” He curses, grip tightening on the wheel. “I’ve said things over the years when I thought nobody was around.”

“You probablywerealone. Only there are bugs in the damn walls.”

He lets out a frustrated groan. “I should’ve seen that.”