Page 37 of Scorned Beauty (Scorned Fate #5)

I remained silent. Because at this point, she wouldn’t believe me if I told her she would be all that. The woman I take to parties. The only woman I intended to propose to. I very much envisioned her to be the mother of my children, and I still grieved the baby we lost.

I wanted her to be all that, but Sloane, she had every reason to doubt me.

“We can start small,” I suggested. “See where this goes?”

“We’ll end up in bed,” she said sarcastically.

She didn’t see us as a couple outside of sex yet.

Months and months of passionate trysts and nothing else had dictated who we were to each other.

But in our stolen moments, a connection grew, a yearning.

We both reacted to our emerging feelings badly.

With a skewed fear of commitment, we fucked up what could have been a beautiful relationship.

Relationships I’d seen my cousins have, but never pictured for myself. I never envied them until now.

“How about I replace the van I destroyed?”

Her face was a cross between amusement and amazement. “You manipulative son of a bitch.”

“Call me names, baby. I don’t mind,” I replied evenly. “But I know you’re practical—pragmatic. I destroyed your mode of transportation. I’ll pay for the replacement.”

“I’m not saying no…”

I chuckled. Delighted. This was the Sloane that I wanted to see. Her fiery personality to match mine.

“I’m not saying no to a new car,” she said in a calculated tone. There was a glimmer of retribution in her eyes, and I braced myself for her next words. “But I’m not agreeing to hooking up with you.”

“I don’t want you to be my hookup,” I gritted. “I want more.”

“Are you sure this is not guilt talking?” she asked. “Because I don’t see this ending well. Your mother?—”

“I don’t answer to my mother.”

She raised a brow.

“It’s different from caring for her well-being,” I explained. “It’s part of taking care of the family.”

She waved a hand. “I don’t know what exactly you’re proposing. I can’t even see past tomorrow. I’m taking things one day at a time. If that’s too slow for you, the door is right there.”

I clenched my fists at my sides, partly crumpling the plastic bottle in my hand.

“I have an appointment in the morning. I can call for a ride.”

“I’ll drive you,” I blurted out.

“How? You wrecked your SUV.”

“I think it’s workable.”

“You’re lucky the airbag didn’t deploy. It could have been worse, Dom.”

Ah, this woman. I erased the distance between us, intending to cup her face, but she flinched. She was still skittish.

Patience.

I rapped my knuckles on the kitchen island to give them something to do before I gave in to the urge to kiss her into submission.

But while she was on medication and seeing a therapist, I had no business bending her to my will and ruining what progress she’d made.

I could be her friend for now and offer her unconditional support.

I might lose my damn mind in the process.

But better mine than hers. “What time is your appointment?”

“Eleven.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

That was how I ended up being Sloane’s driver. She limited her time on the internet, so I sent her glossy catalogues of cars I thought she might like. She said she wouldn’t need a van anymore and maybe wanted a mid-size sports utility vehicle. I wanted to get her a fully tricked-out one.

Her van remained in the driveway. Meanwhile, I simply switched out my rental and paid for the damages.

I had flown in from Manhattan and fully intended to fly Sloane back.

It was almost two weeks since my panic attack and the fourth time I’d driven her into town to visit the therapist. She grocery shopped afterward and forbade me to accompany her.

We’d look too much like a couple, she said.

Direct skewer to the heart. She was good at that, and I had no choice but to accept my penance.

She walked on the beach every day and I made it a point to show up on her walks, trailing her like a love-sick puppy.

I’d exasperated her enough that she allowed me to walk beside her as long as I didn’t say a word.

Not that I didn’t try. She simply didn’t respond to small talk and the most conversations we had were about what time I would be picking her up for her therapist appointments.

I waited for her at a coffee shop. It was conveniently located across from her therapist’s building and the supermarket. The other day was the first time she agreed to have coffee with me rather than asking me to immediately drive her home.

I considered that progress, but not fast enough.

Not because I wanted us to go back to the way we’d been.

I was more than willing to slog it out for weeks and months to win back her trust. No, my worry was about the brewing trouble in Manhattan that might be beyond what Sonny could handle.

The crime family needed me back in the city.

I’d been gone for five weeks. People were noticing, especially the Russian bratva.

My phone vibrated with a text from her.

Firecat

I’m done. Can you order me an iced mocha?

Me

Sure, baby

Definitely progress. In my delusional mind, it was our second coffee date.

I got up from my seat and went to the barista, ordering an espresso for myself and Sloane’s fancy iced brew with cream on top.

While Sloane worked on herself, I also worked on finding a way to give her incentive to stay in New York.

Bianca had mentioned Sloane worked in the ER for her graduation project only because the Delphine Assisted Living Home rejected the proposal she submitted for the improvement of resident care.

I put Sera on it since she was familiar with charities and their projects.

The De Lucci crime family had helped many of our soldiers place their aging parents in excellent nursing homes.

Italians were family oriented, and many were still leery about sending their senior relatives away.

The hair on the back of my neck went static and my gaze whipped to the window of the coffee shop. A towering man in a suit exited a black SUV that screamed organized crime.

What the fuck?

What was Kirill doing here?