Page 24 of The Boss

“Hm,” I grunt. He eyes me but he doesn’t rib further, instead calling our pilot to tell him we’re incoming. He’s probably picking up on my unease.

She is pretty.

No.

Pretty is an understatement, just like everyone says. Even under the ridiculous clothes and make up and whatever weird shit was in her hair, she’s…otherworldly.

And Mac isn’t wrong about the house. Our compound works for us because we’re a family. An unhinged, rowdy pack of wolves, as he said, but a solid unit, all the same. Flamingo is fitting for her. Lanky, unique, bright…and extremely fragile. She put her tiny, cold hand on my forearm and I had to fight not to flinch at the contact. The softness of it…I don’t do well with warm, soft, or gentle. Tough, abrasive, unforgiving. That’s our world. It’s what I know, what I do best.

My cousin is right about the damn dog too. He’s too small, too skittish.

Luna though, she’s small but not skittish. Not even a little.

I’m used to being feared. For many women I’m too big, too scary. But there’s another type. The ones that find me at the club or whisper my name around the compound. They get off on the terror, the adrenaline. Works for me if it works for them.

There’s disgust sometimes, sweet women who have heard the rumors. They look at me and can only see the dark beast of Boston’s underbelly. They’re correct, and their hatred and judgement don’t bother me.

The Mancini woman though, she wasn’t afraid or disgusted. She was unaffected altogether. Which made me twitchy. Because now I’m driving back to the small airport wondering what exactlywouldaffect my future wife, if not me? I know she’s heard the stories. I know she had files drawn up on me, just as I did on her. So what would scare her? Thrill her?

And most of all, why the hell am I even interested at all?

CHAPTER 15

Luna

“Well, this just keeps getting weirder.”

“Your wedding?” Ellie’s voice comes through my phone speaker on the kitchen counter.

“No, well, yes, that too. But his guy, Cormac, his cousin and second in command, just came by to introduce himself and explain how to tag anything I want to move with me with stickers or whatever, even though I already sent quite a few things to the house.”

“Things?”

“Mostly neon decor. Trippy abstract art, tacky lamps, fuzzy pink chair and leopard pillows. That kind of thing.”

She lowers her voice like she’s about to drop a cuss word, “You have some serious balls, Lu. But, sounds like you’re the weird one in this scenario.”

“No, listen, he also gave me a set of keys, like brass keys on a skull key ring, uh, barf, and a new phone for me.”

She pauses, “Okay?”

“It’s a flip phone, El.”

“A what?”

“Exactly! A flip phone! Like from before we were born, probably.”

I hear her pick up her phone—a normal iPhone—and switch to FaceTime. I answer and see her covered in flour and something sticky. I show her the offensive relic.

“So, like a burner phone.”

“I wish. He said they’d be taking my iPhone next week when I move into the house, and that I needed to save my important contacts in this new…device.” I put the last word in air quotes. “They so generously pre-programmed Quinn’s number, Cormac’s number, and then the landline—landline!—to the house into this thing for me.”

“You haven’t had his number before now? You’re getting married in just a few days!”

“Oh, I’m painfully aware. And no, in the last month I have tried to work with Vix to find a number to text, then I tried an email address, with no replies, so your girl started sending snail mail to his compound. I went to a post office, Ellie. It was like stepping back in time. I sent a million little things about wedding plans, all in bright neon, scented envelopes. I received one phone call from a blank number, which I didn’t answer because it looked like my phone was going berserk, a call with no number displaying? Like notUnknown Number,just blank. How is that possible? Anyway, he left a voicemail. Would you like to hear it?”

She tilts her head slowly, looking scared, probably because I am talking so fast I sound unwell. She asks, “Do I want to?”