Page 52 of King of the Bronx

Her eyes widened. “That’s not possible.”

“I know.” I walked past her to sit down on the couch. “They claimed they didn’t break into the brothel last night or kill Harris. I know it sounds crazy, but I don’t know why they would lie. They have no reason to lie to us.”

Something wasn’t adding up.

Raven stood with her arms crossed over her chest. I motioned to the other side of the couch. “Sit.”

She uncrossed her arms and joined me on the couch. She let out a sigh and sank into the cushion. “Enzo, she could be anywhere by now.”

“I know, but I promised you I’d find her.” I just had to figure out where to look.

She was silent, probably lost in her own thoughts. I slung my arm over the back of the couch, and she leaned into me. Her hair smelled like vanilla. I rested my chin on top of her hair.

“Cosa Nostra bought the brothel from the Irish,” I said.

She lifted her head. “Really?”

I nodded. “Five hundred thousand.”

“So I can go back?” Her eyes filled with hope.

“Do you want to go back?” I asked. I liked her here in my apartment every time I came home. I liked knowing that she was safe and surrounded by my men. Now that we were married, she would always be a target, but she was also now under our protection.

She raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“We’re married. It’s not like you need the money.”

She tilted her head to the side. “I’m just supposed to leave the girls to fend for themselves?”

“I can get someone to take your place.”

She scoffed. “You mean a man who probably won’t give a shit about anything except money.”

“It’s a business, baby.”

She pushed me away and stood to her feet. “Those girls are not there to generate money for your precious mafia,” she spat.“A lot of them are trying to get back on their feet. I could have easily been one of them, so don’t sit here and tell me it’s just a business.”

I stared at her but didn’t say anything. I understood how much she cared for these girls, but she had a life too and now a husband. Was this really all she wanted? To run a brothel for the rest of her life? As my wife, she could have anything she wanted. When she didn’t get a reaction out of me, she stormed off. The door to our bedroom slammed shut. A few moments later, she came out dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a sweater.

“Where are you going?”

“To work.”

I shook my head, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “Stop with the dramatization.”

She glared at me but didn’t say anything before snatching a pair of keys off the entry table and leaving.

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