Page 68 of Sinful Wrath

Alfonzo Morano will think nothing of a little bloodshed if it means getting his hands on Lucia.

As I pull on a fresh shirt and pants, I make a mental note to call a meeting with my brothers.

The thought makes me remember my broken phone and the tracker.

If I wasn’t so pissed off, I’d be impressed at Lucia’s sense of initiative.

She’s smarter than she lets on. But that doesn’t change the fact that she felt a need to put a tracker in my phone in the first place.

Was it only to check where I was so she could sneak out? Or was it for a deeper reason?

Did she think I would lock her up and not come back?

The thought makes me frown.

I never considered the fact that, despite my best efforts,perhaps I haven’t shown her well enough thatshecan trustme.

After all, trust goes both ways…

“You should have discussed that instead of fucking in the shower,” I mutter under my breath as I head into my closet to open up the safe where I keep a number of back up phones.

After sorting out a new phone, I tuck it into my back pocket, and I make my way downstairs to start brewing some coffee.

I doubt Lucia would have slept very much, if at all, so I grab us both a mug and start preparing a tray of food.

We should have a proper conversation now that the emotions of last night have hopefully calmed down.

Once I’ve gathered the food and coffee, I balance the tray on my left forearm as I make my way upstairs to Lucia’s room and unlock the door.

I push the door open. “Lucia?”

I find her curled up on her side with her back to me, though from the way her shoulders move with each breath I know she’s awake.

“You should eat something.” I move into the room and set the tray down on the dresser.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.”

She huffs but pushes herself up into a sitting position, wrapping the sheet around her naked body.

“Here,” I offer.

She takes the mug without meeting my eyes. Hers are red and puffy from crying, and her face is pale, and her skin is covered in goosebumps.

I head into her closet and pick out a warm sweater and a pair of pajama pants.

“Put these on.” I toss her the clothes. “You look cold.”

She frowns. “Why do you care?”

“Lucia.” I run my fingers through my hair. “Do you have to fight me on everything?”

After setting her coffee on the bedside table, she rubs her hands over her face as her shoulders sag.

My body is screaming at me to go and comfort her, but that’s the last thing I should do.

“I thought you hated me.” She picks up the clothes.

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