Page 113 of Enforcer

I haven’t shaved my beard, and I look like an entirely different person than the Dante she crashed with all those months ago.

She has no clue what shape she left me in when she ran.

Though she didn’t run far.

She’s got her little place in Murray Hill Tower. I was surprised she moved out of the townhouse, but she likely knew I had too much access to her there.

But she didn’t move to Florida,I remind myself. It’s the only thread of hope keeping me putting one foot in front of the other lately.

Not much would’ve stopped me from climbing through that window I know never got fixed and pinning her to the bed by her throat to feel her breathing beneath my hand again.

Well, my leg would’ve stopped me.

Out of all the injuries I sustained, ribs, fractured skull, and concussion, the rods replacing the bones in my left leg were the worst.

For weeks, I thought I’d never recover fully. I thought I’d spend the rest of my life in that fucking chair. I thought that was why she left.

Even though I know better.

She loves me in her own way and is too scared to say so.

Everyone knows I come and see her off to work every day, like they know I watch her peruse the fresh markets on Saturday mornings. Slate sat me down on numerous occasions and told me I was punishing myself, turning the torture on myself when I should be torturing for him.

I don’t listen, so they’ve stopped mentioning it.

I don’t work until I’ve seen her; they all know it.

It’s my new routine. My new life.

She’s been inside for over twenty minutes now, so I force myself to push off the tree and head for the car.

Pauly gets out when he spies me getting close and opens the door for me.

“She looked pretty today,” he says as I slide into the back of the Suburban.

I wipe a tear from my right eye, sniffling as I hope he hasn’t seen it. “That she did.”

He closes the door and returns to his seat, driving off without another word.

He doesn’t have to say anything else. His silence says it all.

I can’t turn around and watch the building grow further away as we turn the corner and head toward the office; all I can do is breathe through the stinging in my chest and hope that today’s the day she texts back.

You looked gorgeous today, tesoro.

My text sends, and I glance out the window at passing cars and people. As we hit the morning rush traffic, I knew what to expect.

“You’re torturing both of you at this point,” Pauly says, and I perk up.

He usually doesn’t comment on my activities, not to my face.

“She’s going to be mine, Pauly. I’m wearing her down.”

“Are you, sir? Or are you wearingyoudown?”

“She hasn’t changed her number or blocked me,” I counter. “That has to mean something.”

“Does it? She’s a busy woman, Dante. What if she’s hoping you stop one day? Just like you’re hoping she answers.”

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