Page 33 of Enforcer

Everything with Dante Ricci feels too raw and too honest all at the same time, and it’s not something I can deal with right now.

Not when my best friend’s wedding is right around the corner.

I unclasp the door handle, back away, and get into bed.

The room is dark, and the sounds of the city outside aren’t something I’m used to, so I grab the remote from the drawer and push buttons until the television pops up from near the foot of the bed.

Clicking through show after show, I settle for my old favorite,Stranded, and nestle into the plush feel of the bed. I know Iwon’t last long; I’m exhausted physically and mentally, but I give it a good go and glue my eyes to the television. All the while, sleep tries to tug me under.

The Television is stillon when I wake up to light spilling through the room and stretch. I shut off the screen, which wants to know if I’m still there, and toss the covers back.

I know Dante has money, but this bed is the picture of luxury, and I haven’t slept that well in my entire life.

I ignore the part of me screaming that it’s all because of who’s sleeping across the hall from me.

The smell of food and the aroma of coffee brewing wafts up my nose. I move through dressing, brushing my teeth, and putting on the barest amount of makeup to get me through today’s wedding planning with Lorenzo and Antonio.

I have a feeling those two will fight like cats and dogs.

I pad into the kitchen, hearing the low hum of appliances in greeting.

“Good morning, tesoro.”

I nearly snarl at him but decide to be cordial and smile. I haven’t asked Slate what my new nickname means, and I don’t know if I want to this time.

“Good morning. May I?” I ask, waving toward the coffee pot.

“Go ahead, I brewed it for you.”

I try to ignore the kindness and pour a cup, adding cream and sugar after Dante instructs me where they are.

“I got some pastry from the bakery a few doors down and scrambled some eggs up.”

He’s reading the paper, and it looks so mundane, like a fifties sitcom character come to life before me.

“Thank you.” I peruse the pastry, landing on a croissant. I add some eggs to the plate he left out for me, then sit next to him.

He’s sitting at the head of the table, donning slacks and a button-up, and already smelling like pure fucking sin as he perches his ankle over his muscular thigh and scans his eyes over article after article.

“I didn’t think you the voracious reader,” I say, trying to grasp at straws to make small talk.

“Well, you don’t know me, now, do you?” he tosses back, and I can’t ignore the sting his words cause in my chest.

For a few moments, I eat and remain silent.

“Thank you for letting me stay here. Brynne said it will only be for a few days.”

“I know.”

Alright, then.

I don’t honestly know what crawled up his ass and died, but I’m going to rise above it and choose not to get baited into whatever game he’s playing—even if I want to smack the paper from his hands and force him to tell me what his problem is now.

“I’ll be working late. Slate has some things I need to tie up for him. I left a key on the island for you,” he tells me.

I turn and look, finding the key with my eyes as I nod. “Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome, tesoro.”

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