Page 314 of Bad for Me

“Explain,” I say.

“Well. I think he thought if Hadley was in another city, married, she wouldn’t come for the claim to what Oscar left to her,” Benny says. “He wanted her married and Cain Albero wanted a piece of the Boston pie. They figured it was a win-win situation and didn’t factor in that you’d be an obsessed freak over her.”

My jaw aches with the amount of tension I’m creating as I clench it over and over. My hands are sweaty and I wipe them against my jean-clad thighs to dry them. I can’t kill Ozzy as much as the urge to do just that surges through my every fiber. Oscar loved him and raised him as his own flesh and blood.

And as much as he and Hadley fight, its still her brother. “He’s worried she’ll claim it. So we will make sure she doesn’t,” I say.

“Yeah? How are we gonna do that?” Benny raises a brow, not taking his eye from the road.

I’m going to marry her.

I don’t say it out loud. At least I don’t think I did. But Benny’s laughter makes me think that maybe I accidentally did.

5

HADLEY

My stomach churnsand the bile creeps up my throat. I’m going to puke, but my eyes are so heavy. I can’t wake up. I’m so fucking tired. It’s right there, I need to puke. I try to move but my brain isn’t sending the message to my legs.

Wake up, Hadley. Get up.

I moan, as my body starts to wake up. I’m lying on something soft, tucked beneath a blanket, and I’m warm. The comfort makes it even harder for me to pull through the darkness. When I finally manage to get them open, I take in the room. Maroon-colored curtains draping over a bay window. A wooden coffee table, and a recliner across from me. I’m lying on a green couch, wrapped in . . . my fingers twirl around the pink and purple checkered fleece. My baby blanket?

“What the?” I startle upright, my feet hitting the carpeted floor, and try to figure out if I know where I am.

My head spins though, and I’m not able to come to a full stand, immediately falling backward onto the couch again. What’s happening to me? I close my eyes, trying to rid myself of the nausea and vertigo. I’m breathless, too. As If I’ve just run a marathon when I’ve only tried to stand.

“Hadley?”

My eyes snap open. Benito is standing in the doorway. He takes in my state, his face falling with worry. “Where are we?” I ask. This isn’t Alessio’s home in Boston.

“We’re at the cabin in Hudson,” he says, taking slow steps toward me. When he’s close, he offers me the glass of water I hadn’t even noticed he was carrying.

I take it, gulping down its contents in a few big swallows. “Why?” I ask, setting it on the table.

He winces. “I’ll let Alessio fill you in on the details.”

I peer up at him as fuzzy memories come to the forefront. I was in the park when Alessio came. Why? Why was he there?

“Benny.” I reach for his wrist and peer up at him with what I hope are my best puppy-dog eyes. I haven’t had to use the face in years so I’m out of practice.

He gives me a forced smile. “He’ll be finished soon. He’s in the office dealing with a work emergency.”

I nod, knowing that any more effort in getting him to talk would be wasted energy. I bring my news to my chest. “I want to go home,” I whisper, more to myself.

But Benny responds. “We’ll head home tomorrow after you get some rest.”

I open my mouth to protest, but the ache in my chest becomes stronger, taking over my entire body. He won’t understand if I try to explain. I don’t mean Boston. I mean Philly.

It’s another half hour before Alessio makes an appearance, and I hate the way my heart rate picks up. I’m supposed to hate him, but I don’t. Not when he looks at me with those dark eyes that scream murderer, but his facial features are soft when he watches me. He’s always treated me so tenderly, despite knowing he isn’t a good man.

I know my dad wasn’t good either. He was a lawyer for a crime family. Still, somehow I’d always been able to keep that dark side of them away from me. They didn’t hurt me. Until Alessio did. He killed Dario.

Alessio heads to the corner of the room where there’s a bar cart. He pours a tumbler of whiskey for himself. His red lips press against the glass, and my eyes drop to the swell of his throat as he swallows. The silence is eerie. I fucking hate it. Just speak damn it.

But he doesn’t. He just finishes his drink and then pours another. So, I break the silence for us. “I want to go home, Alessio.”

He stiffens mid-drink, the glass less than an inch from his lips. “Home to Boston? Or back to the boyfriend?”

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