Page 83 of Desperate Actions

“Let’s go home.”

I nod before I can even think.

“Okay,” I whisper, not daring to break the spell.

I pause—and it’s a moment of quiet realization.

“Um, where is home?”

Sammy grins, something dark and pleased flickering behind his eyes.

“You’ll see, Pixie.”

I lick my lips and nod because I know from this moment on my life will never be the same.

Chapter 21-Sammy

Montclair.

That’s where our home is.

A New Jersey suburb nestled at the foot of the Watchung Mountains, just thirty-five to forty-five minutes from Manhattan, depending on traffic.

I stumbled upon it by accident, during a trip to The Whiskey Bar, a hole-in-the-wall place where I met Sonny Delgado, the founder ofNeat, a craft whiskey label.

Good guy.

And I really fucking like his whiskey.

So much so, I invested in his company.

After a few meetings in town, I realized I liked the feel of the place. It was charming, upscale but not obnoxiously so—a balance of old money and fresh ambition, with enough seclusion and space to be exactly what I was looking for.

That’s when I hired a realtor.

It took six months to find the right house.

Because I wasn’t just looking for a house.

I was looking for a home.

A home where I could see Aella living happily with me.

When I finally found it, I bought it at fifteen percent above market value.

What can I say?

I had to motivate the owners to sell.

It’s an enormous brick colonial, sitting on eight acres of land, fortified with the best security money can buy—motion sensors, cameras, state-of-the-art technology—but also old-school defenses like wrought-iron fencing and a fully staffed guardhouse at the front.

I spared no expense.

Because this isn’t just a house.

This is Aella’s home.

Our home.

---