Page 133 of Devil's Tulip

So why the hell is an office assistant hauling heavy flower vases around in this October chill?

I slip my phone out of my pocket and call Larson—Janet’s son and my reluctant accomplice in this elaborate charade.

“What now?” he grumbles as he answers the call.

“Why the hell is my wife struggling with flowers out here in the cold? That’s not the role of an office assistant.” The whole point of manufacturing that damn position was so she could remain seated in a temperature-controlled environment all day.

“I don’t know, man. Maybe because the business is actually thriving, and my mother is too old to carry those damn things herself?” he asks sarcastically.

I grind my teeth. I’d shoot the fucker if he weren’t an underboss here in Boston with one of the most powerful families. Instead, I snarl into the phone, “I don’twantthe business to thrive, I already have more than enough thriving businesses. I just want her to fuckingrest.”

“Then go scare the customers away yourself or fucking kill them. Settle your differences with your wife, man, and stop putting me in the middle of your domestic drama.” The dial tone beeps in my ear as he hangs up on me.On me.

I slam my palms against the steering wheel of my car in frustration. I hate this. I fucking hate this powerlessness. How long is she going to do this for? She’s nearing the end of her pregnancy. She can’t have our baby in this condition.

Is this her punishment for me? Denying me the chance to witness the birth of the child I wanted so badly?

I smack the wheel again and again, preferring the physical sting on my palm to the constant fucking ache in my chest that’sbeen my unwelcome companion since I realized she fucking ran away from me.From me. The man who would burn the world to ash for her.

My phone rings, and I answer without taking my eyes off the door of the flower shop. “Hey, how is she?” Elira’s soft voice comes through the line.

Surprisingly, Maximo’s wife and I have been talking a lot since this happened. She’s the one who suggested perhaps I shouldn’t be so obvious with my help this time, to give her some space instead. And it seems to be working so far—Gianna has been here for the past three weeks, showing no signs of fleeing yet.

“Seems fine to me,” I say shortly. “When can I initiate contact?” I wonder, not for the first time, if she’s been in touch with Gia all along. They were so close, it’s strange to believe they don’t speak anymore. But Elira swears up and down that she hasn’t heard from her since she vanished from home.

“Patience. You don’t want to spook her.” Elira pauses. “Does she seem like she’s settling in okay? Does she need a friend? Maybe I could swing by and try to?—”

“No.” I shut her down immediately. I’ve put in too much work to let Elira scare her away. “If you suddenly show up, she’ll know I’m nearby. There’s no telling what she might do, and she’s too close to her due date.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right,” she sighs. “Have you eaten today?”

“I’m not hungry, I–” I abruptly fall silent when Gianna and Janet emerge from the flower shop, locking the door behind them. Are they closing already? It’s barely 2 PM. Did something happen?

I watch as Gianna waddles next to the older woman and gets into her car. I fire up my engine. “Listen, Elira, I have to go.” I hang up before she can say anything and ease into traffic, maintaining a calculated distance behind Janet’s car.

41

GIANNA

I wave goodbye to my boss, Janet, and trudge up the steps of the small townhouse. It’s owned by her son, but he’s no longer in the city, and she insists I stay here—or move in with her. Sweet old lady. Too damn sweet.

As I reach the door, my gaze catches on the black car with the tinted windows slowly driving down the road. My stomach tightens. I don’t need to see the plate number to know it’s the same one that always seems to be around when I get home—no matter the time.

I swallow down the unease and push into the house, unable to suppress the small sigh of relief as the warmth from the overworked heater envelops me. The contrast between the biting October chill and the cocoon of heat makes my skin prickle pleasantly. I waddle to the kitchen and prepare my latest bizarre concoction: a steaming mug of onion, garlic, and mustard tea.

I’ve been having weird cravings the past couple of weeks, but this unholy tea mixture tops them all. I’d normally be disgusted by just the idea, but here I am, gulping it up like it’s some golden nectar. Pregnancy cravings are wild.

When my mug is empty, I rinse it in the sink, then shuffle to the oversized couch. Letting out a breath, I sink down slowly, grateful to finally take all the weight off my back and legs. My gaze snags on the snowman teddy bear on the table, and I find myself contemplating it for a moment.

Janet gave it to me on the first day I met her, right after our so-called ‘interview’—which was less an assessment of my qualifications and more an interrogation about my baby and baby daddy. Then she hired me on the spot despite my obvious lack of experience with flowers or retail. The teddy was a parting gift as I was leaving.

Deep down, I knew it wasn’t really from her. I still remember a conversation I once had with Michael, where I told him I don’t have memories of building a snowman, and he said he’d make me the biggest snowman in the world when it starts snowing. That was a week before I left him.

Michael got me that job.

I know it like I know that no matter how much I pee before bed, I’ll wake up with a full bladder. I should’ve run away the moment I suspected it, but I was tired. So tired. And he’s been so good this time—no direct contact, no attempts to bully me into coming back to Manhattan with him.

Why not give the man a cracker then?

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