Page 51 of Raziel
She didn’t look back. “To cash out my Neiman Marcus. You can sleep in the guest room, lying ass.”
I chuckled, low and deep, then leaned against the wall.
I would call this progress.
Chapter Nineteen- Raziel
The plane touched down in New York just past noon. The city greeted us with a low, gray sky and that thick humidity that hugged your skin like obligation. Maya pressed her face to the window, grinning like a kid on their first field trip after we picked up the rental.
“Why are you so excited? Haven’t you been here before?” I asked. I knew she and her sister had lived in New York for a short period.
She didn’t look at me when she answered. “Yes. But this is different than the other times.” There was something in her voice, but I dismissed it.
We didn’t go to my house right away. I drove her to SoHo instead. Parked outside one of those glass boutiques where everything was overpriced.
“Get what you want. Anything you want,” I told her, handing her my black AmEx.
Her brows lifted. “You sure?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
She squealed and did this little excited hop that sent her into my arms. She kissed my jaw. “You are too nice to me, Ra. I will take advantage of you.”
“And I’ll allow you.” I smirked, sliding my hand over the curve of her hip as she leaned closer. She was so soft, so alive under my touch. This is why I couldn’t get enough of her.
I pulled a key from my pocket and pressed it into her palm, then grabbed her phone and added my address into her Google Maps. “Take a car service when you’re done. Go straight there. Don’t wander.”
“What is this address?”
“My home.”
She looked down at the key, her expression shifting from giddy to something more profound. This wasn’t just a hotel key. It was a key to my place. My space. A silent invitation she understood perfectly. She leaned in again, her kiss slow, deeper, with more feeling than before. My heart sped.
She pulled back before I could deepen it, licking her swollen lips.
“Don’t take too long,” she whispered against my mouth, her breath warm.
Then she was out of the car, the door clicking shut behind her. I watched her walk into the boutique before pulling back into the sluggish New York traffic. The taste of her was still on my lips as I pointed the car toward Dyker Heights, toward the past, and the obligation that waited there.
I thought about her the whole drive. The irony wasn’t lost on me that my father lived in the same neighborhood where A Bronx Tale was filmed. C and Jane. She always talked about them like they were real.
I pulled up to my father’s house. The same house I used to ride past on my bike as a kid. My mother passed in the spring. By fall, he was married to someone new. My stepmother, Serena.She had soft curls and eyes like my mother’s. And she was warm and sweet to me. I still hated her.
When she opened the door now, I could smell cloves and rosemary.
“Raziel,” she said like a sigh.
“Serena,” I nodded.
She didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward and hugged me.
Her arms were soft. Familiar.
I didn’t hug back.
It wasn’t her fault. I knew that. But every time she smiled at me, I felt like I was betraying the woman who carried me. Still, I followed her inside.
My father was in the study, surrounded by dark wood, tall shelves, bottles of scotch lined up like old friends. He turned when I entered. For a second, neither of us spoke.
