Page 116 of Heartfelt Pain
“Don’t worry about my friend who currently has a hit out on her?” I reply. “Some bodyguard you are.”
“I’m your bodyguard,” he points out.
I hum under my breath, debating how to annoy him when a familiar outline pulls my attention. I know those shoulders and the leather jacket.
Roma is walking ahead. His sneakers beat against the pavement and his hands are pulled into his pockets.
I check my phone. There are no messages and Roma is headed in the opposite direction of Fujimori’s so he’s not going there.
“Are we stalking now?” Trevino quips.
“Oh God, you’ve decided you’ve got jokes now.” I pick up speed, afraid I might lose Roma.
But that’s not a problem. He pauses by a door, pulls some keys out of his pockets, and lets himself in.
It’s a garage of some kind, but I don’t spot a sign. Baydoors remain closed. NYC might be known for its walkability but people do own cars.
“Oh my God.” I rush to the door, banging my fist on it.
Movement through the frosted glass shifts. Roma pushes it open, nearly staggering in surprise when he comes face to face with me.
“You found a place already?” I ask, pushing past him.
I come to a complete stop.
The garage is already in use. There’s a worktable with tools. Currently, only a Plymouth Barracuda is parked.
I look again at the table. At the tools. There’s a framed photo on the wall. A black and white photo of an older man admiring a car.
This is all Roma’s stuff.
My heels click against the stained concrete. “You already bought it?”
Except that’s not quite it. There’s a worn-in aspect to the place. Roma didn’t just move in.
“Roma, you already bought a place?” I ask.
Trevino admires the Barracuda. “This is nice, man.”
“Roma,” I echo. My heels move in little circles. “This place isn’t even a block away from Fujimori’s.”
It’s literally one street over.
“When did you buy this place?” I ask.
“It came up on the market a couple months ago,” he admits, hoarsely.
There’s a set of stairs. “The whole building?” He nods. “Is this where you live?”
I know the Zimins take their real estate seriously, but what is with them always buying the whole building? Elijah owns a row of warehouses and it wouldn’t surprise me if Max owned most of the other floors in the building where hispenthouse is located.
The garage has six bays. It’s huge, by city standards. And there’s an apartment upstairs.
It’s perfect for Roma.
Heat licks my skin again. He bought the perfect setup for himself and it’s only a street away from Fujimori’s.
“Roma.” I stop my pacing. His warm brown eyes remind me of a puppy dog as he watches me process. “Did you buy me a jukebox?”
