Page 37 of The Celtic Resolution
“Thanks, Cian. This is really important.”
“Don’t suppose you’ll tell me why?”
“Not yet.”
“You’re not in any trouble are you?”
There it is. His honest concern that I could meet with my concerning honesty. I could tell him the truth about a quick fling in a closet resulting in a baby but I know as soon as I tell him, he’d likely never leave my side. And then my investigation would become very difficult.
“No, Cian. I’m not in any trouble. Thank you.”
“Alright. I’m here, remember?”
“I know.” I should ask him to pick me up now that I’m far away from the hospital, make him feel useful and further reassure him that I’m fine but there’s someone else I’d much rather see. “Love you.”
“Love you too, sis.”
The line clicks and I’m left in silence amidst the busy, bustling street. Several texts ping through from my security who are alarmed at my late check in so I text them quickly and then call the one person I do want to see.
Bruno.
“Hey gorgeous,” Bruno says as he answers, sounding as breathless as ever. “Don’t tell me. You’ve cracked the case wide open and you’re calling to tell me that I no longer have to look over my shoulder or worry that my name is stricken from my father’s will.”
“Damn,” I chuckle. “That’s a lot of pressure for one phone call.”
“So that’s a no.”
“Sorry, no.”
“Damn.” He groans dramatically. “There goes my good mood.”
“Bummer.” I pout slightly. “Why are you always breathless when I call?”
“Oh, I’m moving some furniture around. And by moving I mean I was cleaning up and some bullets decided to do a Houdini and roll under the bed. Do you know how hard it is as a muscular man to fit under a bed? Impossible, I tell you.”
“You could have called me for help.”
“And have you crawling about on this disgusting motel floor? Not a chance,” Bruno chuckles. “Moving the bed was much easier. So!” He groans and breathes out deeply as if relaxing. “If you’re not calling with that kind of good news, what are you calling for?”
“Hang out with me.” Why is my heart racing so fast asking a simple question? We’ve fucked, more than once. I saved his life. We’ve been working together. So asking him to hang out shouldn’t be such a big deal and yet it feels like my heart is going to explode out of my chest.
What if he says no? What if this is purely business for him with a side of adrenaline-fueled sex? What if he’s just using me and the thought of spending time with me without the focus of work or more is just too?—
“Thought you’d never ask,” Bruno replies. “Text me where you are and I’ll come pick you up.”
It’s as easy as that. He arrived twenty minutes later and while I don’t have a plan in mind, he does. We drive to a mall and shop for an hour as he uses what money he’s scraped together to buy some more decent clothes so he can stop wearing the same pair of jeans all the time. We have lunch in a small family cafe and share tales of our childhood—though they’re more like when we fired our first gun and how we learned to fight rather than delightful stories of school and pets. Bruno spends a long time talking about a dog he had as a child until his father decided it was making him too soft and got rid of it. Cruel, in my opinion.
After lunch we drop into an art gallery and explore the intricate and delightful—and often confusing—works that are considered art these days. Bruno gets scolded for touching a statue that had no signage indicating it was part of a display and we leave quickly barely hiding our laughter. Dinner is a poke of fries from a food truck and we walk along the river as the sun sinks low behind the horizon and the sky turns into a beautiful cherry pink.
It’s exactly the kind of day I needed after such a whirlwind morning. He makes me feel like a person, like a real human rather than an Underboss and it’s not something I’ve felt in such a long time. My life has been full on about work since Brenden’smurder and the years haven’t been kind. This might be the most fun I’ve had since then and none of it was particularly exciting. It was all nice.
So was Bruno.
I pop a hot fry into my mouth as Bruno walks ahead a little and then turns to face me while walking backward.
“I hope you trip,” I smirk, chewing slowly and savoring the salty, vinegary mouthful.
“You wound me with such threats,” Bruno gasps, hand on heart. “After I bought you dinner.”
