No. Bonnie wasn’t working with her uncle. She was on my side. At least that’s what she claimed, but it in the very backs of my mind, I couldn’t shake that small bit of doubt.
Which was exactly why she and I planned her lunch outing with her cousin together.
“I really hope you’re right, son,” Pa called after me.
I opened the front door to his estate. “Trust me, Pa. I am.”
As I stepped out into the stormy weather, I wrapped my coat around my shoulders. I needed to get back to Bonnie because I didn’t want her to be alone for too long. I knew she had a lunch date with her cousin, and I was anxious to know how it went.
I also wanted to get home and make sure she was safe.
“Where to, sir?” my driver asked as he opened the door to the town car.
“Home. I’m ready to head home.”
I slid into the backseat and didn’t give my father’s place a second glance. I knew he was just cautious. And at one point in time, I had sat in his shoes. But Bonnie had done more than enough to convince me of what side she sat on. I mean, even before all of this shit came out—even before she was Bonnie to me—I had hope for us. I had hope we could carve out a good life together.
I had hope we could cast aside our differences and make this marriage work.
I wasn’t ready to give up on that yet.
I thought about the conversation with my father all the way home. It had validity, sure. But for once, I wasn’t on his side. He had been there when we had seen Bonnie for the first time, for crying out loud. And he hadn’t picked up on the double-cross either. Pava Moretti had really done a number on this family, that much was for certain.
He wouldn't win, though.
Not on my watch.
“We’re here, sir,” my driver said, stopping the car.
I opened the door. “Take the day off. I’m not going anywhere else today.”
“Are you sure, sir?”
I paused, staring up at the facade of the building. “Wait an hour, then head home if I don’t come back down.”
“Of course, sir.”
There was something off about my windows. As I gazed up towards the top of the building, one of the windows wasn’t as shiny as the other. It seemed odd, especially since I saw the suspension system of the window-washer.
Did he miss a window?
I made my way into the building and headed straight for the elevator. Something in the pit of my stomach told me to stay on high alert, so I hyper-focused on everything around me. The smell of the elevator. The feel of the button as I pressed it. The way the elevator lurched to life, lifting me towards my penthouse.
But when the doors opened into my living room, I saw why that one window didn’t look as shiny as all the others.
It was covered in food.
The hairs on the nape of my neck stood on end. I pressed the emergency stop button in the elevator, keeping the doors from closing and giving off the fact that I was home. My eyes followed the trail of food through the living room. My white furniture was covered in it, and one of my glass-blown vases had crashed to the floor.
Someone had been here.
No. Someone was still here.
I placed my other hand on the butt of my gun and slid it out from its holster as I followed the food trail down the hallway, slowly heading towards the kitchen. Evidence of trespassers were all around me. A crooked picture in the hallway. Food stained my freshly-cleaned hardwood floors. I smelled Bonnie’s perfume as I stalked toward the opening for the kitchen, and every single part of me went on guard.
No one hurt my wife in my own fucking house.
“Give me what I want,” a gruff voice said.
Bonnie’s voice quivered. “I don’t care what you want. You’re not getting it.”
“You’ll give it, or you’ll die.”
“Make sure you cover your tracks, then. Because my husband will—”
I growled. “Put you down in a dog’s fight.”
I rushed the massive man that had Bonnie had backed into a corner. Why I didn’t draw my gun, I wasn’t sure. I had it right there on my hip. All I knew was that I wanted to feel my grip around the neck of the man who dared to enter my home and defile what was in it. Bloodlust filled me as I lunged at the man. I didn’t know how badly Bonnie had been injured, or if she was injured at all. But the trembling of her voice told me everything I needed to know.
Which gave me direction on just how badly I wanted to beat this man into oblivion.
The man whipped around on me and pointed my own fucking kitchen knife at my throat. I grabbed his wrist, pulled him close to me, and felt that blade press against my neck.
Then, I quickly withdrew my gun and pressed it to his gut. “Wanna see who moves quicker?”
I peered over the man’s shoulder, and what I saw enraged me. My wife, without any pants on, and her lip was split. Her eye looked swollen. And the fear in her eyes made my blood boil. This man had touched my wife, the woman who had given herself over to me. And if he was the one that had taken her fucking pants off, I’d dismember him in my own fucking kitchen.
Until he
