“What the fuck happened?” I growl, my body primed for a fight. My wife is sobbing, and I feel the instinctive drive to find the threat and handle it.
“Sloane?” Killian asks, kneeling on the couch as Tony deposits her gently on the cushions. I rear on him, eyes wide, mouth ready to snarl as I grab my best friend by his throat.
I don’t want the reaper anywhere near my wife, but Tony is the closest target.
“What happened?”
Killian moves beside Sloane, not touching her but scanning her over in a clinical way that stills my heart. It’s too impersonal, too professional that I want to rip him away and toss him into the alley without a second thought.
But first, I have to figure this out. Tony thrashes in my hold, pulling me back to the task at hand.
My fingers dig into the sides of his neck, palm crushing his throat.
“Wait, Lex. It wasn’t us.” He coughs. “The driver found her like that on the street.” His face is turning red from lack of oxygen.
I focus on him, eyes narrowing, hearing his words before they register. It wasn’t him. Tony didn’t touch her.
Good thing for him. I was ready to rip his throat out.
I drop him, drawing Sloane close to my chest as if I can physically heal her with my touch. “Come on, little menace, tell me what happened. Are you injured?”
She sniffles and sobs, body shaking and I hold her tighter. She’s cold, her plump curves sinking into my warmth, body tense and on edge. Anxiety rolls off of her in waves, fear masking the rose perfume I adore.
Her hair is twisted into tangles around her shoulders and her makeup is smeared, mascara caking under her eyes. Sloane never looks so unkept.
Whoever touched my wife is going to be pulled apart by my own hands.
She cries into my chest, her hands curling into my shirt, pulling me close. She’s terrified of being left behind, abandoned, like she feels everyone has done throughout her life. In this moment of need, she clings to me, as though I’m an anchor in the storm and I hold her tight, reminding her that though she feels vulnerable, I’m here.
Carefully, I adjust her into my lap, putting her head under my chin, stroking her hair and back with long, soothing touches. Her sobs lessen and her hands release their death grip on my arms.
“Sloane,” Killian commands, halting the last of her cries like a trained dog. “Look at me.”
Glassy, watery green eyes look to the killer and hold them, unblinking. She doesn’t really see him though, locked in whatever mental trauma she’s endured.
Whatever he sees, he sighs and stands, dusting his pants from invisible dirt.
“Maeve will want to know.”
“Keep your mouth shut,” I demand of Killian, glaring with all the emotions burning inside my chest. “Sloane is my wife. I’ll inform Ace when I feel it necessary.”
Sloane relaxes against me, soaking up my strength. She needs that reassurance even subconsciously.
“You think Maeve’s not going to want to know if her youngest sister has been hurt?” He scoffs. “You clearly don’t know Ace.”
“No, wait.” She turns, catching the reaper by the sleeve. I move, pulling her back, to shield her from the ugliness of the world.
Fierce protectiveness stirs in my chest, fighting against the rage that someone would dare touch the next-in-line Capo’s wife. Did they not know how precious she is to me? Did they not know who I was? What I wouldn’t do to avenge her?
“I don’t give a fuck about Ace. Sloane is a De Luca, per the contract she signed weeks ago. I handle my family, reaper. Me.”
Linwood rocks back on his heels and then smirks slowly. It’s full of smug arrogance and the promise of death at my expense. But I don’t pay attention. I don’t care. All I want is to hold Sloane, quiet her fears and give her my strength to endure.
Whatever happened, was enough to knock my fiery wife into a sobbing mess, one I’ve never seen. One she’s never let me see before. She’s feeling lost, and I want to give her everything she needs to feel comforted during this time. I am her safe place, and I intend to make her see that I’m here for anything she throws at me.
“Understood.” Is all he says as he slips out of the room.
The sun sets and it takes a while for Sloane’s body to stop shaking, for her sobs to turn into hiccups and sniffles. Gently, reverently, I push the hair from her face and admire her cute red nose and the flush staining her cheeks.
“I need to know what happened, Sloane,” I say softly, finger tracing her jaw. “I need to know who to kill and if they’re lucky, it’ll be swift.” Not likely. I want them to suffer for even bringing a tear to my wife’s face.
Only one person is allowed to make a mess of her, to bring tears to her eyes, and that person is me.
She adjusts her legs, pulling back with her arms circling my neck. Her pale hand falls to her throat, groping through the coat for something she can quite find.
“Where’s your necklace?” She never takes it off. Not even to shower.
“He took it.” Her voice cracks.
“Who?”
“The guy with the gun.” Her shoulders deflate. “He took everything. My phone, my purse. Even my new clothes. The bastard even took my mother’s cross.” Fresh tears fall from her eyes, and I hurriedly wipe them away. “I was so scared, Lex. I didn’t know what to do. I’ve never had a gun held up to me before.”
She laughs, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “That’s so stupid to say out loud given who my father was, but I’ve never touched a gun. Maeve never wanted us to.”
Nodding, I rub soothing circles along her back. “Don’t apologize, Sloane. Having a gun in your face is not something just anyone can handle.” Tenderly, I kiss her temple, feeling her relax further against me.
That prick’s days are numbered. The rage I feel is hotter than what I savage. The urge to defend my family, to protect my wife, thrashes in my gut.
This city will know my wrath before the night is over.
“Let’s get you home.”
She nods again, letting me lead. She’s so pliable, standing when I move her, waiting for me by the door while I grab my phone and keys.
I wanted her submission but not like this. Someone broke my wife in ways I never would, and I have to fight the urge to hunt the streets for him. Sloane needs me first and I’ll be damned if I leave her now.
“He didn’t take it,” she whispers. I stop to stare at her, and she waves her hand in my face.
The diamond ring.
It’s odd that the five-carat ring wasn’t the first thing snatched. Why would someone take an old gold cross, worthless by most thieves’ standards, but not the most expensive item on her person? I’m going to find out.
I don’t release her hand as I take us down to the car, ignoring Tony rubbing his sore neck. “Drive,” I growl at a guard, throwing him my keys.
I settle Sloane into my lap and hold her as the guard takes us home.
