Chapter Thirty-Seven
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Lincoln/ Four Years Ago
A fter years of intimidating “yes sirs” and “yes ma’ams” while putting endless time in at the station, I officially get promoted as an investigator with the Bureau of Criminal Investigation.
Adjusting to the new position means a lot of time spent away from the two-thousand-square-foot split-level ranch that I managed to buy for Georgia and me with a large loan and a prayer that it could fix whatever is slipping away day by day.
A new space means a fresh start, and we need that.
But between starting the new job and settling into the house with only the furniture we took with us from the apartment within six months, it’s hard to find a routine. The stress is heightened, which has led to a lot of heated disagreements about paint color, what to have for dinner, and other mundane shit I’d normally never think twice about.
Who the fuck cared what color a guest bedroom was? I sure as hell didn’t, and I doubted we’d have many guests who would. Frankly, I couldn’t think of one person who would need to stay with us.
But it mattered to her, and it took one swift smack upside the head by my mother to realize it had nothing to do with the color at all. “It’s about making it a home,” she says when I stop by to help her fix her tire on one of my few days off.
A home . “It’s just paint,” I murmur, grabbing my wrench and tightening the lug nuts on the new tire.
“Oh, honey,” she chides. “It’s never just paint. Not to her.”
Then what the hell is it? “I’ll never understand women.”
Her laugh is light. “That’s how women feel about men,” she reassures, helping me up once I’m finished with the job. “Do me a favor, though. Go easy on her. We both know you’re not an easy person to be with. Oh, don’t give me that look. I love you unconditionally, but that doesn’t mean I don’t see facts.” She eyes me when I go to argue, clamming me up. “Your job is demanding, and that puts a strain on any of your relationships. Georgia is trying to deal with that by making your house into a home for the two of you, which I can only imagine is difficult since you’re gone so often. Put yourself in her shoes. She’s in a new place, all alone, attempting to make it into something you look forward to coming home to.”
Flexing my fingers around my wrench, I stifle a sigh. I never thought about it that way, but she has a point.
“To her, it’s not about the paint color,” my mother concludes, patting my shoulder. “It’s about making decisions together that you can both be happy with.”
Shoulders tightening, I realize I’ve been an ass. I told Georgia she could do whatever she wanted with the house because I wanted her to feel at home—to make it hers. It wasn’t that I didn’t care; it was that I’d done this whole thing for her. To give her room. A place for the books she loves reading. A space to cook and bake using the recipes she’s collected from my mother over the years. Room to grow.
Together.
No matter what is happening between us.
My mother squeezes my shoulder. “You should go,” she encourages.
Go home to her, is what she doesn’t say.
But I listen to the unspoken advice.
And when I walk up the stairs that lead into the living room, I see her sprawled across the couch with a book in her hand and say, “I liked the beige color.”
She blinks, closing her book. “The…what?”
I walk over and sit on the edge of the couch, grabbing her feet and draping them over me as I scoot back into the cushion. Massaging her feet, I say, “For the guest bedroom. I liked the beige you picked out. It’s…homey.”
Her eyes go from where I work her feet up to my face, hers pinched in confusion. “Oh.” She sets her book on the table. “I didn’t think you cared that much.”
“My mind has been preoccupied,” I admit apologetically. “But I want this house to feel like ours. If that means going over paint samples for each room, that’s what we’ll do.”
A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she settles into the cushions. “Does that mean we’ll paint them together too?”
I’ve always hated painting, but for her, I’d do it. “Yes, Peaches. It means painting them too.”
Her smile grows, and damn, is it a sight I’ve missed. “The house…” She looks around at the large living room that was a selling point to me thanks to the high wooden ceiling. “It’s beautiful, Lincoln. It’s the last thing I expected.”
My hand works its way up her calf. “I know things haven’t been easy for us lately, and I want to fix it. Hopefully, this is the first step.”
As quickly as her smile stretches, it wavers as her eyes dip to where my fingers squeeze and rub the muscles in her legs.
“I want that too. But…” Her tone is full of hesitation as she pulls back one of her feet. I keep hold of the other, seeing her withdraw into herself and not wanting her to put that distance there.
I’ve let her do it too often lately.
“What is it?” I ask softly, using the pad of my thumb to caress the sole of her foot.
Her top teeth dig into her bottom lip. “We said no more lying or holding anything back.” Her chest rises with a slow inhale. “So, you should know that I’m going to dinner with my family this weekend. When Luca came to the bookstore, he said Leani had bruises on her that he suspects my father is responsible for. She wants me to come to dinner to see if I can ease some of his stress.”
The word “no” is out of my mouth before I can stop and process it.
“Lincoln—”
“You don’t owe him anything, Georgia.” Does she hear herself?
“He’s my dad.”
“He’s not a very good one,” I counter coolly, her foot tensing in my hold. Easing my tone, I go back to working out the tension just above her heel. “He hasn’t done anything to prove he’s worth your effort or energy. I’m sorry if that’s true about Leani, but she needs to file a police report, not ask you to come handle it.”
“Leani would never go to the police.”
“Why not?”
Georgia is quiet for a minute. “Because he’s all she has. I think if she wanted to go to the police, she would have. But something is holding her back.”
I’ve dealt with plenty of people in situations like hers who were afraid of losing everything they had by leaving their abusers. “I understand that. What I don’t get is how you’re supposed to change what’s happening behind closed doors.”
“He used to be a different person,” she tells me, her frown curling her lips. “I know you don’t understand, but I can’t help but wonder if I can get the old version of him back. Luca said—”
“Luca.” I cut her off, my hand pausing on her foot. “Since when do you care about what Luca Carbone says anyway? If you only spoke to him that once at the store, I don’t see why his input matters over mine.”
“I never said it did.”
“Well, it sure feels like it. All Luca Carbone cares about is what benefits him ,” I argue firmly. “If he said anything different, I wouldn’t be so quick to believe him.”
All she does is stare down at her closed book.
“You’ve offered to help your father before, and all he’s done is make you pay for it. He’s the reason there’s a wedge between us, and listening to Luca is only going to drive it deeper.”
She peeks up at me through her lashes. “Is it the only reason, though?”
“What does that mean?”
Shaking her head, she fidgets with the bookmark tucked in between the pages. “Neither one of us knows how far gone my father is. Do we?”
She spares me with a look, those amber eyes waiting for me to say something. But I don’t want to get into what her father may or may not be into. It’s better if she doesn’t know the incriminating evidence that could lead to her father’s ruin. The less she knows, the less guilt she’ll feel for not trying to stop me. But if he’s this unpredictable, then clearly, something needs to be done about it.
“I’m not trying to be a dick,” I tell her, letting her take back her foot. She bends her legs up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “But I want you to realize that this is another part of the game he’s playing to get what he wants. Where is the line?”
“It’s just dinner.”
It’s just paint, I’d told my mother.
But it wasn’t.
“It’s never just dinner, Georgia. This dinner is going to turn into another one. And that will turn into a third. Eventually, you’ll be going every week. And for what?”
It doesn’t matter to her. She’s already made up her mind, and it doesn’t matter what my opinion on the matter seems to be. Whatever Luca told her got to her head exactly how he wanted it to.
The only reason she’s telling me is because she already agreed to go.
“When are we going to dinner?”
Surprise coats her face, her lips parting. “You want to come?”
Want is a strong word. “I don’t trust them.”
Her frown reappears.
“But I don’t want you to face them alone. And maybe your stepmother won’t go to the police, but maybe she wants you to bring the police to her in any form you can.”
She’s contemplative. “And you would help her?”
“It’s not her I dislike.” Though, she’s never going to be getting a Christmas card from me anytime soon. “I’m not a complete asshole, Peaches. I can find it in me to help someone who needs it.”
“That’s how I feel about my father.”
The difference is, Nikolas may be too far gone to be saved. And I’m afraid she’ll realize that too soon and give up everything to try anyway.
*
When a young woman opens the door to the Del Rossi mansion, I step inside with a hand on Georgia’s lower back. We’re guided to a formal dining room the size of my old apartment, where Luca and Antonio Carbone are sitting and making conversation with Nikolas, seated at the end of the table.
The eldest Del Rossi’s face drops the second he sees me enter the room. It takes everything in me to behave like I promised Georgia I would on the drive here.
“Sorry we’re late,” I apologize, making eye contact with each person. “We wanted to stop and buy you something.”
Georgia clears her throat, setting the bottle of Shivers on the table. The whiskey cost me sixty dollars at the liquor store, but I wasn’t coming empty-handed into the lion’s den.
It’s Leani who’s quick to respond. “How thoughtful. Would you like me to put it in the other room, dear?”
Her question is directed toward Nikolas, who’s still staring at me. “We’re more of a Macallan household,” he informs me, ignoring his wife.
Georgia puts her hand on my arm, as if telling me to play nice. I capture her hand, threading our fingers together. “Unfortunately, not all of us have an unlimited budget like you do.”
Leani gestures toward the table. “Please sit. I’ll ask the caterers to pour you a glass.”
The smug face on Luca Carbone only lasts long enough for me to take the empty seat next to Leani that I’m expected to sit at and drag it loudly over to Georgia. The chair legs scrape across the hardwood, stopping when I wedge the seat between where Georgia and Luca had been put beside each other.
Nikolas glares as I settle in, draping an arm across the back of my wife’s chair. I simply look at the floor and say, “I can buff that out for you.”
Georgia puts a hand on my knee and squeezes once. A warning. But I ignore the irritated glares in my direction from the men and turn my attention to Leani. “Thank you for the invitation. I’ve been wanting to speak to you and your husband for a while.”
The hand on my leg tightens. “Lincoln,” she whispers, eyeing me warily.
She’s worried about what I’ll say, but I have no intention of telling the man at the other end of the table what a horrible father he is. He doesn’t need me to tell him that. Deep down, he already knows he’s failed his family.
I put a hand on top of hers and turn my body toward the man of the household. “I wanted to thank you for helping me get my promotion. It’s always nice to know there are people who can see the importance of cleaning up the streets. It’s a shame drug use is on the rise, but your endorsement is going to help end that.”
It’s not a threat but a promise.
And I deliver it with a smile.
Antonio’s body straightens, his shoulders squaring and eyes narrowing at Nikolas. “What is he talking about?”
“I don’t know what he’s referring to,” Nikolas states, gripping the arm of his chair and keeping his eyes forward.
He won’t look at his companion.
Interesting.
“Oh, come on,” I say halfheartedly. “Now’s not the time to be humble, Nikolas. Without you getting Captain Chamberlin to talk on my behalf, I wouldn’t be able to take care of these dealers roaming our towns. We’ve got families to protect, after all.”
Georgia’s hand slips out from under mine, leaving my leg cold from the absence of her touch. She looks between me and her father, her brows furrowed together. “He…” Her eyes meet her father’s. “You helped him get the promotion?”
“You didn’t know?” I question casually.
Her gaze darts back to me. “Of course, I didn’t,” she says softly. “I had no clue.”
Whether I believe her or not doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Not when there are at least three pairs of eyes burning holes into the profile of my face.
Luca speaks up for the first time since we sat down. “A promotion like that must be strenuous on your personal life. Especially with all of your adjustments lately. How is that charming house of yours?”
Nostrils flaring at his nonchalant tone, I grab the water glass somebody set in front of me and grip it tightly. “It’s slowly becoming a home,” I inform him. “Isn’t that right, Peaches?”
The nickname grabs ahold of Leani’s attention, and her eyes, which had been downtrodden the entire time, lift to Georgia. She remains silent, an order laid out by Nikolas, I’m sure.
I notice something off about her.
Her eyes are glassy.
Her face thick with the kind of makeup Georgia used to wear. A mask to hide behind. And when she turns her head, I notice the faintest red marks around her neck.
Something tells me her makeup is covering a lot more than her misery. As much as I hate to admit it, Luca may be right.
Georgia clears her throat. “Right.”
It’s Antonio who speaks up next. “And how is the job you love so much, Georgia? I must admit, I never quite saw you as the working type when Luca said you seemed happy at the bookstore.”
Georgia stiffens at the condescending tone thrown at her, her eyes staying on the empty placemat in front of her.
I speak for her when it’s clear she won’t speak up for herself. “Maybe if she was given the opportunity to make something of herself of her own free will, you would have seen it sooner. It’s a good thing she has me.”
A small breath escapes one of the women to my left—I’m not sure if it’s Leani or Georgia.
“Yes,” Leani forces to say. “A very good thing.”
Antonio shoots Nikolas a look.
Nikolas leans forward, and despite the long table putting distance between us, his cold glare closes in on me all the same. “Keep telling yourself that, Officer. Perhaps one day, you’ll believe it.”
Luca chuckles, picking up the glass of scotch that he’s been nursing.
The only thing I say is, “It’s detective now.”
The table grows silent.
Leani stands, nervously saying, “I’ll go check to see if dinner is ready to be served.”
Her eyes go to Georgia, then to me, never scanning over the three men looming at the other side of the table as if she’s too afraid to.
“Georgia,” she says softly. “Why don’t you come with me?”
I highly doubt it takes two people to check on dinner, but I don’t say anything.
Georgia glances at me, then at her father and the two other men across the table. “All right.”
I skirt my hand over her leg as she stands, flashing her a smile that she tightly returns. It’s as if the second she stepped into this house, all the progress she made went out the door and she reverted to the silent child she was raised to be.
As soon as the women are out of the room, I turn to the three men and lean my arms against the edge of the table. “Let’s not bullshit one another. What was the real reason for this dinner?”
Antonio scoffs, and Luca’s lips waver but remain neutral.
Nikolas answers. “Perhaps my daughter realized this is where she was meant to be.”
Snorting, I look at Luca. “We both know that’s not true, is it, Carbone?”
Luca’s eyebrow pops up. “Nobody forced Georgia here tonight.”
Instead of reacting, I lean back in my chair. “I would hardly say that’s true. How many years of emotional manipulation did it take to wear her down enough to agree? I’ll never understand why she chooses to care for somebody who’s done nothing but tear her down. But she does.” My eyes go to Nikolas. “We all have motives that brought us here tonight. I want my wife to be happy. You want her to be controlled. One day, she’ll see all of you for who you are.”
“And what about you?” Nikolas asks. “What do you think will happen when she opens her eyes and sees you for who you are?”
I’m not going to pretend I’m a saint. I know I’m not. But I also know I’m better than the men across from me. “And who is that?” I question him.
Nikolas’s calculated grin makes my eyes narrow when he says, “A liar.”
“I suppose it takes one to know one then,” I return casually, not letting the words soak in as much as they want to.
He wants me to fold.
I won’t.
When the women come back in, there are two servers that follow behind with trays of food. It’s the first time I’ve ever been to somebody’s house that has hired help catering a basic meal, but I expect no less from the Del Rossi family.
Dinner is silent, save for the silverware clinking against the expensive plates. I wouldn’t be shocked if the design on the dishes were actually gold-encrusted knowing the company I’m in.
All the chatter that we’d walked into faded the second Georgia and I arrived, but the tension grew tenfold as each course was served.
Georgia only eats a few bites from each course, only poking at the fancy tart topped with all of her favorite fruit placed in front of her by dessert. The girl with the biggest sweet tooth I know barely touches anything that she would happily eat if it were just us.
And it’s killing me.
“I think it’s best we go,” I say, scooting my chair back and standing. “Georgia?”
It’s an out.
I’ve let her see how little her father truly needs her and taken the thick silence for as long as I can. I’m used to uncomfortable situations, but tonight goes beyond that. It’s a challenge, one I don’t want to take.
Not in front of Georgia.
I extend my hand, waiting for her to take it.
Her eyes go to my palm, then up my arm to meet my gaze. Throat bobbing, she blots her mouth with her napkin and moves the chair back.
She doesn’t take my hand when she stands.
She doesn’t look at Nikolas or the Carbones.
Her eyes go to Leani. “Thank you for having us,” she says, her voice no more than a whisper.
“You’ll have to come back next week,” Nikolas says instead of his wife. “Perhaps we can have traditional family time.”
Without me, he’s saying.
No chance in hell I’m letting that happen.
Leani stands as well. “I’ll walk you out.”
She walks alongside Georgia, hesitating at the door.
I pull a card out of my back pocket and pass it to her. “If you need somebody to help you, you should call this number.”
Leani stares at the business card a moment before taking it. “Shawn Hart?” she reads.
“He works in the special victim’s unit. He deals with a lot of domestics. His experience ranges farther than your stepdaughter’s.”
“Lincoln,” Georgia murmurs.
I turn to her. “I’m just being honest. Hart can help her because he has the resources to.” When I focus back on Leani Del Rossi, she’s not making eye contact with me. “I’ve dealt with abuse before. I know what it looks like. It’s not worth staying. Hart can get you out of here.”
When the older woman lifts her gaze, I find a hardness in the hue of her eyes. “I don’t need your friend’s help.”
“But you need Georgia’s?”
She stands her ground. “I think it’s best if you both left.”
When we walk out, I see her slip the card into the sleeve of her shirt before the door closes behind us.
Georgia takes a deep breath. “That was…”
“I know.”
When the following Sunday rolls around, Georgia is invited back by Leani, just like I knew she’d be. I’m conveniently called in for a last-minute mandatory overtime detail at the same time I’m supposed to be at the Del Rossi’s house for dinner.
I ask Georgia not to go.
She asks me to trust her.
Neither one of us winds up happy.