Chapter 1 #12
"I think I get it," he says softly. "I appreciate you guys more now," I admit. "I mean, I always did. A lot. But tonight it hit different. You and Antonio... you're my whole fucking world. And I almost handed two strangers the key to it."
He squeezes my side gently. "You didn't almost hand them shit on purpose." I look up at him, a tiny smile pulling at my lips. "They even said you're a legend," I tell him. "Swear to God. The 'your husband is a legend' line really sold it."
He rolls his eyes, but I see the corner of his mouth twitch. "Of course they fucking did."
"I swear they didn't trick me just because I'm stupid. They were insanely convincing. Like... a whole performance. Knew races, knew Escobar, talked like they were there. They were sweet, they made jokes. They were dripping honey. I honestly didn't even get one weird vibe."
"I can imagine," Gio mutters. "People like that know how to play it." He pauses, thumb brushing lazily over my hip. "Let them enjoy it for a bit," he adds. "The fake freedom. It's gonna suck when they're breathing through bars instead."
A sharp, mean little satisfaction runs through me and I bury my face in his chest to hide the smile.
"Anyway," he says, shaking it off. "Forget it for tonight. What matters is we're all okay. The rest... we'll handle it. Try to get it out of your head as much as you can."
He pushes my hair back from my forehead, and leans in to give me a small, quick kiss. Just a soft peck. I immediately lean up and give him one back, a little longer. And then another one. "Did you lock the door?" I ask.
He snorts. "I locked the front door, the hallway door, and our bedroom door. They're not robbing us tonight."
"For the second time," I add. We both laugh quietly. "Good," I mumble. "I wanna actually sleep without imagining random dudes in the hallway."
"Same," he says. I yawn, sleep finally sneaking up now that the adrenaline's dropped. "Goodnight, Gio," I whisper. "And I'm sorry. Really. I'll be more careful."
"I know, baby," he says. "I'm sorry too." He pulls me closer, tucks me firmly against his chest, and yanks the blanket up over us so we're both covered. His chin rests on top of my head. Now my body believes we're safe.
"Goodnight," he murmurs. I close my eyes and let myself fall asleep knowing that we lost a bike, we lost a house, but I didn't lose them. And as long as I have that, I'll figure the rest out.
24) Sherlock With Anxiety
Rava
I'm making Antonio's breakfast while Gio wrestles Blu into his harness. Gio doesn't look mad anymore. I mean, I'm not gonna push my luck and test him, but his face is soft again.
Normal-Gio. He even kissed me this morning. Again. On the mouth. Honestly, I was convinced I wouldn't get one of those for at least a week.
It was small, but it was enough to make me feel wanted again instead of like the extra chair in the room nobody uses.
I put Antonio's bowl down and mash the banana in, staring at it a little too intensely. I felt so insecure yesterday I don't even know how to explain it.
At some point I really, genuinely believed that was it. Game over. He's not taking me back from this one. I risked our whole family because I opened a door.
But he got it. He understood I didn't mean to. And I learned my lesson so hard it's carved into my bones now. I'm never opening the door to a stranger again.
Ever. I don't care if he says he's Gio's long-lost twin, his dead cousin, his guardian angel or the fucking Pope. Doorbell rings and I don't recognize you?
Congratulations, you're talking to the door.
The irony is, it happened exactly where we felt safest. We had three security locks on that door. Three. Gio paid extra for them. He was so proud, too. And then we got robbed because I opened the door myself and basically said, "Hi, welcome to our home, please fuck it up."
The locks weren't the problem. My brain was. I stir Antonio's food and sigh. I'm gonna fix that. Or at least try. For them first, and then for me.
And for our little girl, too. The one we're waiting for. I'm not dragging her into this world with a dad who opens the door to every honey-tongued idiot who knows how to say "your husband is a legend."
I want to be better. I have to be better. For Gio. For Antonio. For the baby. And for the version of me that doesn't want to sit in a storage closet shaking because he trusted the wrong smile.
"Okay, listen to me," Gio says, and his tone makes me look up immediately. "I'm listening," I mumble, wiping a bit of banana off Antonio's cheek.
"You lock the door," he points at it.
I laugh. "Yes, boss."
"I'm serious," he insists. "IF, and I mean IF you see anything weird, you call me right away. I'm literally five minutes away, I'm not going far. And you don't open to anyone. Got it, Rava?"
I nod. Hard. "Okay. Okay, yeah. Got it."
He looks at me for a second, like he's checking if it actually went in this time. Then he steps closer and pulls me into a hug. Out of nowhere. He pats my back and then slides his hand up into my hair, fingers combing through it gently.
He kisses the top of my head. "I hope our daughter gets your hair," he says. My eyes fly open. I pull back just enough to look at him. He smirks. "Oh yeah. And your eyes too."
I melt. Straight up puddle on the floor. "Insane combo," he adds. "She'll have everyone at her feet. Girls and boys." I laugh into his chest. "You're exaggerating."
"Just wait and see," he says. He turns to Antonio. "Hey, champ," Gio crouches. "I'm taking Blu for a walk, okay? Eat your food. Don't make Dada chase you around with the spoon."
"Bye daddy," Antonio says, waving his spoon. Gio kisses his cheek, ruffles his hair, then nods at me once and heads to the door. I lock the last one again, just in case.
My paranoia has skyrocketed overnight.
"Dada," he says, completely ignoring the spoon. "Can you bring the vroom? I forget it."
I snort. He always eats holding that red toy car. I don't know why. It's like his emotional support vehicle.
I honestly think Gio's gonna cry the day Antonio gets his driver's license and the examiner looks at him like, "Why do you drive like you've been doing this for ten years, young man?"
"I'll go get it," I say, getting up. "Don't move. Or eat the table." I head to the living room, grab the little car from the couch, and for a second I just stare at it.
Thank God they didn't take this thing. Antonio would've sobbed his lungs out. And I would've sobbed with him.
Yesterday I cried for Gio. For his bike. For that empty space in the garage. Fuck. I have to do something. I can't just sit here. I put the vroom in Antonio's hand and watch him perk up instantly. "Tank you," he says.
"You're welcome," I mumble, still half in my head. My brain starts doing laps. Clothes. Faces. Hair. Scars. Jewelry. Tattoos. I freeze.
Tattoos.
I look up at nothing, spoon still in my hand. The guy in our living room. The taller one. He had this shaved patch on his arm. No hair. With fresh ink underneath. I remember the redness. The protective film still on it.
Noah shaves the area every time he's about to tattoo. "Oh my God," I whisper. "Oh my God, that's it." Noah's studio is one of the biggest around. Half the city goes there.
And this idiot has no idea we're literally best friends with the guy who drew on his criminal ass. I grab my phone fast. It rings. And rings.
"Come on, pick up, pick up, pick up—"
"Yes?" his voice finally comes through.
I exhale. "YES. Noah, can you hear me?"
"Yes, Rava, I can hear you, you maniac. Is everything okay?" "Yes. No. Kind of. Listen," I say in one breath. "I need to ask you something. Did you, by any chance, recently do a tattoo on someone's arm?"
Noah laughs. "Um. Yeah? That's my job? I do that every day. Many arms. Many tattoos. Why, you want one too?"
"No, I don't want one. Not now, at least," I say, pacing a little in the tiny kitchen.
"The guy from yesterday, he had this shaved spot on his arm. With fresh ink. Like, the bandage was still on. It had the sticker on top. It looked new."
"What was it?" Noah asks. "The design?"
"Shit. I didn't see it well," I admit, rubbing my forehead. "I didn't look at the drawing, I was too busy freaking out about the fact he was in my house. But I remember him. He was really tall, had a scar on his left eye. Back of his head shaved—"
"Hold on." Noah cuts me off. "Big cross on the back of his head?"
My heart stops. "YES. YES. Noah, yes. That's him. That's him."
"Oh my God. I'm gonna cry. I tattooed a criminal. I tattooed the guy who robbed my friends. I hate my life."
"Noah, this is perfect," I say, almost laughing from the adrenaline. "No, I mean it, this is actually perfect. We can find them now."
"I don't know about 'perfect', but, yeah, we have something," he says. "I don't know his real name, but I can check what he wrote on the form when he came. And his card name when he paid. Although, let's be real, probably stolen."
"Yeah, probably," I say. "Wait, he paid with card?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, that's even better," I say. "We can trace transactions. Cameras. Something. I don't care. Tell me how many clues we just unlocked, because I feel like Sherlock with anxiety right now."
"There's more. He booked another appointment. Tomorrow. He wants me to go over an old tattoo and darken it. I'm supposed to see him again."
I grip the counter. "Noah. Oh my God."
"I know," he groans. "He might pay with your card this time. Honestly iconic of him, if yes."
"Noah, I really don't care about the card right now," I say quickly. "Listen to me. He has no idea we know each other, yeah?" "Zero clue," Noah says. "I didn't exactly have 'my best friends just got robbed yesterday' written on my forehead."
"Perfect," I say. "Here's what we're gonna do. You're gonna bring Lorenzo there. He's gonna book an appointment too, same time, next to him. Pretend he wants a tattoo. Sit right by him. We'll set them up. I'll think of something. A trap. Something smart. We've got this."