Chapter Eighteen Enzo
Chapter Eighteen
Enzo
It was Sunday, my only day off, and I chose to spend it stalking Agent Boneswell.
The chip in Tom’s sweatpants led me to an apartment building only three blocks from my place. It was almost as bougie as mine, not that I cared. My grumpy dreamboat could live in a swamp, and I’d still think he was perfect.
Once I had the address, I was able to run it through a software that told me who owned every single unit in the building. Of course, Tom had incorporated a Cayman Island company through which he owned his property, but used his legal name as the director and sole proprietor of said corporation.
I was a little disappointed. I’d expected more mystery and sophistication from him, but I guess he didn’t take into consideration that the criminals he stalked might start putting surveillance on him.
Never underestimate Karma, Tomcat.
Anyway, once I had his full legal name—Thomas Nigel Rothwell, but we were totally going to ignore the lackluster middle name—and his company, it was a smooth ride from there.
I was able to put a tracker on his Audi, which was actually part of the reason I’d been too busy to message him the day after he spent the night.
After that, I knew exactly where Tom was headed at all times.
Unless he decided to take the subway or a taxi, which, let’s admit, he wouldn’t.
He’d never risk interacting with other humans if he could help it.
Crushing on a misanthrope definitely had its perks.
Today, we were headed to Staten Island, of all places.
I drove about ten vehicles behind him—I didn’t need to visually follow him; I had the tracker app running on my phone—and used one of my lackeys’ cars to stay incognito.
I was actually in a decent mood for once, despite the black eye Luca had given me, which I concealed with a ball cap.
The Cash debacle had seemed to die down.
Whoever sent him hadn’t tried anything since.
Work was under control—I didn’t even have to kill many people this week—and Katya was coming home next week, but now that Luca had decided to feud with the Bratva, our engagement’s days were numbered.
She wanted out of this union just as much as I did, so I didn’t feel too guilty. We were both going to be free soon.
No, asshole. You’ll never be free. You’ll always pretend to be someone you’re not.
Tom’s car slid into a residential area with trimmed front lawns and modest houses. Was he visiting his parents? Relatives? Friends? The thought of other people having regular access to him, that he deigned to visit them regularly, willingly, singed my chest with jealousy.
He parked in front of a brown colonial in Ward Hill. I parked across the street and slinked down, watching him get out of his car with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.
Okay, fucker, this better be your gram’s or mama’s house.
Not that I had any right to lay claim to him. We weren’t exclusive or anything, but I’d been clear on how I felt about cheating.
The door opened the moment he got out of the car, and to my utter shock and confusion, a pretty blond in a red gingham dress burst outside.
I sat up straighter, watching as she flung her arms around his shoulders and jumped him like a rabid ho.
Okay, okay, fine, that was harsh. Like a person who missed him.
But also…like a person who wanted to fuck him.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her forehead. My gag reflex, which had not presented itself to me when I took Tom’s footlong-sub cock into my mouth, decided now was a good time to remind me it existed.
I needed to throw up. Urgently.
Confusion and horror snatched me by the throat.
What the fuck?
What the fucking fuck?!
I didn’t think it could get any worse than that, but somehow, it did, when the door reopened and a kid inserted himself into the mix.
He looked to be about ten or eleven, but I was too far away to make out his features. His hair was dark, like Tom’s, which told me there was a good chance it was his child.
And his wife.
And his home.
He’d lied to me.
Tom hugged the kid and the three of them went inside and closed the door. I tried telling myself that all of this had a plausible explanation. But when I ran all the different scenarios for this kind of scene in my head, I couldn’t think of one.
Unless this chick’s husband was inside the house, waiting for all of them.
Yeah. That could be it. Because there was no way this was Tom’s ex-wife. I’d seen chummy exes, but I’d never seen this much affection and enthusiasm between two people who used to pork each other.
I stayed on surveillance, losing my ever-loving mind.
Two hours after he walked in, Tom walked out…
With Blondie and the kid. They all slipped into his car.
Cursing under my breath, I waited a few minutes before following them downtown. They parked in front of a Mexican place and went inside. No husband, partner, or whatever-the-fuck in sight. Just the three of them.
I knew it was risky for a bevy of reasons, but decided to get out of my car so I could watch them through the window anyway. The hostess sat them at a booth, which offered me a shitty angle, but at least I was fully concealed from their view.
They held hands as they said grace before the complimentary chips and salsa came.
Then the woman had her elbow on Tom’s shoulder the entire time she told him and the kid a story.
The kid looked at Tom like he was God himself. The way normal kids looked up to their fathers at that age if they don’t abuse and belittle them, like mine did.
My heart felt like it was wrung dry. I tried to breathe, but there wasn’t enough air. It felt like Tom had thrown a brick at me and called it a day.
Look away now.
But I couldn’t. I wanted it to hurt. I deserved the pain, for being such a stupid naive idiot.
How could he…
How could I…
He hid a wife and a son from me.
I’d asked him, and he’d lied.
Maybe they weren’t happy together. Maybe they stayed together only for the sake of their son.
Tom looked content enough to be there, but he didn’t smile, didn’t laugh, didn’t loosen up.
God, was I fucking rationalizing things now? A lie was a lie, and a cheater was a cheater. Fuck him.
At some point, Blondie stood up and excused herself to go to the bathroom. The kid returned his attention to the dessert menu, and Tom slipped his phone out and started typing on the screen. A second later, my phone pinged in my pocket.
Tomcat: Did you end up shaving down under?
My fingers trembled over the screen, and I was glad he couldn’t see me. My darkness, shame, and pain had frothed above the surface, bubbling in my chest.
It wasn’t me. I was the chill one. The guy who never got jealous. Rarely got even.
I wanted to get both now.
And I wanted to eviscerate him.
My kneejerk reaction was to type back, GO FUCK YOURSELF, YOU SCHEMING, CHEATING HO. I HOPE YOU DIE OF AN STI THAT YOU SOMEHOW DON’T PASS ON TO YOUR WIFE. YOU SHITTY-ASS HUSBAND.
And normally, I would. But not this time. No.
I was going to save my colossal meltdown for when I had a private audience. Mainly because I felt like he deserved at least a few punches. Simply yelling at him wouldn’t be enough.
I ignored his message.
Tom frowned at his phone, waiting. The light on his screen dimmed. Blondie reemerged, resting her head on his shoulder. He kissed her forehead and rubbed her shoulder soothingly.
And that was when I fucking lost it.
Because he’d never done that to me.
The casual tenderness, the softness I hadn’t even recognized in this man before.
Any shred of logic or reason went out the window.
All I could see was red. All I could feel was pain. All I could taste was betrayal I had no business feeling.
I forced myself to look, gorging on the pain until it made me nauseous. Served me right for offering myself to a fucking fed on a silver platter.
When I finally decided I’d seen enough, I stomped back to my car, slammed the door, and fired up the engine. Another message popped.
I punched the steering wheel on a growl.
Fuck! I didn’t want to open it, but my curiosity overrode all other emotions. Nauseated with how pathetic I felt, I clicked on the picture. It was of him trying—and failing—to smile, the Mexican restaurant his backdrop. Heat filled my gut with fresh anger. I didn’t answer. He was typing.
Tomcat: I know you keep tabs, so here’s a picture of me smiling. Your turn.
Yeah…fuck no.
I ignored the messages and headed home.
The weight of the entire fucking world pressing against my chest, threatening to crush me.