“So…” Rob starts as the four of us step into the elevator in Val’s office building. “What’s the plan?”
I situate myself so I’ll be the first one out when the doors open on the fourth floor.
“The plan is that we’re going to a fucking Christmas party.”
We’re all on edge. Someone did a drive-by shooting at a storage facility I own on the edge of the city. No one was hurt. And I don’t have anything of value there. But it’s the principle. And it’s fucking juvenile. And we’re all getting real sick of not having a target for our anger.
“Okay, but do you want us to pretend we work here? Or are we watching Val?” Rob lifts his hands when I glare at him. “We’ll just prowl the room. Got it.”
The other two men I brought wisely stay silent.
My fingers itch to punch something, but instead, I button my jacket and smooth out the charcoal-gray suit over my crisp white shirt.
I know Val likes being able to see the outline of my tattoos. And even though she’s testing my patience by not responding to my last text—when I messaged to say I’d be a little late—I want her attention on me. So I dressed with her in mind.
The elevator doors slide open, and we’re assailed with festive music that grates on my already raw nerves.
I should’ve said no to this.
I also should’ve asked more questions because there are a lot of people here. I know the Chicago branch of her company has less than twenty people, so this must be a multi-company party.
My men fan out, and I step into the throng.
We’re a handful of stories up on a mezzanine floor with one side entirely open to the twenty-story atrium looking out over the river. A bar’s been set up over to my right. And to my left is a DJ stand blasting Christmas music.
This is too many corporate douchebags for the mood I’m in.
I exhale.
I’m gonna get my wife another job. She shouldn’t be wasting her time and talent around these morons.
I stop halfway through the crowd and let my gaze move over the people, searching for the only one I want to talk to.
And then I see her.
She’s across the space, near the railing overlooking the atrium, and her side is to me, showing me her profile.
But I know it’s her.
I’ll always know it’s her.
Target in sight, I move through the crowd quickly.
Having her so close fills me with a mix of relief and tension.
Relief that she’s here, and I can see she’s okay. Tension because there are so many other people here, too. And unless we’re alone in a room together, I’ll always be worried about her safety.
People move across my path, blocking her from my view, then revealing bits and pieces of her person.
When I register the splash of yellow, my steps slow.
Because just yards away from me is my beautiful wife. And she’s wearing the same exact outfit she was wearing in the airport when we first met.
I glance down at her feet and feel myself smile.
So not exactly the same. Tonight she’s wearing a pair of her wedge heels rather than tennis shoes. But it’s the same brightly colored wrap dress that doesn’t look at all like something you’d wear to a Christmas party. The same simple jewelry. The same ponytail.
But my newfound calmness slips away when I notice her posture. It’s all off.
Her back is ramrod straight. And she’s clutching her drink in front of her body, her elbows pressed hard against her sides.
It’s a defensive posture.
And my wife should never be in a defensive fucking posture.
I close the distance between me and my Valentine in four steps.
Her eyes catch mine a second before I’m at her side, and satisfaction fills my chest when I see her relax at my presence.
My fucking Valentine.
I reach out and grip the back of her neck, feeling her relax even more.
“Dominic,” she sighs.
“Angel.” I hold her still as I lean in and press my lips to hers. It’s chaste…ish.
I pull back enough to look her in the eyes, the gold flecks of her irises glinting at me under the party lights. “You good?”
She gives me a little nod, rolling her lips together.
“Why didn’t you reply to my text?” I ask.
Her eyes dart to look past me, but I flex my fingers against her soft skin, keeping her attention on me.
Her throat works under my thumb. “I left my phone in my purse upstairs, in the office.”
“You’ll keep it on you from now on,” I tell her.
“Yes, Dom.” The exhale of her words dances across my lips.
My eyes slowly close, and as they open, I turn to face the man standing in front of my wife.
I didn’t miss him when I was approaching.
I didn’t miss the fact that he’s the one making my woman feel uncomfortable.
And standing to my full height, I’m tempted to slap his fucking face.
“Who are you?” My tone is dangerous, even though I already know who this is.
He holds out his hand, his inferior suit bunching on his weak frame. “I’m Mr. Ritz.”
My right hand is gripping the back of Valentine’s neck, and I’m not letting go of her to touch him.
“Ricky.” I greet him using his first name. And the side of my mouth lifts the smallest amount when he visibly starts. “I’ve read a lot about you.”
He sort of chuckles, like I’m joking or making a play on words. But I’m not doing either.
If he thinks I’d let my wife work in an office with a man I haven’t thoroughly vetted, he’s dead wrong.
While Ricky stands there uncomfortably, I take Val’s drink out of her hands and bring it to my lips.
It looks like a whiskey and Coke, and after today, I could use a couple.
The sweetness hits my nose before the flavor coats my tongue, and a full smile pulls across my mouth as I swallow.
I look down at my wife. “Root beer?”
Her eyes are on my smile. “I didn’t want to drink without you here.”
I slide my hand up the length of her neck, then back down. “Well, I’m here now.” I let her see me looking at her dress. “How long do we need to stay?”
A real smile finally reaches her features. “I need to introduce you to Bri.”
“The girl from Vegas?”
Val’s eyes move up to meet mine. “Yeah. Did I tell you her name already?”
I tip my head from side to side, then go with the truth. “I saw her name on your group text.”
“Group text…?”
“You were a little sleepy, so I replied for you.”
She narrows her eyes as she remembers. How they’d told her to check in if she was going to be banging me all weekend. And how I was the one who actually replied to that text since Val was literally unconscious.
My shoulder lifts in a half shrug. “Didn’t want them worrying.”
Val’s mouth quirks to the side. “I’m not sure if I should thank you or slap you.”
I flex my fingers on her neck. “I’ll let you do both.”
Val rolls her eyes. And I feel the victory of it in my soul. Because I just referred to our wedding night, and she rolled her eyes. She didn’t clam up. She didn’t cry. She rolled her beautiful eyes at me like it was silly and not a nightmare.
“Go get your friend.” I press a kiss to her forehead, then let her go.
Val turns away from her boss to leave while I turn back toward him, amazed he just stood here the whole time like a fucking idiot.
But before I acknowledge him again, I make eye contact with Rob across the room, then raise two fingers and make two different gestures. The first tells him to follow Val. The second tells my other men to converge on my location.
When I look at Ricky Ritz, his eyes are darting between my face and my hand, probably wondering what I just put in motion.
I stay silent, just fucking praying that he’ll give me an excuse.
It takes him three seconds.
“You’ve really, uh, left your mark on her, huh?” He lifts his left hand and wiggles his ring finger.
I take a step toward him, and he takes a step back.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask, my voice calm as I take another step.
“Y-yeah.” He takes another retreating step.
I keep advancing.
“But do you really know who I am?”
The man glances around as he continues to stumble back.
When he doesn’t answer, I take a quicker step, closing more distance between us. “Answer me.”
“I-I know who you are.” His eyes are wide now.
Val’s boss takes another step back, only stopping when he bumps into the railing, the last barrier between us and the lobby four floors below.
I step closer still, putting my body only inches from his. “Then you must know that looking at my wife is a bad fucking idea.”
“I didn’t—I-I wasn’t,” he stammers.
“You were.” I take the final step, which presses my chest to his. “And I don’t like it.”
“S-sorry. Sorry.” He tries to hold his hands up in supplication, but he has to hold his arms out to the side because there isn’t room between us.
I lean forward, forcing him to lean back.
His arms windmill once before he grips the railing by his hips.
My fingers press against the metal in my pocket, but that’s all I allow of myself.
I look past him, over his shoulder and down the four stories to the marble-floored lobby below.
“I don’t like you, Ricky.” I move my eyes back to his and lean in a little farther. Our bodies are flush, my bulk working to both push him back but also hold him in place.
“I’m sorry,” he pleads.
“I don’t want your apology,” I growl.
“W-what do you want?” His hands grapple with the railing, his palms probably slick with sweat.
“I want your brains splattered on that floor.” I nod to the drop behind him.
His hands jerk up from the railing to grab at my jacket.
But my men are at my side. And they each take a hold of one of his arms, shoving them back down.
They do it smoothly. Quickly. But I know people are watching.
And I don’t give a single fuck who sees. Because this man made my wife feel uncomfortable.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” I tell him, leaning just a little farther into him, arching his back out over nothing. “You’re going to quit this job. Tonight.”
“But—”
I snap my teeth together, inches from his face, and he shuts the fuck up.
“You’re going to quit tonight,” I repeat, slower this time. “And while you’re quitting, I’m going to take my wife home, and we’re going to have a chat. And if I find out that you’ve ever laid a finger on her or made a comment to her about anything other than work, I’m going to smash your ribs through your heart.” Ricky’s body is trembling against mine, the proper amount of fear finally setting in. “Do you have any questions?”
He shakes his head.
“Do you believe I’m a man of my word?”
He nods.
“Good.” I slowly straighten up, and my men let go of his arms. “Now get the fuck out of here so people can enjoy their party.”
I step back, and Ricky Ritz hugs his arms around himself as he leans forward, away from the railing.
I lower my face to his. “Now.”
He opens his mouth, but instead of replying, he darts away through the crowd.
