Mercy in Betrayal : Dark Mafia Romance (Sons of the Mafia Book 4) by Vi Carter & E.R. Whyte

Author:Vi Carter & E.R. Whyte [Carter, Vi & Whyte, E.R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CARTER BOOKS
Published: 2024-03-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Rowan

Outside the tiny windows of the jet, a winter storm rages.

Sitting across from Enzo in the butter-soft leather seat, I tug at the lap belt and try without success to hide my nerves. I need Clem.

Enzo is in a terrible mood. Something changed during the reception. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s like a switch flipped, and he went from being defensive to righteous to angry.

Really, really angry.

I don’t think it has anything to do with me, though.

Is it safe to fly during a snowstorm? It’s vicious out there, the wind whipping a bitter mix of ice and snow against the fuselage in a high whine that grates against my nerves. The storm hit on our way to LaGuardia, an airport within sight of the Manhattan skyline.

The vehicle we were traveling in drove us directly into a private terminal, where we were then able to dash across a tarmac to a waiting private jet—something Enzo referred to with satisfaction as a Dassault Falcon 900, whatever that is.

All I know is that even with Enzo’s man holding an umbrella in front of us, the snow stung my face with a thousand tiny cuts as we made our way to the plane.

They’re nothing compared to the cut of his betrayal, though. I can’t believe I haven’t bled out by now.

Reset. I rock forward slightly.

Enzo leans forward now, his tight expression softening slightly, and brushes my fingers away from the metal buckle as he pulls the belt across my hips. “Relax.”

I turn my face to stare out the window. “I need Clementine.”

“Who’s Clementine?”

“My cat. The one at the church.”

“Oh, that’s right. I have someone taking care of him.”

“No, you don’t understand. I need him.” My fingers twist in my lap, hanging on to imaginary fur.

Reset. Reset.

“What do you mean, you need him?”

I shake my head, not wanting to explain again that he’s my service animal. I mentioned it briefly when we first met, and Enzo was polite enough not to ask questions, but now…after everything that’s happened…I can imagine him making fun of my anxiety disorder, or worse, keeping Clem from me intentionally in some misguided attempt to ‘cure’ me.

He eyes me for a minute, waiting for an explanation that doesn’t come, before sighing in defeat as an attendant comes down the aisle with drinks.

“He’ll be safe at home when we get there, Rowan. We’re not bringing a cat on our honeymoon. Here. Drink up. It’ll relax you.” He hands me a flute of champagne, watching over the brim of his own glass until I take a sip.

I don’t need to relax.

I don’t say the words, but I think them as I lower the glass and rest my head against the seat back. I need things to reset, but nothing is resetting. I need to go back to where I still had choices, when Enzo was just a guy who bought coffee at the Koffee Kart and not my husband, staring at me as though he just won the bid for the blue-ribbon bull at the fair.

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