Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Absolutely. I’ve wanted kids as long as I can remember. I know a lot of people who were parentified as children ended up not wanting that for their future. But it was a role I’d enjoyed and wanted again now that my siblings were all grown and didn’t need me.” My mind flashed back to Zen. Okay, didn’t need me much.
“A large family?” she asked, watching me.
“I guess that will be up to my future wife, not me,” I admitted. “But I would love that. Though, with that many, I’d have to invest in a brownstone. How many do you want?” She flinched at that. “I’m sorry. Was that inappropriate?”
“No. It’s just… I’d gotten so used to thinking that I couldn’t have kids. It’s almost jarring to hear that I still could. Maybe.”
“Why only maybe?”
“My husband is dead. I’m single. And not getting any younger.”
“Oh, honey. You’re way too young to worry about getting older.”
“You’re forgetting that I have to have time to meet someone, get to know them, learn to trust, fall in love, get married, then start a family.”
“Does it have to be in that order?”
“I mean, marriage and then kids is the ideal.” She thought on that as we walked. “I guess I kind of cleave to the traditional because I didn’t have that. I mean, I haven’t ever known my mom or my dad. Even though they’re both alive. Well, as far as I know, anyway.”
“There’s nothing wrong with tradition. But sometimes the best things in life don’t go to plan.”
“True,” she agreed, then exhaled hard. “I just don’t know how I can trust again. Knowing everything I know now. And, let’s face it, I’m sure there is a lot I don’t know about Matthew.”
That was a segue if I ever saw one.
“While we’re on the topic—”
“Oh, God. What else did he lie to me about?”
“I was actually going to suggest you let me help you open his safe. That might help us answer some lingering questions.”
“Like who killed him,” she said, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Yes, that. And maybe who broke into your place and why.”
“Shouldn’t we maybe leave that up to the police?”
“From what I can tell, they’re not actively working his case right now. There are three to four hundred murders in the city each year. And while the NYPD has a better clearance rate than almost anywhere else in the country, almost a hundred of those murders a year never get solved. It’s an acceptable statistic for them. They’re not going to kill themselves over the ones that slip past them.”
Something sparked in Blair’s eyes then. Something I didn’t like seeing there. It was a mixture of suspicion and distrust. “How do you know that?”
It was my turn to be confused.
Because was it actually possible that she didn’t know what I did for a living? Had Matt never mentioned that? I’d never known him for being able to keep his mouth shut.
But, no.
That was no longer true, was it?
Matt was apparently incredibly adept at keeping shit to himself, at lying and deceiving.
This was the point where some part of me wanted to lie, to not expose her to any more discomfort.
But that made me no better than Matt.
I glanced around, aware of so many ears nearby.
“Can we discuss that back at one of our apartments?”
Blair’s suspicion was cutting, but she gave me a slight nod. “Okay.”
We both slipped into a cab and rode back to our building in silence.
As I tried to tell myself that this was for the best.
She would finally figure out who I was.
It would kill whatever attraction she had toward me.
And then I could finally move on from this goddamn infatuation.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Blair
“I’m sorry. I think I just hallucinated,” I said, slow blinking at Nico.
We were standing in my kitchen with the island between us, both our cups of coffee set on the surface—still steaming but already forgotten.
The air between us had been crackling with tension since we climbed into the cab.
We’d been painfully silent until the coffee was done brewing.
Then he just blurted it out.
All willy-nilly.
Like it wasn’t completely absurd.
“Because you didn’t just say you’re in the—”
“Mafia,” he cut me off, giving me a nod. “That’s exactly what I said. You didn’t mishear me.”
“The mafia. The mob? Like… Tommy guns and fedoras and cigars…”
“Well, Tommy guns are not really a thing anymore,” he said, eyes warm, lips twitching. “But, yes. Guns and codes of silence and crime.”
“But…”
But what?
But he seemed like such a nice, steady, grounded guy?
Sure, he was nice, steady, grounded, but he also worked odd and inconsistent hours and made a lot of money if he was able to live in this building. He had money to loan for weddings, funerals, and engagement rings. He had a giant family. All of them seemed to know crime statistics and security.