DECEPTION | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER FORTY-TW0

Bereft of speech, I tugged on the cardigan sleeves and meandered through the muscle and strength of withdrawn, uncommunicative men until I reached Hugo by the living room door frame. His fine-boned face had whitened drastically since the detective had arrived.

"Are you okay?" He gave my hand a weak squeeze. "I thought you fell asleep. You were gone for ages."

"No, I just needed five minutes to collect myself." Back to the wall, I thumbed the vintage-style rings on my fingers with unswallowable dread in my throat. "It feels surreal."

Hugo nodded half-heartedly. "It's not every day that you discover other occupants living in your home." His cold stare fixated on something at the end of the hall, and when I followed his line of vision to determine the cause of expeditious distractedness, I locked eyes with Big Guy and horripilated with uneasiness. "Your friend loathes the sight of me."

"I will pick you up in the morning." Brad, with a phone to his ear, one hand tucked in a trouser pocket, strode toward me and only stopped when our bodies were inches apart. Angry eyes settled on my face. "It's no issue, Sugar Tits."

Big Guy's appearance caused consternation. To avoid eye contact, I slowly averted my attention to the floor, where the men had previously misshaped the rug with chaotic footsteps. I had not seen the man since the night he entered the flat and found me asleep in the living room. If truth be told, I am embarrassed and genuinely regretful.

Frowning with displeasure, Hugo scrubbed a hand down his face. "Maybe we should check the pizzas."

"You do that," Brad advised, ending the call and stuffing the phone inside the inner pocket of his suit jacket. "Your piss poor service is unrequired, Hughie. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

"Brad," I whispered, and he shrugged with unapologetic contemptuousness. "Be nice."

Big Guy stared frostily at me. "A chaperoned party?" He eyed the men as they sauntered past. "I guess my invite got lost in the post."

My lips tightened.

"Fun night?" Brad's question was for Hugo. "I was in the process of ordering a round of Jameson. But duty calls," he added with a sarcastic undertone. "Obligation and all that malarkey."

"You are not obligated to be present." His bitterness rubbed me up the wrong way. "Your team is doing a good job without you."

"Sweetheart, without me, there is no team at your disposal." He stood before me, hands on his hips, the hard eyes of a wounded man. "By all means, if you want me to leave, I will close the case and let Hughie take it from here. I am sure he can afford an incompetent private investigator."

Listening to our strained conversation from my son's bedroom doorway, Donny decided to intervene before fists collided. "Jones." He tapped the top of Brad's back. "Vincent called. I hear congratulations are in order."

"Save congratulatory messages for Mrs Warren." Brad's glare went over one shoulder to level with the detective. "What do you have for me, Don?"

"Perhaps I can show you and Miss Hughes what I have found so far." Donny motioned to the bedroom of madness. "Hugo, I advise you to wait in another room."

My friend choked on air. "But she needs me for consolation."

"Kill me." Big Guy's eyes toured the entirety of the ceiling. "Go and make yourself busy, Hughie, or I will remove body parts and organs and feed them to stray dogs." His calmness made the promise far more threatening. "Good boy."

Hugo blinked rapidly as if to clear the cobwebs from his head. "Why do you insist on hurting my feelings?"

"Hurt your feelings. Christ, how old are you?" Brad is disgusted by the atrocious debate. "Is there such a thing as a brain transplant? If so, he fucking needs one."