Marrying the Mob Prince
2-37

INDIE

This breakup was eating me alive.

Much worse than last time, because he would never come back to me. Over the weeks, I made an art out of avoiding Knox. Which didn't work at all because his face was everywhere. I couldn't even glance at a coffee mug without thinking of him.

Freedom felt nice after months of living on someone else's routine, but Knox had rubbed off on me. In the mornings, I exercised and sent resumes to job postings. Then I worked in the vegetable garden at St. Luke's. I still had a schedule, but I woke up at eight instead of six. I'd put in my notice at Vanity.

The lack of Knox's dominating presence weighed on my soul. I no longer had his strong arms to sink into after a nightmare. He couldn't reassure me after I fell into a self-hating spiral because I'd failed the girls I'd interviewed. I thought of them constantly.

A chime hit my phone. I swiped open the screen.

Knox: Happy birthday, beautiful.

I clung to my cell and screwed my eyes shut, fighting the warmth sweeping through my abdomen. A flash of loneliness stabbed me. I reread the messages, staring at beautiful until it burned. My fingers ached with the need to respond, so I called my sister.

She picked up on the first ring. "Hey, birthday girl! Did you change your mind about hanging out?"

"Claire," I huffed, climbing the steep staircase to my apartment. "I need you to talk me out of calling him."

"Ah. So it's one of those nights."

"It's just...I can't help wonder how he's doing. If he's seeing anyone." My hand slid up the railing, throat tightening at the brightly colored package on my doorstep. I stooped, brushing aside the playful ribbons. "Oh my God. Did you buy me L. A. Burdick handmade chocolates?"

My heart pounded.

It had to be from Knox. We didn't celebrate things in my family. I had no plans beyond the slice of grocery store cake and the Chardonnay in my fridge. My earliest memory was being left behind at the beach, my parents picking me up hours later at the police station. Indifference was the recurring theme of my childhood.

"No, but it has Knox written all over it." My sister's heavy sigh raised a blush on my cheek. "Send it back, unopened." "I can't do that." "Why not?"

I'd already torn through the wrapping paper. My thumb pried the lid open as the door swung inside. I kicked out with my foot to close it and carried the box to the kitchen table. I popped a truffle into my mouth. "Indie, opening his gifts emboldens his efforts," Claire warned. "Remember what dating him was like? How he controlled your every step? He's obsessed with you. He'll say and do anything for your attention."

I chewed on a mouse-shaped milk chocolate, savoring the rich flavor. I'd never told Claire about Knox showing up at my apartment. She'd scream into the phone to call the cops, but I had no desire to hurt Knox. "It's a nice gesture. I'd feel rude if I sent it back." I put the lid aside, and a handwritten card fell out. "There's a note."

"Do not. Read. It."

Too late.

Indie,

You've been gone too long.

It's time to return to me.

Knox

The audacity of that man. It never ceased to amaze me, and yet, imagining his silky baritone repeating those words teased warmth between my thighs. The sweetness rolling over my tongue turned into ash. God, I miss him.

I read the note to Claire.

She was aghast. "He can't boss you around."

"I can't stop him from sending gifts." I pressed my thumb into the card, my voice wavering. "Or coffee. Lunch. Bodyguards."

"Well, don't give Knox any reason to contact you. No messages. Not even a thank-you. Otherwise you'll be sending him mixed signals. Making him think there's hope when there isn't any."

"I miss him," I said hoarsely, my eyes burning. "I'd go back to him in a heartbeat if he changed."

"Indie. Just listen to yourself. You can't force someone to change. This is his nature. From what you've told me, he's messed up. He needs therapy. He's a psycho."

"Don't say that about him!"

"I can and I will."

I shook my head. "You don't know him."

"Fine. Does it matter? He crossed the line many times over. I one-hundred-percent support you leaving him. Indie, you're doing the right thing."

Her softening tone blew my composure apart. Silent tears streaked my cheeks. "Then why do I feel horrible?"

"It's always like that with your first love."

"I do love him." I nudged the box of chocolates, barely holding in a sob. "And I know he cares about me. That's what makes this so confusing."

"It's not," she ground out. "Your relationship was toxic. It still is. Him not respecting your boundaries isn't love. The way he treats you is not loving."

My sister's reassurance did little to unclog the doubt from my thoughts. Searching inward only gave me more agony because the man was unwilling to change his behavior. Knox would eventually realize he'd never win me back. He'd replace another obsession. I'd fade to a lukewarm memory while he stayed an everlasting flame.

"I'm better off without him."

The pathetic lie pitted my stomach.

"Maybe one day, you'll believe it. Indie, go out. Do something fun! Forget about Knox for a few hours. It's your birthday."

My smile trembled. "I'll try."

She clucked her tongue. "I wish you would've taken me up on my offer to hang out."

"Sorry, I'm just not in the mood. Anyway, I have to cook dinner."

"All right." She sighed, sounding disappointed. "Enjoy your night."

I hung up, my head pounding, and shuffled into the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator door, but ignored the uncooked ribeye. I grabbed the bottle of wine and uncorked it. It sloshed into a glass. As I debated texting a friend, my screen blazed with a phone call. I accepted it, turning on the speaker. My ex-boss's nasal tones blasted into the room.

"Indie. Jesus Christ. I've been trying to reach you forever! I really, really need to talk to you."

Ugh. You.

"Eliot, I can't get your job back. The man does not listen to me. We're not even together anymore. I have no pull over Bryan Knox, so you can stop calling. Okay?"

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"This isn't about that," he said in a halting voice. "Although I wouldn't mind if you put in a good word for me. I've had a difficult time replaceing a job. It's sort of...why I...I fucked up. I did something."

I fished another chocolate from the box. "And you want me to make it go away? I told you, I'm not with Knox anymore."

"No, no, no. I'm not asking you for a favor."

"Then spit it out, Eliot. I have plans tonight." I didn't, but that made me feel like less of a loser. "Any day now."

"I couldn't replace a job. It'd been weeks with no callbacks. No interviews. Radio silence. I had the feeling Knox followed through on his threat to blacklist me. I was pissed off. When I found out Knox killed your piece, I...I edited it. Then I...listed my name as the author."

"You stole my story?"

"It gets worse. I sent it out."

I rubbed my face hard. "Where?"

"The Herald. The Globe. And the New York Times." He continued to ramble as air vanished from my lungs. "It was a stupid thing to do. I was high. It all happened so quickly."

"You mean, it's being published?" My heart bottomed out as I let out a hoarse scream. "Where?"

"The Times," he whimpered. "But look, I'm contacting them. I'll tell them everything. Maybe there's time to change it before they publish on Monday."

"That's in two days!"

"Well, I could've told you sooner, but you never picked up!"

"Jesus Christ, Eliot. You could've put this in a text message. Are you insane?" A hot wave scorched my cheeks as I pictured Cainan's retribution. "Eliot. Quit babbling and listen to me! You need to stop this story."

"I can't. It's too late."

The phone dropped from my clenched fist. Eliot's plaintive voice whined near my feet. My veins turned to ice. Two days. How would I fix this? I didn't know anyone at the fucking New York Times...but Knox probably did. But call him? I'd rather chew off my arm. Did I have any other options?

I picked up my phone. I ended the call and scanned the contact list. My eyes landed on the number that had texted me months ago that I suspected was Cainan's.

Me: I need to speak with you. ASAP.

His response came immediately

Devil: Be outside in an hour.