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But I reach for the card with a nod at Johnny. “Thank you.”
Because no matter what Lyssa thinks, Johnny is right. We need to do whatever we can for these women. For Sarah, even though thinking about her pulls me in two directions: pity and rage. And if a shrink can help even a little bit, it’s worth a shot. Maybe someday it might help me to talk about the things I’ve seen.
And the things I’ve done.
CHAPTER 22
Scarlett
“So where is this Valentino’s?” I ask, as Lyssa and I exit the diner.
“Surely you know Valentino’s.” Lyssa gives me a look like I’m hopeless. “It’s…well, it’s neutral ground in this city. Where the big players go to parley and hash shit out without fear of getting whacked on someone else’s turf.”
I shake my head. “Never heard of it. But like I just said to Johnny, Grandmother made sure none of us could see the bigger picture. So show me, Wolf.” I give her a smile and slip my arm into hers. “Teach me.”
“We’ll need to blend in,” Lyssa says, eyeing my jeans and t-shirt. “They have a dress code. So we’ll need some new threads for the occasion.”
Before I can protest about not having money for fancy outfits, Lyssa is grabbing my hand and hauling me over to a hopeful-looking taxi waiting by the curb. We end up at one of the ritziest shopping districts in Chicago, pulling up in front of a designer boutique that looks wildly out of my price range.
It should be closed, this time of night, but Lyssa made a phone call on the way over, and it’s lit up like a Christmas tree, with a sign on the front saying Private Dressing to keep out the curious.
“Lyssa, I can’t afford—” I start to say, but she just winks at me.
“My treat. Can’t have my girl looking like a ragamuffin when we hit up Valentino’s.”
My cheeks flush at her casual possessiveness, that little endearment of “my girl” making my heart skip a beat despite myself.
“Besides,” she says more seriously, “money is not an issue. At all. Ever. Get used to it, Scar.”
I just shake my head with a smile, and let her pull me into the store. Lyssa locks the door behind me, and three women appear, one with champagne.
Well, alright then.
“Ms. Lyssa,” one of them gushes. “How lovely to see you again. And this occasion, you say?—”
“Dinner. At Valentino’s.”
“We have just the thing, I’m sure.”
We end up alone soon after, Lyssa ushering me into a private dressing room with a devilish grin as she hands me a garment bag that one of the women handed her. “Try this on for me.”
I unzip the bag, my jaw dropping when I see the slinky red dress inside, made of some satiny material that clings to every curve. It’s easily the sexiest, most daring thing I’ve ever seen.
“Are you serious?” I hiss at Lyssa, who’s lounging casually against the wall, already changed into a slimline sapphire blue suit that makes her look like some kind of delicious mobster fantasy.
“Just try it on,” she purrs, her voice low and sultry in that way that makes me shiver.
Swallowing hard, I slip off my street clothes and carefully step into the dress, and let Lyssa zip me up. When I finally turn to face the mirror, I can’t believe the vision staring back at me.
The dress molds to every dip and curve of my body like a second skin, the neckline dipping in a tantalizing, low vee between my breasts. The brilliant red color makes my skin look luminous and my hazel eyes glow.
“Wow.” I run my hands down the front of the dress, feeling like a total narcissist when I can’t take my eyes off myself.
“You like?” Lyssa’s voice comes from right behind me, her arms snaking around my waist as she presses up against my back. Our eyes meet in the mirror and the heat in her gaze makes me feel like I’m burning up from the inside out.
“I love it,” I tell her in a breathy whisper, arching back against the solid strength of her body.
Lyssa’s lips brush the side of my neck, sending tingles down my spine. “Good. Because you look like the tastiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, and later I want to peel that dress off you with my teeth.”
