Page 302 of Don’t Say Mafia

Jace: When I realized I wanted to put a tracker in her neck.

I huffed out a quiet laugh. I mean, that made sense. But it wasn’t quite what I was looking for.

I’d already murdered her husband. If that was the bar, I’d pole-vaulted over it.

What I was looking for was . . . more.

Me: Be serious.

Jace: I am serious.

Me: …

Jace: Oh, you really are being serious.

Jace: I mean, I did put a tracker in her neck, so that part was true, but it was probably when…

I realized I was leaning toward my phone in anticipation as the bastard let me wait.

Me: When what?

Jace: Oh good, I’m glad you’re paying attention.

Me: Never fucking mind.

Jace: Okay, Jagger-meister. Be chill. I’ll tell you because I can tell you’re having an emotional crisis, and big girls don’t cry.

Jace: I realized I was in love with Riley when everything else seemed completely unimportant.

I pursed my lips.

Me: Define everything.

Jace: Games. Money. Ego. Winning. Being right. All of it.

Jace: When none of that hit the same unless she was okay.

I stared at the screen, thinking it through.

Me: What if she’s afraid of me?

There was a pause this time.

Jace: Of you? Or of losing herself?

I didn’t answer that.

Jace: Does it matter, Jagger? We’re Thatcher men. Of course they’re going to be afraid of us at first. We’re exceptional llamas without the drama.

I shook my head and scoffed.

Me: I don’t even know what you just said, but please never say it again.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and the phone dangling loosely in my hand.

Jace: Also: . . .

Jace: So what you’re saying is that I have been right this whole time, and you do, in fact have a woman?