Scorned Love: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Scorned Fate)
Scorned Love: Chapter 28

“You’re free to go.”

The clang of the metal door echoed in my cell. I’d been sitting in jail, staring at walls and the ebb and flow of foot traffic at New York Central Booking. It was the pit stop before detainees faced arraignment with the judge.

I rose and smirked at Detective Muller. “What’s the matter? Lost your witness?”

The detective glowered at me. “Don’t get too cocky, De Lucci. We’ll find evidence yet and nail your ass.”

“Be my guest.” As far as I was concerned, Joe Rossi got what was coming to him. When the detectives drilled me inside the interrogation room in the presence of the De Lucci lawyer, it was all I could do not to spew hatred that would exacerbate the case against me. The man who gunned down Joe Rossi did the universe a favor.

Sayonara, asshole.

He escorted me to the custodian, where I gathered my shit. Keys and phone. I hadn’t been in custody for twenty-four hours. They had no case against me other than the social media videos of my fight with Rossi and the statement of a witness who had now retracted.

At the reception, I expected to see Ivy, but it was Dad and Matteo who were standing there. Dad clasped the back of my neck and dragged me in for a hug. “Good to have you back, son.”

I grunted.

Matteo hugged me next, and who, thankfully, had coffee with him and a croissant. I was starving. Acid ate a hole in my stomach. I couldn’t eat the disgusting gruel they shoved in my cell. I didn’t even want to touch it.

I wolfed down the croissant. The coffee was lukewarm, but I didn’t care. “Where’s Ivy?”

Dad and Matteo didn’t answer. We exited Central Booking and were out of earshot of everyone when I repeated, “Well?”

“I tried to call her this morning to tell her you’re coming home, but I can’t get hold of her,” Matteo said. “So I called Trevor.”

“Trevor is at The Underground and told us to go there,” Dad told me.

We got into the SUV. Matteo was driving, and as usual when I was uneasy, I took the space in the second-row passenger seat. I smelled bullshit. They were keeping something from me, and my gut was telling me it was about Ivy.

“You still haven’t answered my question. Where. Is. Ivy?” I powered up my phone to call her. My heartbeat spiked. I massaged a fist below my chest as if it would soothe the discomfort.

“Trevor wouldn’t tell us. But he assured us she was fine.”

“I’m calling her.” But my eyes narrowed at a message from an unknown number. I opened the message and blood surged to my head so fast, it sent a throbbing ache through my skull. I was rabid when I gritted, “Why is she with Edward Sinclair?” I roared. “Pull over.”

My heart waged war against my lungs, still disbelieving what I was seeing. Edward with a smirk on his face, staring at the camera with Ivy on his lap and the caption. “I win.”

Motherfucking son of a bitch.

Son of a motherfucker.

Fuck!

“What’s going on?” Dad asked.

I wanted to hurl my phone out the window, but handed it to Dad before I did something stupid like text back or destroy the offending device.

“What the fuck?” he muttered.

“Exactly.”

“Call Trevor.” My voice was still scratchy from disuse. Matteo parked at a street corner. Dad handed him my phone.

“Fuck,” he said.

“Call Trevor!” I roared. I punched the back of the passenger seat.

“All right, all right,” Dad replied in an even tone, but he didn’t make the mistake of telling me to calm down.

No one told a man obsessed to calm down when his woman was with another. With my hands itching to do violence, I shoved them in my hair and pulled, trying to make sense of why Ivy was with him. Was she doing this willingly because she’d given up hope on us? Because she didn’t want to be identified with a man accused of murder? Or was she doing this willingly because she thought Sinclair and his media company could help change the narrative of my arrest? Bring my innocence to light. Either truth would kill me.

“Guys,” Trevor’s voice came over Matteo’s phone.

“What the hell is going on?” I demanded.

“Can’t get into this right now—”

“The fuck you can’t—”

“Shut up and listen,” Trevor barked. “Ivy needs you all to distract Sinclair and his bodyguards. Go to his apartment and demand her back.”

“Why?” Dad asked.

“Just do it, guys,” the Arrow said in a tone he’d never used before with us. There was a chain of command. But I didn’t think he was acting in his capacity as an Arrow, but as a facilitator to whatever the fuck Ivy was doing. “I need you pissed—”

“Oh, he’s past pissed.” Matteo pulled into traffic again and made a turn toward Sinclair’s residence on Fifth Avenue.

“I’m not giving you information that could compromise Ivy’s mission.”

“Mission?” I yelled, my eye twitching along with the throbbing in my head. “What fucking mission?”

“She’s an honorary Arrow,” Trevor said. “Tell me when you’re there so I can give her a heads-up. Do not call her. She might have blocked you all, anyway. Don’t mess up, guys.”

“Don’t you dare hang—”

But he already did.

“Call him back!” I snapped.

“Think for a minute,” Matteo said. “Trevor leads our tactical operations. It’s obvious he’s hatched up a plan with Ivy that is time critical. You think it’s right to get in their way? They need our help.”

Charged silence descended inside the SUV. I didn’t know what my dad and brother were thinking, but blinding rage blurred my vision and turned my thoughts into shades of red. I didn’t know where to direct my rage. At Sinclair, definitely. At Trevor and Ivy. But they weren’t within reach. But Matteo was right. Trevor was our tactical specialist, and we had to execute a plan of distraction.

Dad turned around to look at me. “So, from what I can gather, Ivy has a past with Sinclair?”

Only Matteo and Dom knew, and that was because they were in the loop when I had Trevor dig into that shit. “Yes. It isn’t pretty.”

“How long ago?” Dad asked.

“Six years ago. She was nineteen. He was fucking thirty-nine.”

Dad made a humming sound. He wasn’t one to throw darts at age differences because he was eleven years older than Mom. But he empowered my mother and didn’t tear her down. That was what my parents instilled in us. To respect our partner, to support them, be their strength because they couldn’t be strong every second.

Dad looked at Matteo. “Sera doesn’t know?”

“No.” I was the one who answered, but I couldn’t say more. I was this ball of electric fury. And if I spoke, I would only snap at my brother to drive faster. Dad wisely didn’t return the phone to me. I didn’t think I had the self-control not to call Ivy, yell at her, and demand she leave with me.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for Nico to be the one to confront Sinclair. I mean, he just walked out of prison,” Dad said.

“Try to fucking stop me,” I spat. “You can drop me right fucking here and I can walk all the fucking way.”

“You’re not walking,” Matteo said. “It’s De Lucci territory. The cops are on our side. Although with how you’re acting, the slammer might be the safest place for your ass right now to protect people from you.”

“Fuck you.”

Dad told my brother to stop triggering me and I was a hair trigger away from losing my damned mind. It was as bad as the time when I heard Ivy getting attacked and we raced across Manhattan to get to her. Even though Ivy didn’t seem to be in immediate danger, I was in deeper. So deep, I didn’t think there was any way I could claw out of this hole until Ivy was back in my arms.

The image of her on Edward’s lap was seared into my brain. I wanted to reach into the phone and yank her back into my arms.

Where. She. Belonged.

The morning rush hour traffic grated on my last nerve. Each blast of the horn made me want to explode into the Hulk.

Ivy tried to teach me centering exercises in the past few weeks. I loved watching her flow with her tai chi energy, but I refused to join her. I imagined her now, meeting the sun, as I struggled to quiet my spiraling thoughts and emotions.

Dad was exchanging a text with someone.

“Trevor wants to know if we’re almost there.”

“Just need to find parking,” Matteo said.

“Drop me off at the entrance.”

“Hell no,” Dad said. “We’re not letting you do anything stupid. Need I remind you you’re still a suspect for murder?”

He was right. I forgot about Joe Rossi and my alleged role in his bloody end. But if there was anything that proved how much I loved Ivy, it was that I valued my freedom, but only with her in it. Matteo pulled into a spot a Corvette just vacated, and it was a blessing my brother was an expert at squeezing big vehicles into tight spots. And thank fuck, because I didn’t want to bite my brother’s head off with my impatience.

I tore out of the vehicle and slammed the door, ignoring Dad asking me to wait. As if I’d wait when the fucker had my woman.

I rounded the building that housed Sinclair’s overpriced apartment. The doorman let me through, but the concierge didn’t seem as accommodating. He’d eyed me with suspicion and I wondered if he had a picture of me behind reception.

“May I help you, sir?”

“I’m here to see Edward Sinclair.”

“Is he expecting you?”

“Yes.”

The man didn’t believe me, but in a place like this, he could only act with courteous disdain. “One moment, please.”

“Yes, Pancho, there’s a…” He covered the mouthpiece and asked, “Who are you?”

“Nico De Lucci.”

The man gave a pause as if recognizing the name before repeating. “Nico De Lucci.”

“He has someone of mine,” I said, clear and concise.

A frown furrowed the concierge’s brows, and he didn’t repeat my words. It appeared he was on hold. Dad and Matteo were behind me, and I could see Dom leaning languidly against an SUV parked in front of the building.

“Thank you,” the concierge said. “Mr. Sinclair is coming down to see you.”

“Why can’t I go up?”

“His security specifically told me you’re not allowed near the elevators much less go to the residence.”

In my peripheral vision, building security swarmed around us.

“Fucking hell,” Dad muttered.