Page 69 of Chains of Recompense
14
RAFAEL
The Chicago wind whips around me like an annoyed spirit as I tromp down the city streets.
Sandro and Miko are flanking me, their heads on a swivel as if mentally calculating how many bullets someone could fire off before hitting something important.
I should be thinking about the same thing. We’re taking a risk, pounding pavement rather than sending someone to spread the word in our place.
But the Murray brothers are busy holding up their end of the deal, and in the meantime, we need to reestablish our hold on the North Side.
The most effective way to do that is by showing our faces, rebuilding the connections with our benefactors and ensuring we’re back and stronger than ever.
I’m trying to focus on the job.
I really am.
But a certain fiery redhead’s face keeps flashing in my damn head. And the conundrum of where we stand plagues my every thought.
If I imagined one night tangled up with Aisling Murray could smooth the sharp corners between us, I was delusional.
The kind of delusional reserved for men who think they can fix a gunshot wound with duct tape or negotiate with a hungry wolf.
Because since that night, it would seem she’s ready to set me on fire every time she looks my way—and not in an enjoyable way.
Meanwhile, I can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t stop picturing her sprawled beneath me, her perfect body speared by my cock. It’s slowly driving me crazy.
As is the fact that, if anything, it’s only reinforced the walls that stand between us.
Not that I should mind.
It was a mistake to sleep with her.
And the guilt eating at me for betraying Genevieve’s memory sits just as heavily as the frustration at knowing how thoroughly I’ve mucked things up with Aisling.
All I can do is hope she doesn’t decide to sic her family on mine over it—again. I wouldn’t put it past her after last time, and I don’t doubt a second betrayal would destroy the Chiaroscuro empire completely.
I was playing with fire to share one sinful night together, and I can’t afford the luxury of being so reckless.
Not with so much on the line.
We need this alliance, which means I can’t afford to piss Aisling off more than she already is.
But I’ve never had much control when it comes to Aisling, and walking us back from our drunken foray is proving harder than I would have thought.
Every time I walk into a room, she walks out.
No glare, no sarcasm, no dagger-sharp line thrown over her shoulder.
Just absence. One long, painful week of chasing my fake wife’s shadow through the house.
And while I should be grateful for the lack of confrontation, it stings more than I want to admit.
“Hey,” Sandro says softly as we near our destination. “You alright?”
“Fine,” I bite out, snapping back to the present moment and kicking myself for letting my mind wander once again.
“It’s just… I can’t help but notice there seems to be some tension between you and Aisling lately.”
