Two big assholes, not a neck between them, stood watching me. Maybe they wanted me to back up, because their sheer size was something that might make a regular guy get a little worried. I wasn’t a regular guy. Don’t let the tie or the NYU degree fool you. I could start—and finish—shit no matter the size of the asshole coming at me. My brother taught me to stand when you could and walk away when you couldn’t. Two against one, all the exits blocked, I knew well enough to stand my ground.

Cara’s goons were strangers. At least, their squat faces weren’t familiar. Definitely wasn’t her brother. I remembered the exact structure of her brother’s features and the faces of every meathead her father employed. I’d seen those faces twisted up in fury as they screamed at me, threw threats and promises my way that still made my fists tighten when I thought of it. But the two men blocking my exit weren’t familiar.

“They don’t speak English,” Cara explained when I shot a glare at those roughnecks, asking who they were with a twist of my chin in their direction. “I hired them.”

“I don’t care.”

That stung her. At least, that’s what I picked up on when she flinched at my reaction ten seconds after Legs, or I guess Antonia was her name, hurried out of the room. “I know things didn’t end well with us,” Cara tried, and I shook my head, disregarding her with a quick flip of the bird as I made like I would follow Legs’s lead. But the meatheads blocked my path. Their expressions, all hapless and angry, told me they hadn’t liked me flipping off their boss.

Outnumbered or not, I felt my anger swell high enough that I got in the mood for a scuffle. Cara always made me want to hit something. Just then, it was the assholes crowding me when I tried to walk away.

“You boys want shit to get messy?” I asked them, knowing I couldn’t take them all on my own, but not caring about that fact. Instead, I loosened my tie, readying myself. “Not real happy about getting busted and bruised, but fuck it. I haven’t had a good tussle in weeks.”

I dropped my jacket, tossing it onto the duffle next to the wall, and popped my neck just before Cara took hold of my arm, turning me to face her. “Like I said, chooch. They don’t speak English.” Her olive complexion brightened, those high cheekbones accentuated by a deep pink color.

“Fine,” I told her, pulling out of her reach. I didn’t bother commenting on the insult she’d flung at me. It was a habit she hadn’t gotten rid of, but she could call me a jackass all she wanted. That wouldn’t stop me from leaving. “Tell them to get out of my way.”

“I need to talk to you.” She curled her arms tightly. Her toned bicep flexed before she took two steps back when I grabbed my duffle and jacket, stuffing my loose tie into my pocket. Her mouth was tight, as though it took her more composure than she had not to scream because I wasn’t immediately falling at my knees in front of her. Those black eyes of hers widened, lashes blinking fast as she watched me. I hated that she was still so beautiful. Even with the frown breaking from her twitching mouth, those thick, pink lips smoothing together, and the shift of her attention from my face to the room around us, she still was fucking beautiful.

“We can’t…” She waved a hand around the bathroom, nose curling as she spotted the empty urinals and stalls with no toilets inside them. “I’ll take you to your hotel. We’ll talk there.”

One thing I learned about Cara Carelli in the brief months we’d been married: you don’t argue. Not about the small shit anyway. You gave her what she wanted and then got the hell away from her. She’d come back and want something else, but it was that first request that meant the most to her.

She wanted the upper hand.

She wanted the game to start in her favor.

She wanted you to know she could get anything she wanted from you, no matter how stupid the request.

This would be the only one I’d give her.

Her gaze was like a lick of fire as she watched me shrug on my jacket. Each movement she seemed to memorize, but I didn’t watch her, not when I straightened my collar or fastened the open buttons on my shirt. That stare was something I remembered. It was something that burned like a snake bite pushing venom into my veins. It was something you had to ignore, or it would set your entire body ablaze. I gave up loving that burn a long time ago, but the scars would likely never heal.

I didn’t bother acknowledging her goons as I gripped my duffle and nodded toward the door, waiting for Cara. Seemed like I was always waiting on Cara.

She managed a nod, an action that took her a second to accomplish; an action that made her look unsure and nervous.

I gave her one look, catching the way the sharp glint in her eyes lessened and how her face relaxed. She was shooting for friendly, or at least, not bitchy. That was the closest any Carelli got to friendliness. Cara wanted something. She wanted me to give it to her. I inhaled, wishing for a do-over.

Wishing like hell my path had never crossed Cara’s.

A jerk of my head and I nodded toward the door, ignoring the way her mouth twitched, like she was happy I wasn’t putting up a fight. “Lead the way.”