Page 39 of Contempt

She stopped asking Rose about Renzo a long time ago. Every time she did ask, Rose didn’t have very much to tell. It almost seemed like the young woman had given up on her brother, or at least, that’s how it felt to Lucia. She didn’t know if it hurt Rose to talk about him, but she was sure it caused Diego pain because the kid didn’t hide it. So yeah, she stopped asking.

Now, she wondered if Rose didn’t talk about him because … she had a reason to.

“He is back, then,” Lucia said quieter.

Rose sucked in a breath, and drummed her fingers against the edge of the door. “Lucia—”

“Just tell me. I thought I saw him outside, but then I thought my mind was playing tricks on me … but it couldn’t have been. I fucking felt him, Rose. He’s back, isn’t he?”

“He’s … in the city.”

Oh, my God.

Her heart screamed.

Lucia didn’t know what to say.

Rose saved her from saying anything at all when she added, “I don’t know for how long, and I can’t say much, but—”

“How long have you … known where he was, or … anything?”

She didn’t want to put a guilt trip on Rose. She certainly didn’t want to make the woman feel badly for making a choice to exclude Lucia from the details about Renzo’s life, freedom, or whatever was going on with him.

But it was hard.

Damn, it was hard.

“Two years, or so,” Rose said, glancing away. “I couldn’t tell you, Lucia. He told me I couldn’t because of their ru—”

“Okay,” Lucia murmured.

That was all she needed to know.

She didn’t need details.

“Did he happen to see you, too?” Rose asked.

“I think so.”

Rose met her stare again, and stepped back a little to open the door. “Okay, well then I don’t think he’s coming, so do you want to come in and have dinner with me and Diego? He’s going to be disappointed that Renzo isn’t coming like he thought, and you will help with that, I bet.”

Lucia should have said no.

She wasn’t in the mood to eat. She certainly wasn’t in the right state to entertain. She needed to go back to her hotel, and breakdown privately where no one could see her.

She was a mess.

Still, Lucia nodded. “Yeah, sure. Dinner sounds good.”

SEVEN

Fuck.

Renzo swore way too much as it was—he used fuck like the interchangeable word it was in his thoughts and everyday conversations. It could be anything and everything he needed when he used it. An adjective, verb … noun. A compliment, or insult.

It didn’t matter.

Right now, though?