The Sweetest Oblivion (Made Book 1)

“I have killed no men, that, in the first place didn’t deserve killing.”

—Mickey Cohen

THE FAN WHIRLED AS SWEAT dripped down my back under the heat of the sun. I wiped my neck and tossed the rag on the worktable. Tension coiled beneath my skin, and I gave in and grabbed a pack of smokes from a drawer and lit one. I inhaled until my lungs burned and nicotine spread through my veins in one relaxing rush.

In all honesty, I didn’t feel like working on my car right now. I felt like fucking my wife, or even staring at her. Whatever I could get. But I came out here for a reason. Inside, she was everywhere. The sound of her voice. Her soap in my shower and her clothes in my room. Her hair ties and little wedding notes on every surface. The soft scrape of her nails on the back of my neck whenever she sat on my lap.

Fuck, I was in so deep I didn’t know the way up.

I needed a few hours to think, or maybe just to stew in spite over never getting that fifty-cent ring off her finger. I wanted her. Her genuine smiles. Her loyalty. Every fucking piece of her. I’d been testing the waters earlier, but as tense as she got I realized she was nowhere near where I was. Not by a long shot.

I gave my head a small shake.

The worst had happened. I loved the fucking woman. And now my biggest weakness walked outside my body, with soft brown eyes and long black hair. There were a lot of men who would love to hit me in my weak spot; the reason I had never wanted the vulnerability. But what I didn’t expect was this calmness to come with it, this surety that I would fucking die before I let them.

My cell phone rang on the table, and I picked it up without looking to see who it was. “Yeah?”

“Hello, this is Judy from AMC Gold. Am I speaking to Nicolas Russo?”

“You are.”

“I just need you to verify your birth date before I can proceed.”

Jesus, the lady fucking called me. I rubbed a thumb across a brow and rattled off the information.

“Great, thank you. There’s been some suspicious activity reported on your account, and I’m calling to make sure you’ve authorized it.”

I leaned against the table and blew out a breath of smoke. “What kind of suspicious activity?” Hell, everything I did was suspicious.

“A transfer from your savings account today, on August sixteenth, at eleven-forty-two a.m.”

I stilled. “The amount?”

“Two million dollars even, sir.”

I ran my tongue across my teeth, a sardonic breath escaping me. “This transaction already went through?”

She hesitated. “Yes, sir. There was a note on your account not to flag transactions, but we appreciate your business here at AMC Gold and wanted to inform you in case it in fact wasn’t authorized. You have sixty days to dispute the charge—”

“It was authorized.” It goddamn wasn’t. But I didn’t deal with thieves through the normal channels.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, before awkwardly clearing her throat. She apparently knew who I was. “That’s great to hear. I’ll go ahead and note it on the account. Have a great day, sir.”

I ended the call, my gaze coasting to the spare room window. Sunlight glared on the glass, but as I stood there looking at it, something abnormally cold settled in my stomach. I took one last drag and then put the cigarette out on the wooden table.

Heading to the house, I opened the back door to see a silent kitchen and living room. A breath of cool air hit my skin, but inside my bloodstream heated as though held over a burner. The house was still, nothing but the air-conditioning and my boots against the hardwood sounded as I walked into the kitchen.

Her phone sat on the counter and I grabbed it as I walked past.

As I made my way up the stairs, that god awful squeak cut through the air and somehow settled under my skin with a grating texture. I rolled my shoulders to push the odd sensation away.

With an unnatural calmness, I searched every room. Mine—ours. The spare rooms. The bathrooms.

All empty.

Something tightened in my throat and pierced me in the fucking chest.

She ran. She fucking stole from me and ran. To be with another man? He was the deadest goddamn man to ever exist.

Her clothes were here as well as her bag, but maybe she hadn’t needed them. Maybe they would’ve slowed her down.

I inhaled deeply and made my way down the steps while making a call. The ringing sounded faraway, blurring with the drumming of blood in my ears.

“Allister.” Christian’s cold tone crept through the line.

“Find my wife,” I rasped. “She has a bank account downtown. She’s either been there or will be soon.” I gritted my teeth before adding, “And then most likely the bus station.”

Two quiet moments passed.

“Give me an hour.”

He hung up, and I slipped my phone into my pocket. I still held hers in my other hand, and before I knew it, it was flying across the room and hitting the wall.

“Fuck!”

I swept all the decanters off the bar before pushing the entire thing over. Glass shattered and skidded across the hardwood. The strong smell of liquor hit my nose as the liquid spread to my boots. Bitterness bit into my chest. I ran my hands through my hair and let a dangerous calm settle over me.

Crazy, she called me.

She had no idea how goddamn crazy I could be.

I’d give Christian an hour before I started tearing this city apart piece by piece.

The flames flickered and crackled in the fire pit. I sat on the edge of my seat, my elbows on my knees and a steady burn radiating in my chest. I heard the back door slam shut but didn’t look up. I didn’t even remember what I’d texted Luca earlier, but he’d gone inside without a word when he got here a few minutes ago.

“A little warm for a fire,” he commented, sitting in a lawn chair across from me.

I didn’t respond, just watched the blaze eat the pink fabric alive.

“Burning her clothes already?”

Using the poker, I pushed the Yankees shirt further into the flames.

“Look, Ace, I know you’re pissed right now—” He paused when I shot him a dark look. “But she left all her pink clothes here—”

“Shut up, Luca,” I snapped. I didn’t want to hear his stupid theories about why she left. I didn’t fucking care. No, that wasn’t true—I cared so much it pissed me the fuck off.

He put his hands up but opened his mouth again. “Just don’t see a girl like her leaving her family behind, is all.”

“She’s done it before.”

He shook his head. “She wasn’t running. She didn’t even leave the city.”

I let out a bitter laugh when I realized it made more sense that she would stay for her family than she ever would for me.

“You’re not thinking with your head, Ace. Fuck, walk in your house.”

Been there. That’s why I was sitting out here.

My narrowed gaze found his. “Why are you sticking up for her?”

“I’m not. She’s making me wear a fucking pink tie to your wedding.” He grimaced. “Once her papà finds out you lost her, she knows it’ll get violent. She’s not dumb. I’m just putting the facts together and it doesn’t add up.”

It made perfect sense to me. That stupid ring. How tense she’d gotten this morning. She loved some other man and had left everything behind to be with him. My throat tightened, a hollow fucking feeling unfurling in my chest.

“Two million, Luca. Explain that.”

He was silent.

I gazed into the flames. I didn’t know what I would do when I found her, but Luca was right. My head wasn’t on straight concerning her. She’d always be my wife, but I didn’t need to be in this deep, especially when she wasn’t.

My phone rang, and I picked it up.

Christian rattled off an address, and my heart rate spiked.

“Just a warning, Ace. She’s not alone.”

His words hit me like a punch to the chest, and my grip tightened on the phone.

“Got it.”