The Woman with the Scar (Costa Family)

“I’m not… alone,” I said, not sure how much I should say. But everything about Judy said that I could trust her.

“Oh, right. The man from the gym, right?” she asked, giving me a slight smile. “I thought that delivery man looked familiar. Sorry,” she added when I looked over, brows furrowed. “I have had this uneasy feeling lately, so I tend to look when I hear someone coming down by our apartments.”

“I get it,” I agreed, nodding. I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard someone knocking at her door early that morning. Turned out it was the dry cleaner doing a drop off. “And yes. He’s been a lot of help.”

“Why is he never around? The cameras?” she asked.

“Partly, yeah. And there is someone, an actual person, watching me right now.”

“Why?”

“Because Eren’s brothers don’t want me to know that I should be inheriting it all.”

“Isn’t that for his lawyer or the court to decide?”

“You’d think,” I said, shaking my head. “But…”

“The justice system can be bought off,” Judy filled in.

“Yeah.”

“Fucking assholes.”

“I’m not going to let them get away with. Not after everything I’ve been through.”

“Good for you. You know you have me if you need anything. Even just a couple hours away from Big Brother,” she said. “Or a safe place to have a meeting with your sexy savior.”

“I appreciate it, but I think we should keep things exactly how they have been. No more or less. At least until I have a better idea of what the next steps are going to be.”

“Right,” Judy said, reaching out her arm to point toward something out the window, even though there was nothing there, just giving us an excuse to be standing there for so long as we started to move back toward the camera range. “Dinner tonight? My place?” she asked as we made our way back into the kitchen.

“Absolutely.”

“I’m making something super fattening,” she assured me.

“Sounds divine,” I told her, meaning it.

When she was gone, I made my way into the bathroom to check my phone, finding a text from Brio.

The fuck did he want?

I shouldn’t have been pleased with the fact that he was watching me. I mean, it creeped me out to be watched by my husband and whoever was always in the lobby. I shouldn’t have felt different about it being Brio keeping an eye out.

But it was different.

Because I was positive that his intentions were pure.

- To make sure I am as stupid as Berat said, I guess? And to try to make himself seem like the better person.

He’s not. Don’t forget that.

- I know.

Any chance you need to hit the market? We need to talk.

- Judy is having me over for dinner. I could use a dessert to bring.

See you in half an hour.

I was… giddy.

I felt like a silly teenager as I went to my closet to pick out a different outfit, choosing a long sundress and a light sweater since the weather had started to take a turn for the warmer lately. But, actually, because I just wanted to look pretty.

We might have been talking and texting, but I hadn’t had a chance to see him in days. I wanted to make a good impression. Even if we were meeting in public.

My body warmed and I changed and put a small amount of effort into some basic makeup, then spritzed on a little perfume, grabbed my purse, and was out the door.

My heart was thrumming in my chest as I made my way into the lobby. And, for once, I didn’t even give a second thought to whoever was watching me, who was probably following me.

All that I cared about was getting to see Brio again.

I actually had to work to keep my pace casual as I made my way down the street toward the market.

I did what I needed to.

I grabbed the basket.

I perused the pre-made foods for a second, even though I saw Brio’s back in the bakery section, waiting for me.

I knew I needed to put on a show, not make a beeline for him.

“Fuck, you smell good,” Brio groaned when I moved in at his side. “Babe, you can’t be looking at me like that,” he added, voice rough.

“Because we might be being watched, or because it’s killing you?” I asked, having to bite my lip to keep from smirking at him.

“Fucking both,” he said, reaching for a pie, pulling it down, and making a show of pointing at it, like we were discussing his favorite option.

I took it from his hands, pretending to read the label.

“What did we need to talk about?”

“Did some digging. Seems like Eren had nothing in place. It all goes to you.”

“What about the restaurants?”

“Eren has a eighty-percent share. With only ten to each of his brothers,” he said, taking the pie back, and pointing to red velvet cupcakes.