Leo ( Underworld Mafia Romance 2)

“I’m not,” Jodie answers but keeps her gaze glued to the scenery moving past the window. “I’m just tired. I think I’ll go straight to bed when I get home. Maybe I’ll spend all of tomorrow in bed, too.”

I shake my head and click my tongue. “All my efforts to get you in shape wasted.”

“What?” She leans back in her seat. “I’ve had enough exercise for a month.”

“Fine,” I say.

I don’t want to tease her anymore or she really might get mad.

“Did you have fun today?” I ask her.

“Yeah.” Jodie nods. “So much so I feel like I still owe you.”

“You don’t,” I tell her. “As of now, your debt is paid.”

Jodie says nothing.

“But if you still want to do something for me, you can – ”

I stop talking because a fire truck approaches us from behind and overtakes us. It seems to be headed somewhere just around the next corner.

Somewhere around the next corner.

I lean forward to get a glimpse of the sky just up ahead. Pillars of dark smoke rise above the trees, like black ink blotting the canvas of sunset.

And I have a sickening feeling I know where they’re coming from, a suspicion I confirm when I glance at the passenger seat and see Jodie staring at the horizon with wide eyes and trembling hands clasped over her mouth.

Fuck.

Chapter Seven

Jodie

Whoever said fires are the most devastating tragedies wasn’t lying.

My knees still shake as I sit on the carpet with my legs bent on either side of me. My hands clutch my purse – the only thing I brought with me from my apartment to my father’s house that I still have – against my chest, which hurts with every breath I suck into my lungs.

I don’t know where I am. Some bedroom in some apartment. Leo’s? I remember him dragging me back to the car, but I can barely remember him driving me to wherever this is.

In my mind, I’m still there in front of that burning house with the smell of smoke and scorched wood in my nostrils, my eyes stinging as I watch ashes drifting in the air.

Ashes. I’m sure they’re all that’s left of that house now. The fire was already pretty bad when we got there. The flames had already won, already feasted on their prize.

The furniture, including my father’s desk, his favorite recliner and the four-poster bed I used to sleep in since I was in high school, are all gone. My father’s books, his case files, his prized paintings, the plaques on his shelf, the certificates on his wall, his clothes that still have his smell on them – they’re all gone now, too. Worst of all, his ashes got burned, too.

That’s stupid, I know. Ashes can’t be burned. They’re already burned. And yet, it feels like my father has died all over again, this time reduced to nothing.

My nails dig into leather.

Why? Wasn’t it enough that I lost my father? That I was never going to see him again? Did I have to lose the house that reminded me so much of him, too? Did his remains have to be taken from me, too? Sure, there’s still his grave where the other half of his ashes are buried, but I wanted to have him with me, to keep him close somehow, to feel his love and guidance every day. Was that too much to ask? Apparently so.

This is why fires are so devastating – because they leave you with nothing. Yes, a house can be rebuilt and more things can be bought, but will they be the same? No. Especially not if they were a part of someone who’s already passed away.

I bite down on my trembling lower lip.

Why did everything my father left for me have to be taken away from me?

A knock on the door pulls me out of the haze of my thoughts. I don’t answer but it opens anyway after a few seconds. Leo enters the room.

“I thought you were in the shower,” he says as he stops in front of me. “I’ve brought you one of my shirts to change into for now. Tomorrow, we can get you some stuff.”

My stuff? Oh, right. My clothes got lost in the fire, too. Every single one. And not just my clothes. My laptop. My law school diploma. My prized books. The stuffed elephant my dad bought for me when I was a kid. The quilt my mom made for me. All gone.

Leo puts the folded shirt down on the bed and then sits beside me.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I throw him a glare. “My father’s house just burned down with everything I own and he owned in it and what used to be his body is now part of a big pile of ashes that are being scattered to the wind as we speak. Do you really think there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that I’m okay?”