Her Ex-husband Is A God Of War

2

Charles reached for the handle.

She grabbed him from behind, nails digging through his shirt. "This is all your fault!" she hissed in his ear. "If you were the kind of man I needed, I wouldn't have gone looking elsewhere."

Ah yes. The classic 'you made me cheat' defense. He should add that to his collection of greatest hits.

Charles turned slowly. "Are you listening to yourself right now?"

"No one's going to care about your stupid pictures," she said, voice rising with desperate confidence. "Not the police. Not my parents. Roger owns half this neighborhood. You think anybody's going to take your side against him?"

Charles stared at her for a long moment, then let out a soft, humorless laugh.

Emmy's expression shifted, suddenly sweet as artificial honey. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Let's talk this through like adults. Sit down, breathe. I'll make your favorite—beef stroganoff. Remember how much you used to love it?"

Used to. Past tense. Everything about them is past tense now, isn't it?

"I want a divorce," he said, voice flat as a death certificate.

She froze. The mask slipped completely. "What did you say?"

"I said..." He peeled her fingers off him one by one. "I want out."

And with that, he stepped into the cold New York night, not once looking back at the life he was leaving behind like yesterday's newspaper.

Two years of playing house. Two years of being Charles the Husband instead of... well. His godfather is going to have thoughts about this.

****

Emmy stood in the doorway, arms folded tight across her chest, watching Charles' silhouette disappear into the street lights.

He's overreacting. Like he always does.

She hadn't done anything wrong. Charles was the one being unreasonable—always so emotional, so soft, so... limited. He'd never understood what she needed, what she deserved.

He'll be back. Twenty-four hours, max. He always comes crawling back when he realizes he has nowhere else to go.

She turned on her heel and headed back inside, her expression already shifting from concern to irritation. Halfway to the bedroom, she found Roger in the hallway, holding a bag of frozen peas to his jaw.

"Are you okay?" she asked, running a finger along the edge of the swelling under his eye.

Roger forced a grin, though pain flickered behind it. "I'll live. Your husband hits harder than he looks."

"Want some real ice?"

"Nah. I want you." His voice dropped. "That bastard ruined my rhythm. I was just getting warmed up."

Emmy laughed, tugging him toward the bedroom. He winced but followed eagerly, pride demanding he reclaim what had been interrupted.

"He'll delete those pictures," she said, already working on his shirt buttons.

"Already handled," Roger muttered through gritted teeth. "Made some calls while you two were having your little domestic."

"What kind of calls?"

"The kind that make problems disappear." His smile turned sharp. "My boys are probably introducing themselves to your husband right about now."

Emmy's smile matched his. "Perfect. He deserves whatever's coming."

****

Charles walked the empty streets, his breath forming small clouds in the cold air. He'd find a hotel for tonight, then figure out what came next.

"Charles Decker?"

The voice came from behind him. Charles turned slowly, taking in the five men emerging from the shadows—all muscle, all identical gym-rat builds, all trying very hard to look intimidating.

"How can I help you gentlemen?" Charles asked.

"You can help by handing over that phone," the largest one said, cracking his knuckles with theatrical precision.

"And getting on your knees," another added.

"And apologizing for disrespecting our boss."

Charles tilted his head. "Boss? You mean Roger?"

"How dare you say his name like that!" The lead man stepped forward. "Show some respect!"

"Respect?" Charles set his bag down carefully. "For a man who sneaks around other people's homes? You'd be better off working for the homeless guy outside 7-Eleven. At least he has integrity."

"You're about to die, you pathetic piece of—"

"Do any of you have a cigarette?" Charles interrupted. "I could really use a smoke right about now."

The five men exchanged glances before bursting into laughter.

"Look at this guy! Thinks he's in some action movie!"

"You want a last cigarette, tough guy?"

The first one lunged forward, confident and sloppy.

Charles caught him by the throat and sent him flying across the street like he weighed nothing at all. The man hit a parked car with a sound like a bag of cement dropping.

Rusty, Charles hissed. Definitely rusty. He used to be able to do that more elegantly.

The remaining four rushed him simultaneously—which showed they'd at least watched some movies, even if they hadn't learned the right lessons from them.

Thirty seconds later, four men lay unconscious on the asphalt. Charles straightened his jacket and walked over to the one who was still breathing, crouching beside him like a concerned passerby.

"Still got that cigarette?"

With trembling hands, the man fumbled a pack from his pocket.

Charles patted his shoulder gently. "If you make it through tonight, friend, consider choosing better employers."

He lit the cigarette with a silver lighter from his luggage, took a long drag, and was enjoying the burn when two figures appeared from the shadows.

"Big Boss," one of them said, dropping to one knee. "Is everything secure?"

Charles sighed smoke into the cold air. "Sniper, how many times have I told you to stop following me around?"

"The Godfather's direct orders, sir. We can't override them."

Of course he is. Two years of marriage, and the old man still has babysitters on his.

"It's late, Boss," the second one said. "Do you need extraction? Safe house? Clean-up crew?"

Charles shouldered his bag. "I need you two to disappear."

He walked away toward the neon glow of a 24-hour bar, leaving the two men standing among the unconscious bodies.

"Are we actually going to leave him?" Sniper whispered.

"You want to explain to the Godfather why we disobeyed a direct order from the man who once cleared an entire compound with nothing but a dinner fork?"

The other man shook his head rapidly. The last thing anyone wanted was to get on the wrong side of a legend.

"We tell the Godfather nothing happened tonight," he said quietly.