Trigger warning: This chapter covers potentially triggering topics such as loss of a baby and trauma that can ensue. This is a grief help like if you are in need of support: 1-800-221-7437.
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Amedeo was finally gone, Spencer thought as she kicked her leg up in the bath. Sipping on the mimosa she made for herself earlier, she had to kick of the day a little tipsy.
It helped her forget.
The hairs at her nape started to get damp and curl up, Spencer contemplated cutting it all off. How would her estranged husband feel if he came back home and she cut off all the hair he absolutely adored. Spencer knew it was incredibly toxic to do things to spite him, but their whole relationship was built on toxicity so who gave a damn.
Her phone began to ring and she saw Amedeo's name pop up. She groaned in disdain when she saw it was face time.
To answer or not answer she pondered. Then she got a simple text from Amedeo saying "Answer."
So she did.
His hair was tousled and his lips were pink, likely from him nibbling at them, a tell she knew all to well.
Shit was fucked up. Per usual.
"What the fuck happened Amedeo?" Spencer bites out, downing the remained of her mimosa only to ditch orange juice and chug the champagne straight out of the bottle.
"Luciano is dead" he said with a blank face, it was so strange how the man could flick his emotions on one second and off the next.
"Your right hand is dead. That is—"
"I know it's fucked up—"
"Amedeo somebody is coming after the organization—"
"No they are coming after me, that much was clear. You don't kill a right hand and it's not taken as a direct hit. These sons of bitches will die."
"What is that supposed to mean?" The Italian man said calmly. Spencer was very bold when he was miles away.
"Do Keep in mind I'm only a plane and car ride away."
"Amedeo you're empty threats don't scare me. You barely follow through with anything. Which is why our baby is dead" Spencer says coldly, clicking off the call with no remorse.
