I honestly get more work done than you’d expect. I look up a couple of exam questions, and do timed practices.
Admittedly, I go on a side quest reading about the London mafias, just to see if I can find out anything about my attackers. Each part of London is run by a mafia lord, but Angel, the area I live and work in, has a shadowy kingpin. The Dark Angel is more like a black hole: his presence is known more by the absence of where the kingpin of Angel should be. That and the way problems are mysteriously sorted in his territory.
The likelihood of any of the men who invaded my apartment yesterday being the Dark Angel is vanishingly small. The mafia who are after me and my parents are Italian, after all. Probably they aren’t even a London mafia. So I spread my search wider, vaguely wondering what I would do if I discovered who was after me.
Nothing.
Currently, I haven’t got any ideas for my continued survival better than begging Brody to allow me to stay in this apartment forever. The obvious problem is financial. If I can’t do bar work, I can’t pay my rent.
The shameful thought that immediately comes to mind makes my cheeks heat.
I could earn my rent on my back.On my knees. Pretzel-like positions? Absolutely fine by me with my hot landlord.
Thankfully, by the time I hear the door click and Brody strolls in, I’m focused on studying. Mainly. I’m curled onto the sofa in his lounge, the tablet he loaned me on my knees.
For a second it’s exactly the same as when we meet in the atrium downstairs. I smile at him, and he regards me intently. The moment stretches out like honey dripping from a spoon, and as always, my tummy flutters. His grey eyes, so serious, and that jawline.
Last night I saw that expression looking up at me frombetween my legs. Charity or not, I’m going to treasure that memory until I am an old lady without a filter who boasts about having once had her pussy licked, and everyone rolls their eyes because they think I’ve lost my mind.
Given that for three years we’ve not exchanged a word, somehow, I’m not surprised that Brody isn’t the type for chit-chat. Silently, he walks over to me, takes out his phone and after a second of flicking, passes it to me.
“Was this one of the men from yesterday?” he asks tersely.
On the screen is a photograph of a man with dark-brown hair and tanned skin. I examine the image. It’s close-cropped, the man seems to be lying on a concrete floor, and his eyes are closed. I’m not skilled at racial identification, but I suppose he could easily be Italian. I try to envisage him in the suit, or the boilersuit.
“That’s not him.”
“Ah.” Brody nods grimly. “Pity.”
He takes the phone from me without further explanation or comment, then discards it.
My mind whirls. What was that about?
Standing to his full, intimidating height, he looks down on me, causing every thought that isn’t pure thirst to fly from my head.
“Have you been a good girl and done all your studying?”
Oof. For him, I’d be the best girl.
“Very good.” Do I sound embarrassingly over-eager? Yes, I do. “Actually, I’ve been more focused than I was yesterday. Even before… You know.” Brody’s apartment is perfectly comfortable, and whenever I wandered into the kitchen, I found Denis cooking and not happy until I took a sweet treat and hot beverage to my lair. I mean the lounge.
“And did you buy clothes, as I asked you to?”
“Yes.” Sort of. I indicate the new shorts and T-shirt I’m wearing.
He glowers. “We agreed you’d buy dresses.”
“Yes, but—” Did we? I missed that.
“I’m very displeased, Caterina.” His voice goes deeper and hard.
That’s an electric shock. Brody doesn’t like my outfit? I don’t know whether I’m indigent, or it’s hot in here. Is it weird I’m glad I’ve got a reaction from him?
“I didn’t realise there were conditions,” I reply, treading right into “brat” behaviour. He paid for the clothes, so I guess he has a right to some say in what they are.
“How many things did you buy?”
“Only a few!”
