Heat bloomed across her face and Reiko snapped her attention upward to the man standing awkwardly several feet down her hall. “Oh, um, no, not really.” She shook her head. “I got a weird message is all, and it made me jumpy. And I broke my phone.” She held the device out before realizing that he was avoiding looking at her, so wouldn’t see the damage. Where was her brain that morning? “Um, would it be possible for you to let Santino know that I may not be able to contact him for a few hours? I apparently have an obligation and I don’t think I’ll beable to use this, but I won’t have time to get it replaced until after.”
A new phone would eat into her savings significantly, too. That probably put a damper on her optimistic plan of holding out for a more ideal career.
The man in the hall shifted his weight. “I can contact the boss for you,” he said. “If there’s somewhere you need to go, we can—”
“It’s not really something I have a choice about,” she said, cutting off the visibly uncomfortable gunman. Her hand tightened around her phone as her mind scrambled to make sense of the confusing morning. Maybe even find a path out. And she latched desperately onto the only angle she could see. “Could you please tell Santino, specifically, that my father is demanding an audience with me this morning? I’m apparently to be picked up and hauled around like a doll in about ninety minutes, so I really am short on time.”
It was rather typical of the man she remembered, and that was not a reassurance.
The man tucked his gun behind his back and gave a short nod. “I’ll pass that along, ma’am. And I’ll be just outside if you need anything. Apologies again.” He pivoted in place and strode out of sight.
Reiko retreated back into the bathroom and looked down at her phone once more. She debated attempting to type out at least one text, or even at least navigating through to read Santino’s waiting message, but hesitated. Blood already bubbled in a thin line across the pad of her thumb. How much more badly would she bleed if she was stubborn?
A dangerous, equal parts mortifying and exciting, thought followed quickly. If she endured, just for that one text, and bled for that—bled for him—would he take her fingers into his mouthand lick them the way he’d licked her scar? The way he’d licked up her tears?
Reiko slammed the phone onto the bathroom counter before she could tempt herself with the harmful urge. Even if he would do such an illicit thing, her fingers would be long scabbed over and sore by the time she saw him next. If any part of her was going to need tending by then, it was her heart.
She stripped off the rest of her exercise wear and finally stepped into the shower she’d let run too long.Make yourself presentable, was it?Well, she certainly no longer owned a kimono, so he was going to have to tolerate something a little more Western. Perhaps she’d greet him in a perfectly professional, modest and modern women’s pantsuit.
Santino tuned out his assistant’s babbling while he checked his phone again. He’d texted Reiko on his way into the office, hoping it wasn’t too early to disturb her. But the fact that she hadn’t even opened his message was making him twitchy. He’d had the distinct impression she was an early riser. And like it or not, he doubted he’d convinced her to abandon her search for a new job just yet. So, he couldn’t understand why she would be away from her phone. But the only other alternative was that she was ignoring him, and that made less sense.
They’d been good, more solid than he could have hoped for, when they’d parted the day before. He hadn’t heard word of any incidents overnight.
Her still sleeping under a different roof was already driving him insane. How was he supposed to protect her, to know she was safe and warm and comfortable and fucking happy, if there weremilesbetween them?
“—sir? Mr. Guerra, sir, is there a problem?”
Santino blinked as the pitch in Irene’s voice shifted, alerting him to her closer proximity and heightened concern. He lowered his phone and tilted his head her way. “Sorry. Slow morning. Could you repeat that last part?”
Both of her brows hiked up to her hairline. Instead of questioning him the way her stare suggested she wanted to, however, she jostled the file in her hands. “We got the contract you’ve been waiting for, just last night. I reviewed it personally and verified all your stipulations are included exactly to your specifications. If you’re still satisfied, all we need to move forward is your signature.”
Santino gave himself a mental shake and slipped his phone into a pocket in order to take the folder and pen she offered. “Excellent,” he said, plastering on the toothy smile she would expect of him. “Then as soon as this is with legal, you’ll need to jump on starting paperwork to acquire the site for the new location. I don’t want their old stink on our re-brand.” He flipped to the marked pages, scrawling his signature on the appropriate lines, and snapped the folder closed again. “You remember my property preferences?”
Irene nodded. “Of course, sir. I can take official steps the moment the contract is final—”
“Boss,” Armando cut in, stepping away from his shadowed spot against the wall as if he’d just appeared in the room. It was a handy trick he’d developed. A trick Santino barely took noteof, other than noticing the way Irene jumped in place, because the urgency in Armando’s voice assured Santino there was a problem.
Santino twisted to face him, smile forgotten.
Armando met his gaze. “A message came through for you, from Miss Matsunaga.”
Santino’s hand dipped into his pocket, curling around the phone he knew damn well had been silent and still. What the hell was going on?
Armando strode closer and held out his phone. The message had come via text, from the man on early shift outside her apartment. And the more Santino read, the hotter his blood burned.
He’d read her father’s file over breakfast. He knew present-day Osamu Matsunaga indisputably better than Reiko did. Arguably better than Reiko ever had, considering. Then there was the fact that he himself had been born and fucking bred mafia.
He knew a threat when he heard one.
Santino met Armando’s knowing stare. “Call the car around.”
“Got it.”
Irene squeaked, the sound strangling out of her. “A-ah, sir— Mr. Guerra, please don’t say you’re stepping out again. You were gone all day yesterday and—”
Santino turned only enough to level a hard look on her. She was good at the job he paid her for, but largely because he deliberately kept her in the dark, she was sometimes a major pain in his side. “You have your orders. It’s not like I need to be sitting in that office breathing recycled air for eight hours every day to make this company run. You can handle the meeting, and if you need backup, bring it. But I’ve got other important business, so yes, Irene, I’m leaving. Don’t expect me back today. Don’t promise my availability tomorrow. Leave me voicemails the same as usual if you need to.”
He didn’t wait for her to pick her jaw up off the floor before striding toward the main elevator. The words he’d read on the screen rolled on a loop through his mind.
