I’m not going to touch that remark with a ten-foot pole. In fact, I don’t want to meet his father. The more tutoring sessions I can get away with in private, the better. I have a feeling Frankie’s dad is nothing like his son. How could he be? He built this entire fortune from the ground up, or at least that’s what I would like to think, which probably means he’s ruthless. If he isn’t mob-connected, then I’m guessing he’s equally dangerous in his own right.
But none of that matters now, because I’m almost home-free. I let Frankie walk me to the door, and when we step outside, I can breathe the sweet air of freedom. Just then, a squat man with a unibrow barges out the door behind us.
“Miss,” he says.
I turn around, my heart sinking.
“Will you come back inside?” unibrow asks.
I look at Frankie for help, but he just shrugs. The same muscular guy who was guarding the door hours ago is still there. I look at him, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. It seems like I’m stuck.
“What’s this all about?” I ask politely, trying not to betray how nervous I am.
“Frankie’s father would like to meet you,” unibrow explains. I get the distinct impression that ‘Frankie’s father’ is not how he usually refers to the man in question.
“Well, I really have to go,” I insist.
“It will only take a minute,” the man promises.
I take one last look at the sun and the sky before climbing the steps and walking back inside. The door closes behind me with a sense of finality. I’m trapped, and there’s no way out except through the lion’s den.
I tell myself I’m being ridiculous. He’s just a friendly old oil baron or a tech wizard. Not a mafia don. Dear Lord, please don’t let him be a mafia don.
I follow unibrow through the foyer and past the dining room. This is a part of the house that I haven’t seen yet. Frankie doesn’t accompany us, probably returning to his suite upstairs. I’m all alone now, and definitely scared. There’s no use denying it anymore. I know what organized crime looks like, and this is it.
Unibrow stops at a thick door at the end of the hallway and knocks.
“Come in,” someone calls.
We step inside, where I come face-to-face with Frankie’s dad. And he’s nothing like I expected. He’s trim and muscular beneath an expensive-looking suit. He’s not wearing a tie, and the lapels of his button-down hang open to reveal a solid chest. There’s no excess of hair or anything else that might be off-putting. His jaw is clean-shaven and the dark, curly locks atop his head are not too short, but not too long. He clearly takes careof himself in more ways than one. I’m astonished by how good-looking he is, and I can’t help but stare.
I catch a little bit of reciprocation from him. His eyes widen just slightly, and suddenly I’m more aware of the fact I’m wearing an old pair of jeans and scuffed tennis shoes. In this type of situation, I would be more at home in an evening gown. I’m not sure why I want to impress this man so much, but I’m embarrassed to find myself so underdressed.
“Marlena, right?” the masculine vision asks me, holding out his hand.
I surge forward to grasp it, eager to find out if he feels just as solid as he looks. Bingo. His hand is warm and soft, with just enough callus to tell me he hasn’t always worked behind a desk. I picture him just a little bit younger, hanging out on a construction site. He’s wearing a yellow hard hat and nothing else.
I blush, pulling my hand back. What in the world has come over me? I shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts about a man two decades older than me. But damn, I bet those two decades were packed with all kinds of exploits that would curl my toes if I let them. I scold myself internally.Down, girl. This is your pupil’s father, not a billionaire of the month pin-up.
“I’m Francisco,” he says. “I understand you’ve been tutoring my son.”
“Yes,” I manage. Oh boy. This is awkward. I thought Frankie was cute, but his father is on another level entirely. Suddenly, I’m not worried about walking out of this room alive. I’m worried about maintaining my dignity.
“So, how did it go?” he asks, offering me a seat.
I glance over at Unibrow, who is making no move to leave the room. It looks like I’m not going to get a chance to jump over the desk and pull Francisco into my arms. Just as well. I would only embarrass myself if we were left alone.
I sit down, remembering to smile. “It’s going well. He’s a little bit distracted.”
Francisco snorts, telling me that this is something he’s noticed in his son before. I try to be turned off by the noise, but I can’t quite manage it. He’s just so stunning that I roll with the conversation.
“Tell me about yourself,” Francisco demands, sitting opposite me.
I have to struggle to remember my story. There’s so much I don’t want to say. I don’t want to give away my real last name or my father’s mafia connections. I don’t want to explain how I went underground and developed a whole new life for myself after my father was killed.
Instead, I talk about school. “I took the LSATs, but I decided not to go into law.”
“Why not?” he asks.
