“You seemed scared when I mentioned his name.”
“It’s because…because…” I’m drawing blanks. I have nothing to say, but if I don’t say anything, I’m afraid he’ll hurt an innocent man.
Alessio’s phone rings. I step back and chew my lip, hoping for a Hail Mary.
“Go on,” he tells me.
“Maybe you should answer that.”
“Thank you for the suggestion. If I wanted to answer my phone, I would have. I’m more interested in you than whoever is calling, so explain to me what happened when you heard I was talking to Antonio.”
He won’t drop it. He probably thinks Antonio mugged me or, worse, violated me since he asked him if he touched me. My heart’s pounding so fast, I’m becoming lightheaded. I might collapse from all the stress.
I rest my hand on Alessio’s forearm and squeeze. He covers my hand with his in a reassuring way.
“Antonio knows what we did that night, and I don’t want Leo to find out we slept together. I thought you might mention we’ve known each other, not in detail, of course, but enough for Leo to pick up on the fact that we had a relationship before I came to work here.”
While it’s true I don’t want Leo to think I’m here for his uncle and not him, it breaks my heart that my horrible circumstances are forcing me to take advantage of Alessio’s strong protective instincts.
I continue because I have to convince him to back off Antonio. “Leo already thinks you like me, and I didn’t want him to think I’m here because of you. I’m here for him.”
I need to confess to a priest. Though, at this point, I think even a holy man would reject me.
Alessio nods and dials. When a man answers, he says, “It’s off. Pull back.”
“Thank God.”
Alessio grunts and produces a key from the pocket of his suit. I recognize the drawer key and step back so Alessio can move behind the desk.
“You’re right,” he tells Leo, who’s waiting for us by the front door. “I do like her.”
From the drawer, he takes the golden gun I’m supposed to deliver to that woman today and holsters it under his suit. He closes and locks the drawer.
As he walks past me, he grabs my wrist. With a dip of his head, he whispers, “This time if you try to stall by telling me you have to use the bathroom, I’ll put a diaper on you.” Alessio turns me by the shoulders and taps my bottom. “Move your ass.”
TWENTY-FOUR
TAKE CARE, LAKE
Lake
Hurricane Alessio hurled Leo and me onto his private jet. I’ve never been on a private jet before, and if I wrote about it, I’d describe this one as a modern-traditional luxury apartment that glides on air.
Leo sprints down the aisle between gray leather seats while I pause at the mini bar I see right as we enter the passenger cabin. Behind me, Alessio reaches for the caviar hors d'oeuvres. I turn my head, and he offers it to me. I shake my head, and he pops it into his mouth, chews, nods.
“Good enough,” he says.
“We’ll buy better ones at the destination,” the flight attendant who welcomed us onboard the plane says from behind Alessio.
I move into the airplane and swipe my hand over the gray leather seat, then pick up a pillow. I run my palm over the coarse fur.
“Which animal died to make this pillow?”
“A cow,” Alessio says.
“Poor cow.”
“My condolences,” Alessio deadpans as he sits on an executive-looking seat on the left side of the aisle, near the bathroom. But there’s an alcove behind the seat that’s separated by the wall behind which Leo disappeared.
