“No idea.” He yawned again. “‘Bout to find out though.”
“Do you need a gun?”
His eyes lit up with a genuine smile. “You’re cute.”
“Shut up!”
“I mean it. You think I sleep unarmed?”
I shook my head. “Fucking crazy.”
“For you, maybe,bedda mia.”
“Where do you put the weapons when you’re naked? There’s no way you fuck me with a gun strapped to your ankle. I’d notice.”
“I’m too young for this conversation,” Neev hollered from the bedroom.
Stan ignored her. “You can strip-search me later. For now, business,duci.”
Because I was curious,andbecause this Yseult Brackton chick had come to my family’s building, I followed him to the top step and plunked myself down as he pulled out a gun and put his hand on the door handle.
“You should go inside.”
“Nah. I’m nosy. I don’t think women with drivers in European-imported limousines perform drive-bys.”
“It’d be one way to start a trend.” He tugged on the handle and peered between the crack he made. “Ms. Brackton?”
“That’s me.”
He opened the door wider. “Would you like to come inside?”
I took note of the woman’s pretty if expressionless face, the clothes that screamed old money, and the tasteful diamond tennis bracelet that had probably cost more than this building.
She stepped inside via a pair of gleaming nude Louboutins that had me drooling and stunned me by not turning her nose up at the less-than-elegant foyer. Instead, she glanced at the stairs, took note of me, ignored Stan’s outstretched hand, and climbed the steps.
My brows lifted as I scuttled to my feet, but I took the hand she offered me andnothim and shook it. “Catriona Frasier.”
Yeah—peer pressure. I caved. There was no way I was using my diminutive name right now.
“Pleasure. Yseult Brackton.” The other woman, head tipped as she studied me, failed to relinquish my hand from her grip. “Soon-to-be Valentini?” Her finger nudged Stan’s ring. The question-unpopped ring.
“Soon,” Stan confirmed from his position at the bottom of the staircase. “There a reason you’re more interested in my future bride than in me?”
As her cuff lifted, my attention tripped over the marks of a self-harmer as well as the bottom half of a rather intricate tattoo on her wrist.
“Women are infinitely more interesting than men, Mr. Valentini. Your better half says a lot about you.”
He frowned but went to kick the door closed with his heel. A shining foot stopped it from shutting totally.
“Ma’am?”
“Come in, Clark,” Yseult stated. “My insurance company insisted I make this visit with security.”
Stan’s frown deepened, but he peered outside and the tension around his mouth lifted. Four men proceeded to stride through the front door, each with a heavy briefcase cuffed to their wrists.
They looked like respectable soldiers, except in suits and with concealed weapons rather than ACUs.
“What’s going on?”
