“It was just little comments at first. Until a few days ago, the only time he’s tried to touch me was at the company Christmas party,” she explained in a rush.
“How. Long.”
“A year,” she breathed.
What. The. Fuck.
Just when I thought I was cooling down enough to talk, I was straight back to suffocating fury. My knuckles bled white as they clenched the steering wheel, my nostrils flaring as I tried to breathe through the pounding anger. That asshole had been making her life hell for a solid year, and she had been taking it. Why hadn’t she put a stop to it? Wasn’t her father the fucking CEO?
“Where are we going?”
“My place,” I snapped. It was unfair to take out my anger on her, but my control was slipping. I felt powerless to have sat by while she had been suffering—it didn’t matter that Ihadn’t known her—she was mine to protect, and I hadn’t done my job.
I despised that feeling.
I could sense her eyes on me, but she didn’t argue about my intended destination. Parking in the underground lot, I led her toward the elevator to my Park Avenue home. A short walk to Central Park, my apartment was ideally located in the heart of the city. I’d paid a pretty penny for that convenience, but it had been worth it. I loved everything about my place. I’d remodeled it when I bought it, so it was decorated in cool greys with black accents, exactly as I’d wanted. It was more space than I needed, but I liked knowing I had a little room between me and my neighbors.
I was unsettled at how good it felt bringing Alessia to my place. Normally, when I brought a girl over, I was itching to get rid of her as soon as she walked through the doors. I should have known Alessia would be different. She had crawled under my skin without even trying. Instead of getting rid of her, I puzzled out ways to make her stay. For now, I would rely on brute strength and manipulation; but soon, I’d need to convince her to stop running.
She came to a stop in the entry of my apartment, seemingly unsure as she took in her surroundings. I had noted how orderly everything was at her place, but I had no room to talk. My place bordered on institutional, but it wasn’t because everything was in its place—there were nothings. I’d never needed to buy crap just to own it and clutter up my living space. I’d grown up owning hardly anything and saw no reason to collect things now that I had money.
I had comfortable sofas with modern lines, the requisite number of end tables and lamps, and muted paintings on the walls. What I didn’t have were shelves with worthlessknickknacks and fake plants cluttering every surface. It was the perfect escape from the chaos of life in the city.
Leading her into the living area, I motioned to a sofa. “Have a seat.”
“I like your place,” she offered as she sat down gingerly, taking off her heels and pulling her legs up to her chest.
I tipped my chin but didn’t otherwise acknowledge her comment. “Why the fuck haven’t you told anyone about your boss?” I stood at one of the large windows and stared outside as I waited for her response.
“I was trying to handle it on my own. Up until last week, there wasn’t much to handle, just some inappropriate comments here and there. I didn’t want to go running to daddy, not that he would have helped me anyway.” The last part was muttered under her breath, not meant for my ears.
“Why the hell would you say that?” I turned back to her in astonishment.
“My dad’s a big believer in handling your own problems. I’ve been messed with in the past, and he told me to figure it out—I wasn’t going to run to him for help, just to have him embarrass me.”
I couldn’t imagine a father not wanting to murder anyone who had hurt his daughter. But then again, my dick of a father hadn’t given two shits about me or my sister. Maybe Alessia had misunderstood her father, and maybe he was an asshole, there was no telling.
“You said you filed a complaint—why was he still working there?”
The color that had returned to her smooth olive skin drained away. “I tried to, but the HR office was out for training. I was going to do it the next day but got distracted.”
I ran my finger back and forth over my bottom lip as I stared at my little songbird. “So, you lied to me.”
She peered up at me through her lashes, regret and guilt leaking from her eyes. As if I’d had any question about my twisted proclivities, my dick roused at the sight of her small and broken. She was mine to protect, but also mine to do with as I pleased, and her current state gave me all kinds of depraved ideas.
“You can bat those eyes at me all you like, but it’s not going to save you. I’ve warned you about lying to me … twice now. However, as much as I want to bend you over my knee this instant, we have other matters to discuss, so I’ll just say this. If your boss makes lewd comments to you, you tell me. If the mailman catcalls you, you tell me. If any man ever puts a hand on you in a way that makes you uncomfortable, you tell me. Am I clear?” I waited until she nodded before I continued. “Now, what got in your head that made you think you needed to end things between us? And, I swear to God, woman, do not test my patience with a lie.”
I leaned my back against the wall and crossed my arms over my chest. I was genuinely curious what her reasons would be, assuming she told me the truth. A part of me hoped she wouldn’t. I would make her writhe until she begged, and still, I would deny her so she would understand what it felt like to be refused. It wouldn’t help my cause to win her over, but seeing her tied up and panting would be worth it.
Alessia’s eyes danced around the room, fear wafting off her in palpable waves. Eventually, her resolve solidified as her eyes met mine. “I know about you, Luca. I know who you are.”
Every muscle in my body went rigid. “What do you mean?” I asked cautiously.
“I know you’re in the mafia. I can’t be with you—I’m not okay with that.”
Wariness gave way to confusion. I’d been certain she was oblivious—decided the naivete wasn’t just an act. She’d had no idea about my associations, which meant someone had fed her information. It had to have come from someone she knew, someone she was close to, someone willing to put their neck on the line to warn her.
We kept that shit locked down, not like the days of John Gotti, where press conferences and flashy mob killings were an everyday occurrence. The new American Mafia had gone back to its Sicilian roots. Omérta—our code of silence—was an absolute, punishable by death, and not just your death, the death of your loved ones. Too many made men had turned rat over the years; there had to be severe repercussions for turning on your family.
