He sniffs. “Like you don’t know.”
“Are you for real? Do you have any idea how dangerous you made it for me?” I’m sure Mario must have discovered where I am by now, and I’ll be paying for it. A shiver runs down my spine at the thought.
“The rifle’s red dot was pointed at me.”
“And who saved you from it? You are welcome, by the way,” I clip.
“What’s in it for you?” he dares to ask me. “What’s your goal?”
I let out an incredulous laugh. “You are so good at making up stories, Mr. Nero, you tell me.”
“What do you want?” he enunciates every word, the impatient, temperamental prick.
“What do you think?” I retort with a challenging look.
“You want freedom?”
Where is he going with this? “Who doesn’t?”
“Is that why you are getting married to a woman? To be free?” He raises a derisive, bushy eyebrow at me.
“It’s more complicated than that, sweetheart!” Look who’s talking, the closeted jerk. I felt how hard he got when I rubbed his dick.
“Like having Aurora Coretti as your business partner? That complicated?”
I shouldn’t have kept those documents inside the safe at home. Fuck! “Are you going to keep me locked up until you find Mario?”
“I’m going to kill him.”
Yeah, yeah, he said that already. “And then what? Will you let me go? Throw me on the street? Kill me?”
“Don’t sweat it, princess. I won’t do anything to you…tonight.” Damn, his threat feels like a nail in my coffin.
He downs his whiskey and then orders me to go take a shower. I comply, too tired to continue fighting. It’s two in the morning.
The apple bodywash is not my favorite brand, but it helps to calm me down. When I come out of the shower, I find a t-shirt and a pair of my panties on the edge of the sink, which doesn’t surprise me, but my toiletries that are near them do. I look at my naked reflection in the long mirror on the wall. More bruises, from rolling on the hard floor during the shooting, are now marring my body, and I look paler than ever. Dear Lord, I lookterrible. I finish quickly and open the door with a gasp. Luca is standing on the other side.
“Trying to kill me with a heart attack?” I snap.
“Put the dirty clothes in the hamper,” he replies.
Fucking neat freak. After I comply once again, I move tiredly toward the sofa but he grabs my arm and drags me into the bedroom. The massive bedroom. He sets me on the king-size bed and then restrains me to the headboard, but this time there’s a chain between the cuff around the board and the one on my wrist. At least I can finally sleep with my arm along my side. Because that’s what we are going to do, right? Sleep? Or maybe he’ll go lie down somewhere else.
I don’t say anything before he leaves the bedroom. Still thinking about the text from Rami I saw in the bathroom before. He found out a body was actually discovered in Bronx Park—which, if I recall correctly, is part of Leone’s turf—and that the police detective who responded to the call didn’t report it. No news there, families have a lot of people from law agencies in their pockets. What made me freak the fuck out is the way the corpse was described: naked, covered in knife cuts and stabs, and missing his fingers. Rami seems to think it’s Doppi’s son and I can only think of one person who would commit such a horrifying act on Coretti’s right-hand’s son. Mario.
He couldn’t do it. He’s not in New York. He’s in hiding, isn’t he? It doesn’t matter that he has the eerie ability to always find me. My hand covers my mouth as a sudden wave of emotions surges on the back of my eyes as tears threaten to spill. No! No. I swore no more tears for that fucker. I take a big breath, the smell of lavender invades my chest. I look around. There’s a small, cute plant on the windowsill. Odd for Luca to have it in his nearlyempty bedroom. There’s only a chair and this bed with two matching nightstands. On one, though, there’s a framed picture of a woman smiling at a man. I lean toward it to study it. The man looks a lot like Luca. It must be his parents. He has his mother’s eyes.
Rami said they died when Luca was a kid. Did Mario hurt them? Him? Did my father? Is that why Luca hates Enzinos so much? I wouldn’t blame him. I hate them, too, and for less.
I turn my eyes to the nightstand near me and just now notice a bag of chocolate, some candies, and a bottle of water there. For me? It has to be since they are on my side. What the hell is going on? Did Luca hit his head during the shooting? I can’t seem to find another explanation for this attentiveness toward me.
The lollipop, the whiskey, letting me eat without handcuffing me somewhere, getting my things from the other apartment, and then leaving them in the bathroom, laying me down in his bed, and placing snacks near it. He isn’t grateful toward me for saving his life because he thinks it’s a scheme, like I’m some kind of mastermind. Though I’m partly flattered, I just acted on instinct when I saved him. It was just a survival mechanism. He’s the alpha asshole during a dangerous situation, and it’s an innate impulse to keep close to him, to increase my chances of survival. I would have probably done the same with any alpha. So, what’s up with his confusing as fuck behavior?
I lie down on my side, taking all the space I want after being forced to live on that tiny sofa from hell. Damn this mattress is divine. I pull the blanket over me. I can smell a hint of Luca’s smoky scent on the soft, fresh sheets. The metallic clink of the chain makes me wince when I move my arm. My head is hurting a little. My eyes burn like they always do when I’m in need of sleep, so I close them. Not long after, I hear muffled footsteps inthe room. Then the bed dips behind me. What I can only call anaccidentalbutt graze happens before everything turns still.
It’s odd to share a bed with someone. I’ve never done it before. I always thought it would be bothersome. But maybe because of the way he protected me—for whatever reason—I feel all the tension in my body melting away as I hear his steady breaths behind me.
“Did you find out who shot at us?” I whisper after a few more minutes of silence. He still didn’t give me a straight answer.
