He stepped outside, onto the deep back porch, his grin disappearing, a somber fix settling on his face. He walked down the steps and through the grass to the pool. Sitting down on one of the chairs that lined the blue water, he pulled out his cell. He looked at it a moment, thinking. He had gone to bed last night confident, his arms wrapped around Julia, content in recognizing his future. One with her. A woman who had unknowingly consumed him. Love, an idea he had tossed out with every other conventional theory, had tackled him unprepared. Tackled and possibly trapped him. Julia’s blowup had terrified him. In coming to terms with his feelings, he hadn’t considered the possibility of her leaving him. Now, having stared into that reality, knowing the effect it had on him, after only this short relationship...how would he handle it after six months of dating, or marriage, or kids? He had practically been brought to his knees upstairs. There was no way he’d survive it if he fell any further. She was so young. He barely knew love, almost missed it when it came and he had years of experience on her.
She had bent. When he had lost it, failed to control his emotions, she had wavered. What would she do next time? When he failed her, when he stumbled. She would run, leaving him broken and alone.
But this wasn’t a typical situation. He could either risk his heart or risk her safety. And, when it came down to that, the choice was easy. He closed his eyes, affirming his decision. Then he made the call.
His father didn’t answer, the automated voice mail picking up instead. Brad ended the call and waited, sitting in the sun. After a few minutes his phone rang, showing a blocked number.
“Hello.”
“What is it, Bradley?”
“There has been a new wrinkle you should be aware of. Tell the boys to hold off the bloodshed until we can talk.”
“Every hour that passes is more risk, you know that. I cannot extend any more—”
“Tomorrow morning. I’ll come over for breakfast. If you don’t think the information I give you then is worth your time, you are free to act. I will never give you my blessing, but I am asking you to listen to this information.”
There was silence, crackly, then his father’s gravelly voice. “Tomorrow morning. After that you will have exhausted my courtesy.”
“I understand.” Brad pulled the phone from his ear and ended the call.
* * *
THE MAGIANO PATRIARCH hung up the phone and looked into his reflection in the ornate gold mirror in his study. He looked older, his skin grayer than it should be. He decided to sit outside this afternoon, to get some sun. He needed to take care of himself, to ensure that he would be around for a long time. Long enough to convince Bradley to return to the family, to take his rightful place as head of the organization. He was the only one intelligent enough to keep it powerful. His other two sons had allowed power to corrupt them, had lost sight of proper business sense in the illicit world of blood, competition and status. Legitimizing the businesses would weaken them, but that would be Brad’s choice. He needed to mend fences with his son before it reached the point where Brad would have that powerful decision to make. This girl threatened that possibility, with both her life and her death. Brad had always needlessly involved himself in rescue plights, had always stood in the way of the family’s proper conduction of business. But this was a different type of stand. For Brad to put himself into the equation, to throw his life on the line, put him in a difficult predicament. Difficult, but an easy decision all the same. Family came first, and she was not family. He could not risk the entire family for one son and his temporary girlfriend.
He spoke softly, but the two men in the next room heard the words. They appeared instantly, and waited to hear his orders.
“Follow them. Make sure they don’t do anything stupid. Keep a constant eye on them—I want to know everything that happens between now and tomorrow morning.”
Forty-Three
Brad came back into the kitchen, the light not quite as bright in his eyes.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
He walked over and kissed me on the head. “Everything’s fine,” he said. “What do you feel like doing today?”
I looked at him, surprised. “What can we do today? Aren’t we under house arrest?”
“No. Your day will be free of danger. What do you feel like doing?”
“Well, at some point I’d like to discuss with you the whole situation we are in.”
He waved that off. “Other than that. I promise, we will sit down and discuss that.”
“Okay...I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it. I need to do laundry and stuff.”
He stared at me. “Laundry and...stuff?”
“Yeah, like ironing, grocery shopping. I have to get ready for work tomorrow morning.”
“First of all, we don’t know if you’re going to work tomorrow.”
I held up my hand, stopping the stupid list he was starting. “Wait—you mean because I might be dead tomorrow?”
“Well...you might be in danger.”
“Okay, so not dead yet. And the whole update-me-on-the-current-status-of-my-own-mortality conversation is something you just kinda...” I waved my hand dismissively. “...tossed aside as something that we will do later. Whether you and your manliness realize it or not, I’d like to have some sort of input in the plot for my survival.” I had sidled over to him during the course of my speech, and I ended the statement by poking his iron chest with my finger.
He grabbed my finger, his eyes dark. “Don’t do that.”
I fought a grin and yanked my hand out of his. We faced off in the kitchen, his hands on his hips, my expression stern, before he broke. Sighing, he wrapped his arms across my stiff body, pulling me to him for a hug.
It was an unexpected gesture, and I fought the embrace and stayed fixed, immobile, refusing to bend to his manly charm. He tried to wrap my arms around him, but they dropped, limp like spaghetti, unwilling to cooperate. He laughed at my stubbornness, his hands becoming playful, running through my hair, down my noncompliant arms, grabbing and squeezing my clenched butt. That broke me, and I smiled despite myself.
“There you go,” he said, nuzzling my neck. “I know that you want to know what’s going on. But all I can tell you is that you are safe. They have promised to stay away until I speak with them in the morning. And in the morning, I will play a card that they don’t expect, and one that they will have no recourse against. I promise you, it will be fine.”
“What, some secret body hidden somewhere? You’re going to blackmail them?”
He scowled at me. “Nothing so barbaric, Julia. I’m the good son, remember?” He held up a hand, stopping my thought process. “Just let me handle it. Please. I ask for one day of secrecy.”
“I thought we weren’t going to have any more secrets,” I grumbled into his chest. I didn’t like it, but twenty-four hours of freedom was more than I had fifteen minutes ago. I relaxed a bit in his arms.
“It’s a good secret. So, what do you want to do today, other than laundry or some other menial errand?”
I stood on my tiptoes and put my mouth on his earlobe, biting it gently, then releasing it and giving him a suggestive smile. He grinned down at me and then dipped me back, nibbling and kissing my neck. Then he threw me over his shoulder and bounded up the stairs.
“I’m leaving for the day!” Martha called, up the stairs to Brad’s retreating back. “You hear me?” Not getting a response, she shook her head, then wiped her hands on a dish towel, grabbed her purse and headed out the door, locking it securely behind her.
* * *
BRAD DEFTLY NAVIGATED through the broken pieces of his ex and threw me down onto soft sheets. He pulled my legs to him, grabbing the waist of my skirt and sliding it and my panties down, leaving me bare and exposed.
His mouth was instantly covering me, his tongue making incredible sensations that caused my toes to clench and my breath to catch. And when I came, five minutes later, it was intense, all of my tension and emotions
spilling out, turning into delicious ecstasy and liquid, amazing pleasure.
He kept his mouth on me, gradually softening the pressure from his tongue, until he did nothing but hold me in his mouth, my body occasionally twitching in postorgasm aftershocks. When he did lift his mouth, I lay useless on the bed—drained of any coherent thought or muscle response. He grabbed my skirt, using it to wipe his mouth, and I frowned at him through my euphoria. He landed next to me, and I rolled over groggily, reaching for him, for his hardness.
He pushed me away, and I frowned at him. “Not now,” he said. “You can take care of me later.”
I pouted, but relented, watching him walk to the closet. “Have you decided what you want to do today?” he called, sifting through clothes.
“Got any well-hung friends?”
He glanced over, a grin on his face, and I stuck out my tongue playfully.
“I could certainly arrange that, if that is what you are in the mood for.” He emerged from the closet, dressed casually, pulling a baseball hat onto his head. Pressing me back onto the bed, he ran his teeth over my neck, nibbling on the soft skin until I giggled.
“Stop—seriously!” I pushed him off and propped myself up on one elbow. “Ummm...what about an afternoon movie?” I glanced at the clock.
He frowned, sitting next to me and reaching for the drawer of the bedside table. “So, no afternoon gang bang?” Pulling out a watch, he slid it onto his wrist and fastened the buckle. Not waiting for a response, he leaned over, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek before standing. “A movie sounds good to me. We can do some shopping and grab lunch first, if you want.”
The word shopping instantly perked me up. “That sounds good.” I rolled out of bed and grabbed the bag of clothes I had packed. I rummaged deep in the bag, finding my makeup pouch and my toothbrush. I grabbed both and joined Brad at the long counter, and we brushed our teeth in companionable silence.
“You ready?” he asked, after rinsing thoroughly.
“Five minutes,” I mumbled, through toothpaste bubbles.
He flashed a grin and headed downstairs. I flipped through the makeup bag, grabbing powder, mascara and lip gloss. Three minutes later, I stuck my phone in my pocket and bounded down the stairs.
Brad was on the phone, standing by the full-length windows that showcased the large backyard pool. Hearing my heels on the floor, he quickly ended the call and turned, whistling at my appearance. “You look great.”
“Great, but penniless. Can we stop by my house? Last time I was there, I didn’t grab my wallet.”
“You don’t need it.”
“That is so sugar daddy of you, but I like to have my wallet. That way I won’t feel guilty when I look at stuff. If you’re paying, I’ll refuse to look at anything and neither one of us will have any fun.”
He shrugged. “Whatever. But I am going to buy you some things, so go ahead and start getting used to the concept.”
“I didn’t say I won’t let you buy me stuff—just said I want my wallet also.” I grinned at him, sticking out my tongue and heading for the back door. He followed me, pressing the button for the garage doors, and we headed outside.
“Wait.” I grabbed his arm and he stopped, his car about to pull out onto his street. “Should we have a gun, or something? Some kind of protection?”
Brad pulled out, shaking his head at my question. “I do have a gun, in the center console, but I always have that there. No, we don’t need any protection today.”
The situation reminded me of a gun I had seen before, in the bathroom of his master suite. “So, you have two guns?”
He glanced over at me distractedly. “What? What do you mean?”
“I saw a gun in your house before, in the bathroom. And you said you always keep this one here, in the car. So you have two guns?”
He found my question amusing, and shook his head. “I’m not sure which gun you saw in my bathroom, but I probably have ten in the house, scattered about in different locations. Martha knows where they all are, as does Helga, who you still need to meet. I’ll have them show you the locations, just so you don’t accidentally knock one over at some point in time. Do you know how to shoot?”
I found that question amusing and grinned at him. “I grew up in south Georgia so, yes—I am well aware of how to shoot. Though I have more experience with shotguns and rifles than I do handguns. Why do you have so many?”
He shrugged. “I grew up in a house where guns were everywhere. If someone is going to come into my home to harm me, they are going to be armed. I’d like an even playing field.”
I nodded at that, my nerves still on edge. He glanced over, his eyes sharpening when they met mine. “Julia, relax. We are safe. One thing my family does is keep their word. You don’t have anything to worry about today.” He smiled at me and gripped my knee reassuringly.
Today. I sank into the soft leather, the contoured seat fitting my body perfectly. Yippee.
Forty-Four
We stopped by my house on the way, Brad’s car, as always, looking ridiculous parked in my neighborhood. Seeing as it was before noon, my house was quiet, everyone still asleep, and he came inside with me.
“Why don’t you grab a few things while we are here?”
I heard his suggestion from my bedroom, and stuck my head out of the door. “Like what?”
“Something dressy. In case we go out tonight.”
I shrugged, flipping through the rack in my closest and snagging a simple black dress that would cover any fancy destination he felt the need to take me to. Or a funeral. The thought stopped me cold and I grabbed my wallet and ran out, running into him in the hall. “Brad—what about Broward’s funeral!”
He frowned down at me, taking up way too much of the skinny hallway. “What about it?”
“It’s today! At three. We have to go.” I couldn’t believe that, in the course of everything, I had forgotten about the funeral. About the fact that my boss had died. I had shoved it aside as if it could hang out in the back of my mind without proper consideration.
He shrugged. “So? We’ll skip it.”
I flinched at the suggestion. “Skip it? We can’t skip it. What will people think?”
“What people? Broward? He’s not going to care.”
I pushed him into the living room, away from my sleeping roommates, and cocked a hip, giving him my best stern look. “I’m well aware that Broward won’t notice our absence, but everyone else will. I was his intern, and you were his partner. We are expected to attend.”
He put his hands on his hips and stared down at me. “Julia, I don’t give a fuck what people think. Some people might think that it’s disrespectful for me to attend, given that I had relations with his wife. She may not want me there. And besides that, we have bigger issues going on.”
“With the whole ‘someone trying to kill me’ thing? Because you just said I was safe.” I tried to glare at him, but my smile broke through.
He kissed my head and hid his grin as he escorted me out the door. “Point made. But we’re not going. I’m sorry. Thanks for yielding to my wisdom on this.”
“Oh, I’ll find a way for you to pay me back later,” I intoned, climbing into the car as he held the door for me.
“I’m sure you will,” he said with a grin.
* * *
WE PULLED INTO the Hillsdale Mall, the current favorite of local yuppies, and Brad circled around to the Neiman’s valet.
“I can literally see a parking spot,” I pointed out as he unbuckled his seat belt and reached over to unclick mine. “Right there! Like, ten feet away.” He smiled at me, ignoring my logic, and climbed out, accepting the valet ticket from the teenager who opened his doors. I climbed out, expelling a big breath of air, irritated by the waste of money, and accepted Brad’s outstretched hand. “Look at it! Right over there. Beautiful spot,” I grumbled as we passed through the brass doors, held open by a suited Neiman’s associate. Brad ignored me, and we came to a stop at the escalators,
the bulk of the store surrounding us.
“Should we go upstairs to Women’s Fashion?” he asked, returning the flirtatious smiles of the Cosmetics girls.
“No, we can just walk through to the main mall—unless you have something you wanted to look for.”
“I think I owe you a pair of shoes.”
“For what?”
“The elevator—a couple of weeks ago. You seemed quite upset about it at the time.”
“Oh.” I laughed. During a time when I was refusing to speak to him, Brad had inadvertently flooded an elevator in an attempt to foster communication. The stunt had ruined one of the few pairs of designer shoes I had actually purchased—ninety percent of my shoe wardrobe was donated by Becca—and I had dissolved in tears over the loss.
“Manolo Blahniks—if I recall?” he said, smiling down at me.
“Yes. I will allow you to replace those.” That pleased him, and he grabbed my hand, pulling me to the left, and we zigzagged through jewelry and perfume counters till we ended up at the section of my dreams, the Neiman’s shoe section. The softly lit cubbyholes showcased designer shoes as if they were Cartier watches, the attendants carried trays of champagne and there were pedestals of shoes everywhere, each more tempting than the next. It was how I imagined heaven to be.
We spent about a half hour in the section. I found the suede Manolos that had been ruined, and tried them on, holding up my foot and critiquing them. They didn’t look quite the same. Maybe it was because I was envisioning the pair I had at home, the pair I had taken the hair dryer to in an attempt to dry them out. They now sat, sad and pathetic, high in my closet, with spots marring the coloring. I frowned and looked around. Then I saw them.
True love can be described in a variety of ways. However you describe it, I was in love with those shoes from the moment I saw them. I think I gasped a little—something made Brad look up from his phone, and he followed my gaze to the simple black heels high on the pedestal. He gestured to the attendant, and she brought the pair over, pure magic in her fingers. The pair was basic and classy Christian Louboutin—red sole, high stiletto heel, peep toe with an ankle strap. Elegance in the lines, in the leather, in the details. Small silver studs accented parts of the shoe, giving a slight edge to the classic details. I sighed softly, and Brad ended his call and told them my size.
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