Code of Honor

by Missy Johnson

  “Fine,” he grumbles. “Your dad could’ve at least forked out for a place with decent heat.”

  “It has decent heat,” I laugh. “It just takes a while to work.” I wrap the robe around me, securing it tightly around my waist. Grabbing a band, I gather my hair, tying it into a ponytail. Pietro watches me through narrowed eyes.

  “You have no idea how sexy you are, do you?”

  Giggling, I lean over and slap him on the shoulder. He grabs my arm, pulling me back onto the bed as I scream. I land on top of him, his erection obvious even through the layers of blankets between us.

  “Again?” I snicker. He grabs my head and pulls me into a kiss.

  “What?” he protests. “It’s your fault for being so damn irresistible.” His fingers find my ass and he squeezes while placing another kiss on my lips. Groaning, I pull myself away, because if I don’t do it now, then chances of us leaving this room at all today are very small.

  “There’ll be plenty of time for this later,” I say, kissing his nose. “I’m hungry. Take me out for some food.”

  His eyes widen in mock horror. “You’re never hungry. Half the time I have to force-feed you.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess sex three times in one day does that to me.”

  “Imagine what you’d be like after a fourth,” he teases. “It’s my plan for you to be unable to walk for a week.”

  Laughing, I whack him over the head with a pillow and climb out from under the warmth of the covers. I quickly dress while he watches me. I love it when he watches me. I forgo a bra and just slip a sweater over my shoulders.

  “I like it when you go braless,” he says, and chuckles, leaning over to tweak my nipple through the thin material of my sweater. He gets dressed too, pulling on a pair of jeans and a shirt.

  We decide on pizza for dinner, mainly because it’s fast and easy and will have us back at the apartment in minimal time. He wants to order in, but I convince him to walk the two blocks to the pizza place, if only to allow us some fresh air.

  Twenty minutes later we’re back home and tucking into our dinner. Halfway through, his phone rings. I reach it first and see it’s my father. Laughing, I press ANSWER and then toss him the phone. His eyes widen when he realizes what I’ve done.

  “Giovanni,” he says, glaring at me. “No, not at all. I’m just having dinner. Yeah, she’s good. Uh-huh. No, just the studio and home.”

  I lose it. I burst into laughter, holding the cushion against my face to smother some of the noise. Pietro narrows his eyes at me, which only makes me laugh harder.

  “Sure, I’ll call you tomorrow. Yeah, no problem. Bye.”

  Hanging up the phone, he lunges for me, sending pizza everywhere. I shriek and try to move away, but his arms are already around me.

  “I don’t see what you’re laughing about,” he growls, tugging me onto his lap. “It’s not fucking funny. What if he heard you laughing?”

  “Oh, will you relax?” I giggle. “If he heard me he’d just think you had some girl at your place. He has no reason to think we’re together,” I assure him. He nods, his expression less alarmed. I hide a grin. Unable to resist, I comment, “I wonder if he has this place bugged. Maybe cameras?”

  Pietro’s eyes widen. He pushes me off his lap and jumps up, leaving me rolling on the sofa, laughing. Turning back around, he glares at me.

  “You’re enjoying this way too much,” he mutters, but his eyes are smiling.

  I get to my feet and wrap my arms around his waist, sighing as he pulls me into a kiss. He’s right about one thing. I am enjoying this. But way too much?

  I’m not sure that’s even possible.

  Chapter 21

  Pietro

  The waitress I’ve come to know as Kelly smiles at me as I walk over to the counter.

  “The usual?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

  I laugh. I’m in here every day working on my thesis while Lucy is at training. I love that I’m now considered a regular.

  “Please. And maybe a slice of that,” I add, pointing to the chocolate cake sitting on the counter, busying myself with my phone while she rings up my order.

  “I’ll bring it over to you,” she says.

  I nod and take one of the tables near the rear of the café. My usual table is taken by an overweight man in a suit, with papers spread out all over the table. I can see he’s not going anywhere in a hurry.

  Not that it matters. I have a better view of the studio from this table anyway. It’s less urgent that I watch her now that she knows I’m here. At least there’s less need for me to hide my presence.

  The waitress drops off my coffee and cake. I dig in, eager for my caffeine hit. My phone rings. I glance at it and see that it’s Benito. I feel guilty for not getting in touch after he had me over for dinner.

  “Hey, good to hear from you again,” I say when I answer.

  “You too, Pietro. Free for a drink, by any chance? There’s a bar not far from my work. I get off in an hour.”

  “Sure, sounds like a plan,” I agree. I’m trying to figure him out. He sounds almost anxious, like he has something on his mind. Don’t get your hopes up. It probably has nothing to do with your parents. But telling myself not to be hopeful is like telling a kid not to want candy.

  The hour passes slowly, and fifteen minutes before I’m due to meet Benito, I gather my things and make my way to the bar.

  It’s three in the afternoon, but obviously not too early for a shot and a beer. Old men line the bar, a drink in one hand and a defeated expression on their faces. It’s an old-style bar, the kind you’d expect to find out in the middle of nowhere, not in trendy New York. I order myself a beer and take a seat at an empty table in the back. My fingers play with a napkin that sits in front of me. The bar’s name, Screamers, is scrawled across the top corner.

  “Hey. Thanks for meeting me.”

  I look up as Benito slides into the seat to my left. His cheeks are flushed like he’s been running and the heavy bags under his eyes make me wonder if he’s sick. He didn’t look this bad a week ago.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, concerned.

  He nods, not meeting my eyes. “Yeah, it’s just been a shitty day.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?” I ask.

  “Nothing I can talk about.” He laughs nervously. “I didn’t ask you here to listen to my problems, Pietro. I came here to unwind.” He turns around and calls out to the barmaid. She waves her arm and I get the feeling he’s a regular.

  “Fair enough,” I say, trying to get the conversation back on track, just as the waitress places a Scotch in front of him. “We might need a couple more,” I say to the waitress. I turn back to Benito and smile. “Let’s unwind, then.”

  “Thanks,” he mumbles, downing his drink. He wipes his mouth and slumps forward. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I asked you to meet me. This was a stupid idea.”

  I sit back in my chair, confused. I feel like there’s something he wants to tell me, but he’s holding back. Do I push him for answers, or just leave it?

  What the hell? What do I have to lose? Our friendship? It’s not like we have much of one anymore.

  “Is this about my parents?” I ask. “If you know something about what happened, tell me, man.”

  His expression darkens. “Damn it, Pietro, you need to let that go. I told you, I can’t help you with that.”

  But even as he speaks, he won’t meet my eyes. He’s hiding something. Why won’t he just tell me the truth?

  “If it were your family, could you just let it go?” I ask quietly. “Look, if you’re not willing to help me, then I don’t see the point in me being here.”

  “I am trying to help you,” he says, gritting his teeth. “You have no idea how much shit you’re stirring up, do you?” He laughs, his eyes blazing. “A fucking private detective, man? Are you insane?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I say, confused as to how the fuck he knows about that. And if he kno
ws, who else knows? “How do you even know about that?”

  “How I know isn’t important,” he says quietly. “What’s important is that you let this go now. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, Pietro.”

  “Who is Gambero?” I ask, eyeing him for a reaction. His eyes widen. He slams his fist down on the table, clearly pissed off. “Talk to me, dammit. I won’t stop until I find out.”

  “Trust me, if you don’t know Gambero, you don’t want to know. You’re stirring up a whole lot of shit that is going to ruin you,” he threatens.

  “Since when is wanting answers stirring up trouble? I just want to know what happened,” I growl.

  “When you’re dealing with people like your father. My father. Giovanni—”

  He sighs and rubs his neck.

  “I shouldn’t be even talking to you, Pietro. You have no idea how much trouble this could get me into. I’ve got a wife and kids. I can’t get mixed up in your mess.”

  He stands up, his fingers closing around his glass. He gulps the contents down and then slams the glass onto the table.

  “Just watch your back, okay? And be careful about who you trust.”

  I stare after him, bewildered over what the hell just happened. My trying to get answers has obviously caught someone’s attention. Pulling out my phone, I send Lucca an email to make sure he’s okay.

  —

  A few hours later, I look at my phone as it continues to ring, and I sigh. Giovanni. Again. Maybe it’s my conscience’s way of making me feel guilty about what I’m doing behind his back. I pick up the phone and say hello.

  “I’m going to need you to pay a little closer attention to Lucia over the next few weeks.”

  It’s the fourth time Giovanni has called me today, but this time he has my attention. Is Lucy in danger? His no-nonsense tone makes me unsure how much information I’ll get out of him, but I have to try.

  “Sure,” I say rubbing my forehead. I’m already sleeping with her. How much closer can we get? I wince, knowing he would disembowel me if he ever found out. “Is everything okay?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” he assures me. “If there is an immediate threat, I’ll let you know.”

  He ends the call abruptly in true Giovanni style before I can ask anything else. Frustrated, I toss my phone onto the coffee table. What the hell is going on? Does it have something to do with the men I met last week? This is the perfect example of why I need to be more involved. If I knew what was going on, surely it would be easier for me to protect her?

  I contemplate calling him back and demanding he tell me more, but I decide against it. Instead, I pick up my phone again and text Lucy, wanting to make sure she’ll wait for me after training.

  Me: Wait for me at the studio when you’re done. I have a surprise for you.

  Today is the day she finds out whether all the stress and pain she’s gone through was worth it. I’m confident she’s in, and I’m planning a big night to celebrate. Surely they see what I see when she floats across the room.

  How could they not want her?

  I fill in the rest of the day by working on my thesis, well aware that time is ticking away for me. I have less than a month to finish the damn thing, and I still have so much to do. But concentrating is hard. All I can think about is Lucy and what kind of trouble Giovanni has gotten himself into.

  It wasn’t unusual for people to want revenge on him, and Lucy would be the perfect way to enact that revenge. Hurt him where he would hurt the most. He cares more for her than anyone or anything else in the world.

  My mind naturally goes back to my own childhood. My father pissed off the wrong people and ended up dead. I didn’t know much about it at the time, but over the years, I’d managed to piece together bits of his life. I know Giovanni is holding out on me, and I will find out what he knows, one way or another.

  The one thing I knew for absolute certainty was that this business isn’t a game.

  I’d learned that the hard way.

  —

  Straightening up when I see her walking toward me, I try to read her expression. She’s not smiling. My heart pounds as I begin to consider the possibility that maybe she didn’t get in.

  “So?” I ask nervously. Her gaze drops and so does my heart. Then I spot her lips twitching and I narrow my eyes at her. “You little minx, you got in, didn’t you?”

  She laughs and throws her arms around me. Relief washes through me and I squeeze her back. My lips find her neck and I take in the sweet scent of her perfume. She’s intoxicating in every way and I can’t believe this incredible woman is all mine.

  “I can’t believe it, Pietro. I got in. They actually want me,” she whispers, tears glistening in her eyes.

  “Of course they want you,” I reply, my voice husky. My fingers caressing her face, I pull her against me, pressing my mouth against hers. I’m so fucking proud of her for chasing her dreams.

  “So, you knew I would get in, huh?” She grins at me. “I mean, that’s why you’re here, right? Where are we going?”

  “Someplace nice. Only the best for you.” I chuckle. I decide against telling her what Giovanni said. There is no point in making her feel nervous or unsafe if I don’t have to and the last thing I want to do is ruin her moment.

  We get back to her place. At her door, I lean in and kiss her tenderly on the lips.

  “I’ll be back in an hour for you. Is that enough time for you to get ready?” I ask.

  “Are you sure I can’t tempt you into coming inside?” she asks, tilting her head, a sly smile creeping onto her lips. Strands of her dark hair escape her bun and hang around her face.

  “You always tempt me,” I mumble. “But no, I’ll see you in an hour.”

  “Can you give me a hint?” she says, her wide eyes pleading with me. She knows I can’t resist that look. I lean in and kiss her on the mouth, pressing her body against me. She pulls away, a dazed smile on her face.

  “Sure. Your hint is to dress up.”

  An hour later, I knock on her door. I’m dressed in a tux that is slightly too small around my shoulders and a little long in the legs. The door opens. She takes my breath away. The teal dress she’s wearing complements her flawless porcelain skin perfectly. Her hair is piled into a loose bun on the top of her head. Loose strands fall around her face. A delicate necklace hangs around her neck, resting just above the neckline of her dress.

  “You look incredible.” Taking a step forward, I lift my hand to her face, my fingers pushing one of the loose curls behind her ear. The smell of roses and musk kicks my senses as I breathe in her smell. I’m about five seconds away from saying fuck the ballet. I can barely refrain myself from ripping her out of that dress and doing devilishly naughty things to her.

  “You don’t look half bad yourself.” She smiles, wetting her lips in such a way that has me trying to disguise my erection. She reaches for her coat. “Shall we go?”

  “Yes,” I agree, dragging my eyes away from her. I take her hand, entwining my fingers in hers. My arm around her, we walk outside to the cab I have waiting. She gets in first. My eyes roam over her body, so long and lean, one leg crossed over the other, revealing her creamy white thighs. And I’m not the only one who has her attention.

  “Where to?” asks the driver, his eyes not leaving Lucy.

  “To Lincoln Center,” I say, my voice sharp, placing my hand possessively on her thigh. Startled, he glances at me, as if only just realizing I’m there. I raise my eyebrows at him and his face colors, his eyes now firmly on the street ahead of him. Lucy’s face lights up, oblivious to the silent territorial war that erupted between myself and the driver.

  “You’re taking me to the ballet?” She squeals, throwing her arms around me.

  “I thought the best way to celebrate was to take you to see the company you’ll be working for.”

  “What were you going to do if I didn’t get in?”

  “Then I guess the three-hundred-dollar tickets I bought wou
ld go to waste.” I chuckle.

  “I don’t know how you even managed to get them. They’ve been sold out for weeks.” She laughs, shaking her head. Her excitement is infectious. I reach for her hand and give it a light squeeze.

  “I can be very resourceful when I need to be,” I murmur.

  “I bet you can,” she says, her hand creeping around my neck. She pulls me toward her, her lips pressing against mine. My heart races as we kiss. The longer the moment goes on, the harder it is to break away. When we finally do, it’s only a second before I find myself needing to taste her again. I want to say fuck the performance, but I know how much she’s looking forward to it.

  We arrive at Lincoln Center. Her face lights up when she sees the crowds of people waiting outside. I love seeing her happy. I pay the cab driver as I get out, and then extend my hand to Lucy. She takes it, and slides out of the cab, the smile not leaving her face.

  “I can’t believe I’m here,” she mumbles. She wraps her arms around me and kisses me. I grin and kiss her back.

  Inside, we find our seats and wait for the show to begin. Lucy is busy studying the program, so I take the moment to check my phone. I’m half expecting a missed call from Giovanni, but there’s nothing there. Satisfied, I put my phone away and focus on Lucy.

  Not surprisingly for a performance of this caliber, the place is packed. As the curtain rises, a ballerina floats across the stage, her long arms delicately balanced above her head.

  “That will be you one day,” I murmur, leaning over to whisper in her ear. She squeezes my hand and smiles, her eyes not leaving the dancer. I settle back in my chair and stare at Lucy. I’m more drawn to watching her than I am the dancing.

  I can’t get over how fucking beautiful she is.

  —

  As we walk out of the theater after the show, I pull her into my arms and tilt her head. Pressing my lips against hers, I indulge her in a slow, sensual kiss. Pulling away, she sighs. Her expression reads happiness and I know my job is done. The only way I ever want her to feel is happy

  “That was”—she shakes her head—“I can’t even find the right words. Thank you, Pietro.”