by Siren, Tia
“I have. A few times, actually,” she said. “Because, as you apparently know, it's just down the street from my house.”
“Perfect,” I said, leading her in the direction of the restaurant.
“My friend is expecting me,” she said. “If I don't show up, she's going to worry. Might even call the police.”
“Well, by all means, give her a call,” I said. “Tell her you're running late or whatever.”
She looked at me for a long moment and then pulled out her phone. As she made her call, I kept walking along. The street wasn't overly busy—it was getting late after all. It was well past dinnertime, which was why I was starving. There were, however, enough people still out and about to hopefully ease Kendra's nerves a bit. That was the point of taking her somewhere public. To get her to talk. I needed her to open up to me and listen to what I had to say. And I knew if she was scared out of her wits, it wouldn't happen.
The restaurant was normally busy, but with the dinner rush over, the crowd was dying down. We were able to get a table immediately, and while there were still plenty of other guests inside with us, we were alone in a corner. Kendra sat down, her body stiff, her face a mask of fear, as she slid into the booth. I sat across from her and for the first time that evening, I could see her face.
Her beautiful face was filled with distress. Her eyes were red and puffy, and tears had stained her cheeks, but she wiped them away, leaving only smudges of mascara. But even that didn't take away from her beauty.
Ever since I’d laid eyes on Kendra Graham—the petite, busty blonde who had worked alongside my lawyer, Maxwell Schmidt—I'd been smitten. Even now, with the hoodie concealing her natural blonde hair and most of her face, I couldn't take my eyes off her and felt my dick harden. Her blue eyes were serious as she stared at me from across the table, looking like a deer in headlights.
“You wanted to talk?” she said, trying to sound firm even though her voice cracked just a bit.
“Let's order first,” I said, pushing a menu toward her. “Are you hungry?”
She shook her head, but I could tell that was a lie. She was probably just too scared to eat. But, I was hoping that I could loosen her up a bit. At least enough to get some food into her belly.
“I just want to know what's going on, Marco,” she said with a trembling sigh. She looked away from me and bit her lip, and I could tell she was fighting back the tears. “I just want all this to go away. I want my life back.”
I looked up from the menu as the waitress came over to our table. “May I have a dynamite roll and a rainbow roll? And two sides of miso, please. And two—cokes?”
Kendra looked away, not wanting the waitress to see her tears—and not answering me either.
“Yeah, two cokes, please,” I said, ordering for her.
The waitress took down our order and left. Alone again, Kendra looked up, her eyes fixed on me, an inscrutable expression on her face.
“Why do you keep avoiding my questions, Marco?”
“How about I ask some questions of my own first?” I asked, unfolding the napkin and placing it on my lap. “Like, for instance, why did you get fired from your job at the firm?”
Kendra swallowed and looked away again. I could tell she was trying to think of how much to tell me, but, considering that I already knew the answer, I just wanted to hear what she had to say about it more than anything.
After a long silence, she said, “I wouldn't go to the cops, I swear.”
I chuckled. “Of course not,” I said. “We both know how much good that would do. Besides, I'm not worried about that. I'm worried about you, Kendra.”
“You're worried about me?” She scoffed and didn't look convinced.
“Yes, I am, believe it or not,” I said. “And because of that, I'm here to offer you a job. You work for me and we can forget about everything else that happened.”
She snorted derisively, shaking her head in disbelief. “No.”
“Just no?” I asked. “Not even going to think about it? Not even going to ask me what the job entails?”
“There's nothing to think about,” she said. “I want nothing to do with you or your family. I just want to walk away from all of you and forget about all of this. Just pretend it's some goddamn nightmare I can wake up from and have it disappear.”
“It's not that easy, I'm afraid.”
Kendra was quiet for a few moments and stared down at her hands. The waitress brought out our food, placing a bowl of miso in front of each of us before departing without a word. Kendra stared down into the bowl, but didn't even touch it.
“They have the best miso soup in all of Chicago,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “If you haven't tried it yet –”
“Are you going to kill me?” Kendra asked bluntly.
She looked up at me with her eyes wide and her lower lip trembling. She looked scared, but there was also a look of sheer determination on her face; a look that said she would go down fighting if she had to. I knew this girl had spunk from the moment I laid eyes on her, and even now as she faced what she thought was certain death, she barely flinched.
Clearing my throat and leaning forward so she could hear me as I answered her in a voice barely more than a whisper, “I don't kill innocent people, Kendra,” I said. “That's not who I am. That's not who I'll ever be.”
“Am I innocent though?” she asked me. “I know too much, don't I?”
I hated seeing her so scared. This woman had caught my eye the moment I'd walked into my lawyer's office, and from that day forward, I couldn't take my eyes off her. It wasn’t only physical attraction, although her physical traits were impeccable. I was around enough gorgeous women who had no substance. Kendra was smart, spunky and most of all had a backbone. Everything about her intrigued me. And now, seeing her afraid, thinking that I'd murder her in cold blood—it killed me.
“I promise that no harm will come to you, Kendra,” I said. “Unlike other members of my family, I don't believe in hurting innocent people—especially women. And to answer your question, yes, you're innocent. Knowing too much doesn't automatically make you guilty in my eyes. But, not everyone in my family feels the same way or thinks the way I do. Which is why I need you to trust me. Can you do that, Kendra? Can you trust me?”
The expression on her face was unreadable to me, but the look in her eyes was one I knew all too well—pure, unadulterated fear. And it sent a lance of pain straight into my stomach.
3
Kendra
Marco's eyes went right through me, and as much as I needed to be around someone I could trust, I seriously doubted he could possibly be that person. The Marco I originally met at the law offices, that man I might have trusted, the good-looking, wealthy banker who flirted with me every chance he got—that man I could trust.
The man I read about in our case files though—the brutal murderer? That man scared the living shit out of me. That man, I was convinced, would kill me without remorse or a second thought.
And I just wasn't sure which man sat before me now.
Well, it was obviously not the banker. I now knew Marco never worked a regular job in his entire life. He worked for the mafia. No, scratch that, he ran the mafia. At least his branch of it. Ever since his father got shipped off to prison, Marco ran the show. He should be behind bars with his old man, but my boss—or, former boss—managed to get him off on a technicality. And now, he was the top dog of his crime family.
Had I not known the truth about him, I could almost fall for his lies. Staring into his eyes, it was hard not to notice my pulse quicken. His eyes were dark brown and almost sincere. He looked like the sweet boy next door—except that he had a little more edge to him. His face was chiseled, almost cut to perfection. His hair was black and fell almost to his shoulders, nicely styled and clean. He was too beautiful to be real, like he'd been pulled straight from the pages of a fashion magazine.
Fuck, Kendra—the man’s a murderer. Who cares what he looks like!
It amazed me that he'd flirt with me—given he looked like the type of guy that could have any woman on the planet. And yet, he seemed interested in me. For a while, I honestly considered dating him.
Then, out of curiosity, I read his file. A file I shouldn't have had access to, but my boss was careless. That's when I saw the true Marco Moretti, and because I valued my life, I knew I had to get as far away from him as humanly possible.
Without waiting for me to answer his question, he grabbed his chopsticks and picked up a sushi roll, eating it while he looked at me, smiling as he savored it.
“Their dynamite rolls are the best,” he said. “I think they put crack in the sauce. I could seriously eat these all day long.”
He held a second piece in his chopsticks and moved it toward my mouth. “Here, try it,” he said.
“No thanks. I've had them before.”
“And you don't like it?”
“No, I love it,” I said with a shrug. “I'm just not hungry.”
Marco shook his head, almost like he couldn't believe it, before eating the piece of sushi himself, popping it into his mouth and moaning with satisfaction.
“You're missing out, Kendra,” he said. “Even if I wasn't hungry, there's no way I could turn down this delicious sushi.”
His phone buzzed, and he sighed as he put down the chopsticks.
“Sorry, it's my friend's son. He's staying at my place, so I need to take this. It'll only be a second,” he said.
I half expected him to step away to take his call, but then realized it would be stupid of him to do that. It would give me a chance to escape. Not that I was really a prisoner. Or was I?
To my dismay, he didn't step away, staying at the table when he answered.
“Hey Sam,” he said. “What's going on, buddy?”
He sounded so normal. Almost fatherly. It was hard for me to reconcile that with what I knew he was capable of doing.
“Yeah, I'm almost done here and can be home soon,” he said. “Everything okay?”
Marco had a serious look on his face as he listened. I just stared at him, still unable to believe that this mafia kingpin was sitting across from me and acting like everything was normal; almost like we were on a date.
“All right, I'll be home,” he said with a sigh. “Just give me about twenty minutes to get there.”
My ears perked up as Marco hung up the phone and slipped it into his pocket. He looked at me, his smile tight, and an unreadable expression on his face.
“Sorry, we have to cut this short, the youngest is refusing to go to bed,” he said with a soft smile and twinkle in his eye. “My best friend, Anthony, is in rehab at the moment, so I'm watching his three kids for him until he can get back on his feet.”
What he said took me back a bit. Hell, it almost sounded like a nice thing to do. He sounded like a warm, caring friend. I didn't say anything, though, just stared at him. I hoped he'd tell me I was free to go.
“Do you mind if we continue this at my place?” he asked. “Our conversation, that is?”
”Do I have a choice in the matter?” I asked.
Marco shrugged. “I won't force you to come with me, Kendra, but let's be clear here—we will have this conversation one way or another. And I think it's best if we get it out of the way early and not let things fester. Nothing good ever comes out of letting something fester. And like I said, I won't hurt you. I give you my word on that. I think you'd be safest with me. And after you hear me out, you'll be free to leave, if you'd like. I promise you that.”
“And if I say no?”
Marco's eyes turned toward me and looked as serious as he spoke. “Then I can't promise your safety, Kendra. Things could get very dangerous for you and it will be out of my hands completely.”
I felt chills rush down my spine.
* * *
God, please let me live through this night on one piece. I thought to myself as we walked out of the restaurant.
He and I walked back to his car, which was still parked in front of my house. I so badly wanted to go home, to crawl into my bed, and forget about all of this. Pretend it never happened.
But as I took one look at Marco, I remembered what he'd said. He couldn't guarantee my safety. Was that a veiled threat? Or was there more going on than I knew? Apparently, unless I went with him, I'd never have the answer.
He opened the car door for me and I hesitated for a moment before I climbed inside. As he walked around to his door, I thought of getting out and running, but knew I wouldn't get far. Marco and his men were good. If they wanted to kill me, they'd find a way to do it. In fact, I reminded myself if he'd wanted me dead, I'd be dead already—public restaurant or not. He would have found a way and there wouldn't have been any recourse.
I remained silent as we drove to Marco's home—a house I'd heard a lot about. He lived in a historic mansion that had been passed down through the generations of his family. Being the only son of his father, it naturally went to him.
“These kids,” Marco said with a chuckle, “they keep me on my toes. I never expected it to be so hard. But it's so rewarding, you know?”
I stared out the window. “I wouldn't know. I don't have children.”
“Me neither,” Marco said softly. “Can't have any actually. My ex and I tried to conceive a while back and doctors told me I was sterile. So, there won't be any little Marcos running around in this lifetime.”
He shot a sideways glance in my direction, which I saw in the reflection from the window.
“I've always wanted kids too,” he continued. “So did my ex, Mariana. I think it's the reason we split up. She has two kids with her new husband.”
I almost wanted to feel bad for him, but I reminded myself of who he was and why I was there.
“But having these kids living with me now,” he said. “Well, it just reminds me of what I'll never have. And it's kind of like a kick in the gut, to be honest. I like having them here, but I know it's temporary.”
He paused for a moment, almost like he hoped I'd say something. Like he hoped I'd commiserate or comfort him. I might have told him I was sorry to hear about his inability to father children, but I couldn't find it in me to empathize with a brutal, cold-blooded killer.
Instead of giving him what he obviously wanted, I asked him, “Why are you telling me all of this?”
He was quiet some more, which caused me to turn and look at him. He was staring straight ahead, out at the road beyond the windshield, his face blank. He seemed conflicted. Tormented. But even beyond all that, he just looked—sad.
Finally, he answered, “Because, Kendra, I want you to understand I'm not the monster you think I am.”
“None of this—taking care of your friend's kids, telling me about your sterility—none of it changes the way I see you, Marco. I know the reason you want children is so that you can carry on the Moretti dynasty—and that's not something I can sympathize with now that I know your family history. Now that I know who you are and what you do.”
Marco laughed, which caught me off-guard and pissed me off a bit. I wasn't stupid, and the fact that he thought he could fool me angered me beyond belief. I faced forward again and looked at the road ahead, fuming. No longer able to stare at his striking face without feeling an overwhelming urge to slap him.
“Listen, Kendra, I'm not like my father or my grandfather,” he said. “I never wanted to take over the family business. I had other plans. But when my brother died and my father was imprisoned, I had no other choice.”
“You always have a choice, Marco,” I said, rolling my eyes. “So don't give me that lame excuse. I'm not naive.”
“I don't intend to run things the way they did either,” he said. “As I told you before, I don't kill innocent people, and I never will. It goes against my code. Everything I believe in. I'm hoping to change my family's legacy. I hate killing anyone—even if they deserve it, but running a legitimate operation takes time. We have to be patient. I want to change the system Ke
ndra—as impossible as that sounds or as unbelievable as it may seem to you.”
“You expect me to believe you when you're running around out there killing people left and right? And getting off on technicalities in the justice system?” I asked, glaring at him. “Because I've seen the list of people you've murdered, and it's a pretty long list, Marco. You say you don't kill innocent people and that you want to change things. But from what I've seen of you, that's nothing more than a bunch of bullshit. Was Nelson Burke not innocent? He was a husband, a father, and an attorney who just happened to be on the wrong side of the Morettis. And he ended up dead in a ditch.”
After he'd driven us down a long, narrow driveway, we were sitting parked outside the infamous Moretti Mansion. Marco shut off the engine and turned to me, smiling as I spoke—smirking was probably the more apt description, really. He just sat there and listened as I ranted and raved, not saying a word. And when I finished, he finally spoke—and what he said left me absolutely flummoxed.
“We're here,” was all he said, not even addressing anything I'd just spouted off. “We'll talk more about all that inside because I'd like to clear up some misconceptions, I promise you. But first, I must take care of the children. Hope you don't mind.”
Then the bastard got out of the car, walked over, and opened my car door for me. When I didn't move, he looked at me, that same smug grin on his face?
“You coming in?” he asked. “Because, if you're planning on staying out here all night, I can have somebody bring you a blanket and pillows.”
Smartass.
* * *
“Marco!” a little girl who looked to be about five, yelled as she ran into the foyer, her dark hair in braids, wearing bright pink pajamas.
“Bella!” Marco yelled back, kneeling down and spreading his arms wide as the little girl ran into them. “You should be in bed, little one.”
An older boy—who I assumed was Sam—stepped into the foyer behind her. He was about fifteen or so and didn't look happy.