by Susan Stoker
“Sit anyway.”
Her jaw tightens, and she sighs deeply but perches on the edge of the couch. Her gaze quickly slides over my chest before returning to my face. She does that thing again where she bites her lip, and I know for a fact she’s not aware of it. I grin.
“Why were you running away?” I ask, wanting her to realize how irresponsible—not to mention ineffective—it is.
She brings her attention to picking lint off the sweater.
“Don’t want to say?”
When she looks up at me, she cocks her head to the side. “I know your family,” she says, totally off topic. “Gregorio and Giovanni Santa Maria. Brothers. Friends. Which is rare in our world, especially for a family as powerful as yours. You have a younger sister, although I can’t remember her name. And you’re the second biggest mob family in the northeast, close to the Benedetti family, right?”
I nod, a proud grin I can’t help from forming on my face. But then, she continues.
“I just don’t really understand why someone like you would be interested in someone like me,” she says.
“I’m not. Like I told you earlier, we’re family. Family helps family.”
“Hmm,” she starts, a note of reprimand in her tone. One I don’t like. “You also said my father would owe you. You want him in your debt? If he survives, I mean? Although, I guess it won’t matter since Arturo’s in charge now. He’ll owe you.” She says his name with a note of disgust.
I sit up and stretch my arms along the back of the couch, watching her closely now.
“Why would you want that? We have a fraction of the power you have. We can’t be of any use to you.”
“You never know. Favors are good things to be owed.”
This time, she purposefully drags her gaze from mine, down over my chest and back. She stands up. “Well, I’ll go back to my room then. Sorry to wake you.”
This surprises me, but I only watch her as she goes. It’s when my gaze falls to the dish on the table beside the door I realize why she’s so easily giving up her escape plan. Or, at least, giving the impression of having given up.
“Allegra,” I call out, not bothering to get up or even turn around.
“What?”
“Come here.”
“I’m going to bed.” Her hurried footsteps fade down the hall.
“I said come here,” I repeat a little louder. I don’t like having to raise my voice. It’s not something I’m used to doing.
“I said I’m going to bed. Good night, Gregorio.”
The door slams.
My jaw tightens. I get to my feet and make my way to her bedroom. I don’t bother knocking. Instead, I reach up to get the key from where I keep it above the door frame. I do this for each of the guest rooms. I slide it into the lock, and when I push it open, she spins around to face me, quickly shoving my wallet under the pillow.
“Does that belong to you?” I ask, stepping into the room. It was stupid to leave it on the table beside the elevator I realize because she would have seen me slide the key into it. And since I just told her she’d need that key to call the elevator, well, I guess she’s smart enough to put two and two together.
Or she’s a mobster’s daughter.
Not a single one of us is honest.
“What?” she asks, playing innocent, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Don’t fucking play around,” I’m not in the mood for games and, quite frankly, I’m pissed. “I go out of my way to collect you at that club in fucking east jabib, bring you to my home, give you a warm, safe, comfortable place to lay your head, and this is how you repay my hospitality?”
“Your hospitality? All you’ve done is manhandle me since the second I met you!”
I’ve reached her by now, and she’s leaning away from me. It makes me realize how much bigger than her I am. How small she is. How vulnerable. But maybe I like her vulnerable; maybe she should even be afraid. Because she’s a fucking thief.
“Give it here,” I say holding out my hand. “If I have to take it from you—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No?” I grip her arm and, although she struggles, I shove her over and push the blanket aside to find my wallet lying open, the slot with the key card empty. I turn to her. “No?” I ask again, releasing her.
She stands and moves backward away from me as I stalk toward her.
“Give me my key, Allegra.”
“Just let me go,” she says, her back hitting the wall.
Before she can make a run for it, I slap my hands against the wall on either side of her head, trapping her, making her jump with the sound. I look at her pretty face, her wide blue eyes. That pulse on her little neck beating too fast.
“Why do you so badly want to disappear?”
I know the moment I say the words that I’ve just stumbled on the truth. Allegra puts both hands on my shoulders, but instead of shoving, she slams her knee up. This time, though, I catch it between my thighs.
I cluck my tongue. “Fool me once…” I start.
But she slips under my arm and makes a run for it to the door. I grab her just as she sets one foot out and when I drag her back, she kicks and shoves. I swing my leg out, knocking hers out from under her, but catch her as she goes down, my arm beneath her head, one hand landing flat to catch our combined weight before she hits. I land on top of her, laying just enough pressure on her to keep her down.
“Get off me!” she struggles.
I catch her wrists, and, transferring them to one hand, I hold them up over her head. With the other one, I unzip the little purse and feel inside for the key card. I keep my eyes locked on hers all along, and when I have it, I release her wrists and sit up, straddling her hips, and holding it out between us.
“Still don’t know what I’m talking about?”
“You’re hurting me,” she says, her voice slightly more sedate.
“You don’t know hurt, sweetheart.”
She tries to sit up, but that’s not happening. Not yet. Grabbing the hem of my sweater—I’d tear it if it wasn’t one of my favorites—I pull it up over her head.
“What—”
I grin and look her over. She’s trying to get out from under me but can’t. Gripping the collar of the dress, I tug hard and hear the satisfying rip as I tear the cheap material in two.
She screams, her expression one of shock. Her arms move instantly to cover herself. Keeping hold of the flimsy material, I stand up, forcing her to roll onto her side as I relieve her of the shreds of her dress so she’s lying there in a pretty bra and matching panties.
“What the hell!” She sits up, hugging her knees up to her cover herself.
I tower over her. “There, now I can get some sleep.”
“I don’t have any other clothes!”
I’m walking out the door with the remnants of the dress in my hand. “You can explain why to your brother tomorrow morning.”
“I’m not going back! You can’t force me to. He can’t force me to!”
I glance back at her; see how her eyes shine with tears.
“You’re a jerk. You’re a fucking jerk,” she says, lowering her face into her hands. I hear the first sniffle, and for a moment, I’m rooted to the spot and feel exactly like a fucking jerk. How in hell did I let this girl get so deep under my skin?
I sigh. “Look—”
When she looks up at me, it’s with hate in her eyes. “Just go. Leave me alone.”
I take a step toward her but she hugs her knees in tighter, and her hands are fisted, so I stop. What am I going to say anyway? I don’t know the first thing about her situation, and I’m not getting involved. Period. I have my own shit to deal with, and this is just an inconvenience. That’s all.
Turning away, I walk out the door and into the living room. I won’t be able to sleep now anyway, so I take one look at the tattered dress before tossing it into the trashcan, pour myself a drink, and switch on the stereo. Ophelia b
y The Lumineers begins to play just as a door slams shut down the hall, and I settle in for another sleepless night.
Chapter Three
I watch the sun breaking through the clouds as orange colors the cityscape. It’s an amazing sight. Sunsets I usually miss, but I like the sunrises more anyway. It’s quieter. I shudder in the icy February morning chill. I’m standing on the balcony in just my sweats, barefoot, and bare chested, but the cold is worth it for the view and the silence. This is my time, before the world wakes up and wants a piece of me.
A few moments later, I walk inside and close the sliding glass door. In the kitchen, I push a button on the espresso machine, and dark liquid pours into my cup. I watch it absently, wondering about my guest because I already hear the shower, so she’s up. The last image of her from the night before is huddled on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest and crying. Well, that and calling me a jerk. Which I am. But I didn’t need to be one with her.
My phone rings as I take my first sip of the café lungo, rich and dark and potent. I only answer because it’s Giovanni, and it’s unusual, even for him, to call this early. But I think he suffers from the same insomnia I do so maybe not that unusual.
“Brother,” I answer.
“Morning.”
“Morning. You sound chipper,” I say.
“How was your night?” Giovanni asks.
“About as good as can be expected, but we both survived.”
He chuckles. “Take it easy with the girl,” he growls. “She doesn’t know much about the life.”
“She’s a sly little thing, though.”
“Nothing you can’t handle, I’m guessing.”
“What’s with the flattery, Gio?” He hates the nickname which makes me like it even more. My brother and I are close, but it’s still fun to irritate him.
“Well, funny thing. Looks like you’ll have to hold on to her for a couple of days.”
“Why?” It’s my turn to growl.
“I just got off the phone with Arturo Antonino. Apparently, there’s some trouble he needs to handle.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Not sure. I’m looking into it now.”
“What do you mean?”
“He got sketchy when I pressed him.”
“He is sketchy.” I didn’t know much about Arturo Antonino until his old man was laid up in a hospital bed with machines keeping him alive. The Antonino’s are a small mafia family, but they’ve steadily been growing over the last year. Since they operate out of the east coast, which is Benedetti and Santa Maria territory, we need to be sure their interests align with ours. They did while John Antonino was boss, but like I said, I don’t know Arturo. Neither does Giovanni.
“So how’s this trouble going to impact my weekend plans?” I ask. I don’t really have any, but still, it’s the principle.
“He won’t be here to pick her up until Sunday night.”
“Fuck. Can’t we put her on a flight?”
“You know we can’t.”
I do, but still. I sigh.
“Don’t tell me you can’t handle her.”
“I can handle her just fine.”
“Touchy.”
“Fuck you.”
I hear her bedroom door open and turn to watch her come out of her room, her wet hair in a messy bun on top of her head, her face scrubbed clean of makeup, her eyes still full of fire. “I have to go,” I say, my cock stirring at the sight of her in just my sweater, which I’d forgotten in there when I walked out with the tattered rags of her dress last night.
“Gregorio,” he says before I can hang up.
“Yeah.”
“Have fun.” I can almost hear him grinning.
I hang up and face her. Up close in the sunlight, she’s even prettier, her skin a creamy beige, her long, slender legs tanned, the toes of her bare feet painted a light pink. But when she hoists herself up on one of the bar stools, I notice a small bluish spot high on her left cheekbone.
I tense.
“Good morning,” I say, my voice tight, my eyes on that bruise. I’d say it’s been about a week since someone put it there.
“What’s good about it?” she asks.
“The pleasure of your company, of course,” I deadpan.
She gives me a smirk.
“You want coffee?” I turn away and open a cupboard, then another. “I should have tea here somewhere if you—”
“Coffee’s fine. Black and strong.”
“Remember what we learned last night, Princess?”
She narrows her eyes. “Please.”
“It’s really not so hard to be polite, is it?” I get a mug and make her a cup. We don’t speak until I hand it to her, and I notice how she’s shifted her face so the side without the bruise is to me. She knows I’ve seen it.
“When’s Arturo coming?” she asks.
“Funny thing, I just got off the phone with my brother. He’s not, apparently. Something’s come up that needs his attention, and you and I get to spend more quality time together.”
“What do you mean?”
“Looks like you’ll be my guest for two more days. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
She sighs deeply and drinks a sip of her coffee.
“You have something better to do?” I ask.
Instead of a smartass remark, she looks thoughtful. She sets the mug on the counter and scratches the back of her neck. “I need my things.”
“What things?”
“My phone. My clothes.”
“Where are they?”
“At the hotel where I’m staying. Or was, I guess.”
I study her. “Why are you running away? You had to know your brother would look for you. Would find you.”
“Is this going to be two days of interrogations?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Just curious.”
“I was celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?”
“Exams. You know, university. Or maybe you don’t. Do guys like you go to university?”
I count to ten before replying because if I don’t, the urge to wipe the cocky look off her face is going to get the better of me.
“Seeing as how you’re so smart, Princess, I’d think you’d know the daughter of a mafia boss can’t just take off without protection.”
“I told you to stop calling me Princess.”
“I told you to stop acting like one.” She opens her mouth, but I don’t give her a chance to speak. “Your family has enemies. Your father lying in a coma is proof of that, isn’t it?”
“Are you seriously going to lecture me?”
“Not if you tell me the truth, and you celebrating is not it.”
She blinks rapidly and can’t hold my gaze, so I decide to try a different approach, taking a step back, giving her space. I push the button on the espresso machine and make myself another cup. “Look, if you need help or you’re in trouble—”
“I’m not.” She cuts me off too quickly. “I can’t stay here for two days. I have things to do.”
“I have things to do too, Princess.” My phone buzzes with a text. It’s Enzo asking if I’m ready to go. I text that we’ll be down in fifteen minutes. “We’ll drop by your hotel and pick up your things.” I walk around the corner and make a point of looking her up and down. “Do you have a dress?”
“I had one. You ripped it to shreds, remember?”
“I mean a decent one.”
She almost tells me to fuck off again, but I’m glad to see she catches herself. She’s learning.
“I have to be somewhere tonight. You’ll be coming with me.”
“Somewhere?”
“A sort of party.” Close enough.
“I’m not up for a party so no, thank you. I’ll just stay here. Or better yet, at my own hotel.”
I flat out ignore the last part. “You’ve proven you can’t be trusted.”
“So lock
me in.”
“What if there’s a fire?”
She gives me an incredulous look.
“Or you start one?” I add.
“I’m not so self-centered that I’d burn down an entire building to break out.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“Even if I am being kept against my will.”
“Believe it or not, I’m not your enemy, Allegra.”
“No? Actions speak louder than words, Gregorio. You practically scalped me last night.”
“You stole my wallet.”
“I just wanted the key, not your money.”
“You’re not leaving here. Period. I’m responsible for you until your brother gets here.”
“He’s my fucking half-brother. And I don’t need a babysitter. I’m twenty-two years old. I’m an adult and…and…” she trails off, frustration making a crease appear between her eyebrows.
“We all have to do shit we don’t want to do, Allegra. You suck it up, and you do what needs to be done even if it’s not convenient for you. That’s the difference between adults and children.”
“You don’t know anything about me or my life.”
“I’m trying to be fucking nice.”
“Well don’t. You’ve already shown me whose side you’re on, so just don’t bother.” She slides off the stool.
“Sit back down.”
“I’m going back to my room.”
I catch her by the arm as she spins away. “I said sit.” She opens her mouth, but I stop her. “Be careful, Allegra. Be very fucking careful with me.”
“Or what?” she starts, but something else has replaced the cockiness in her eyes, something akin to fear. “You’ll hit me? That’s next, isn’t it? I mean, it’s what you tough guys do, right?”
I’m taken aback. Keeping hold of her, I study her closely. Does she really think I’ll hit her? I touch my thumb gently to the bruise on her cheek so she knows I know. “I don’t hit women,” I say quietly, releasing her.
“Whatever.”
I don’t miss the sudden tears that appear in her eyes before she scoots away and toward her room.
“Allegra.”
She stops but keeps her back to me.
“Just a minute,” I bypass her to my bedroom. I had a live-in girlfriend a year ago and still have some of her clothes here. She’s about Allegra’s size, so I fish out a pair of capris and a tank top. Not appropriate for this weather, but it’s something. When I go back into the living room, she’s still there and watches me with cautious eyes. “Here.”