by Susan Stoker
She takes the clothes and holds them up. “I didn’t peg you for a cross-dresser.”
“Ha ha. They’re from my ex.”
“You keep your ex’s clothes?”
I feel caught for a second, but then she grins.
“Shut up and go put these on before I change my mind and make you wear my sweater out.”
“Where are we going?”
“To get your things. Get something to eat. Find you a dress for tonight.”
“Are you serious? I have to go to this party with you? I’m sure you have a date who’ll be disappointed.”
“You are so fucking tiring. I understand why your brother isn’t rushing to pick you up.”
At the mention of his name, she stiffens again, and my brain is working. I don’t like the calculation it’s coming up with.
Allegra walks back into the guestroom and emerges a few moments later dressed in the tank top, capris, and the pumps she was wearing last night. She slides my sweater over the top. I left her coat at the club, so she’ll freeze without it.
“Ready?”
She nods.
I gesture to the elevator, insert my key and push the button. The doors slide open a moment later, and she steps in. Our gazes meet in the mirror as I follow her, and she’s quick to look away. I push the button, and we’re on our way to the garage. We don’t speak the whole way down. Instead, she watches the numbers as we descend the floors while I watch her. Enzo’s waiting for us with the SUV, and, without acknowledging him, she climbs into the backseat.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Morning, Boss.” He gets one look at Allegra who’s staring straight ahead. “Long night?”
He chuckles at my expression. I climb in to sit beside Allegra.
“Breakfast?” Enzo asks once he’s in.
“Let’s drop by the hotel and pick up Allegra’s things first. Where are you staying?” I ask her.
She fishes out a card from her purse and reads off the name, then hands it to me. It’s some random motel I’ve never heard of.
“This is a really bad neighborhood,” I say when I read the address before handing the card to Enzo. “You’ve been there a week?”
Enzo whistles when he reads it.
Allegra shrugs a shoulder. “I’m tougher than I look,” she says.
“Oh, I think you’re plenty tough, but you’re still a girl.”
She cocks her head to the side. “I survived, even a little ole girl like me. Besides, being in your apartment for a few hours has proven more dangerous for me than a week in this neighborhood.”
I take a deep breath. “Do you rub everyone you know the wrong way?”
“Just you.” She shrugs a shoulder. “But I guess I was asking for it, right?”
I look away for a moment. “Look, I’m sorry for the way I treated you last night,” I say. This is so not my strong suit. “I’m not going to make any excuses, and, no, you weren’t asking for it,” I add, remembering the bruise, knowing someone very recently treated her much worse than I did, and realizing she might be ashamed of it. I know a little bit about abuse and the people who are abused. I don’t think she is one, but even one time is enough to bring on feelings of shame. I don’t want her to feel that. “Truce?” I say when I realize I’ve caught her completely off guard.
She studies me for a long time, then bites her lip and nods her head.
I nod too and notice how Enzo has kept his eyes on the road, pretending he hasn’t heard a word.
Chapter Four
We drive in silence to the hotel where Allegra had been staying.
“Do you have your key?” I ask her as we enter the ratty hotel’s lobby.
She takes it out of her purse.
I’m looking around at the place trying not to touch anything. It’s filthy, and the guy behind the counter leers at Allegra like some sleaze ball, and it bothers me more than it should. “What are you looking at?” I ask.
He clears his throat and busies himself with the computer keyboard.
“He’s harmless,” she says, bypassing the elevator and moving to the staircase.
I grip her wrist to stop her.
Startled, she looks from my hand to my face. “No man is harmless, Allegra.”
Her eyes search my face, and I know she knows this, but she doesn’t comment. I follow her up to the second floor and down the hall, taking in the stained carpet and nasty walls.
“Why the fuck are you staying here?”
“Because it’s cheap.” She slides the key into the door and opens it. I follow her in, trying not to touch anything. She’s got an unzipped duffel bag on the bed and clothes strewn across it. She goes to pack them up.
“Leave those. Just change into something warm and let’s go.”
“They’re my clothes.”
“They’re probably infested with bed bugs. Christ, I feel like I want to wash you in scalding hot water now that I see where you’ve been sleeping.”
“You’re a snob.”
“No, I just like things clean,” I say, lifting the bedcover with the very tips of my fingers. I turn to the duffel bag and pull out a pair of jeans and a sweater. “Go change, and let’s go. I’ll buy you new clothes.”
“I don’t need you to buy me new clothes, germophobe,” she says with a shake of her head before taking her clothes, heading into the bathroom, and closing the door behind her.
Something buzzes on the dresser. It’s her phone. I pick it up and read the display. It’s a text from someone named Mike, asking if they’re still on for tonight and naming a place to meet. He apparently can’t wait to see her. I decide to text him back.
Not tonight. Not any fucking night, asshole.
I hit send just as the bathroom door opens and wonder why the hell I just did that.
“What are you doing?” she asks when she sees her phone in my hand.
“Telling Mike you’re busy tonight.”
“What?” She’s already grabbed it from me and is reading the exchange. “You can’t just do that.” She turns her back to me and starts to type.
I look her over. She looks good. The jeans fit her perfectly, nice and tight on her bubble butt. I stare at it for a minute, feeling like a perv. I see a pair of ballet flats beside the bed. February in Philadelphia is no time for those, but they’re better than the fuck me pumps she’s wearing. Don’t get me wrong, I love fuck me pumps. But they have their place.
“Let’s go. We have a lot to get done before tonight, and I’m going to be late for a meeting.”
She turns back to me, shifts her weight to one hip, and looks at me. “You know what? I’m perfectly fine here. No one’s making you stay.”
“I thought we called a truce.”
“Hm.” She gives me that cocky grin again, the one I decide I hate.
I smile wide and snatch the phone out of her hand to read the message she’s typed but hasn’t yet sent.
Sorry about that. Some asshole had my phone. See you at seven.
“So I’m some asshole?” I ask, amused.
“When you read other people’s messages, you may find out things about yourself you don’t want to know.”
“I’m hurt,” I say flatly. Without taking my eyes off her, I slide the phone into my pocket. “Now, let’s go.”
Her eyes narrow, and she exhales loudly before closing the space between us and slapping both hands against my chest to shove me backward. Or try to, at least. I catch her wrists.
“I just want my phone back,” she says, trying to pull away. “We have a truce.”
I draw her closer, eyes roaming her face, pausing on her open mouth, full lips. She’s got lip gloss on, and I notice she’s put makeup on to cover the remnants of that bruise.
“You’re cute when you’re mad,” I say.
“Truce,” she repeats.
“Truce doesn’t mean I’ll let you be stupid,” I say with a tug so her chest presses against mine.
I hold her like this, liking her
big eyes on me, her tiny wrists in my hands, her body touching mine. Liking our truce. But then the phone buzzes in my pocket and reanimates her fight.
“Give me my phone.”
I shift both of her wrists to one hand and move them behind her back, holding her off to one side before fishing the phone out of my pocket. I don’t bother to read the message before sliding the battery out, letting it drop to the floor and crushing it beneath the heel of my boot. I then release her and hand her the phone.
“Here you go.”
“You fucking jerk,” she says, looking at the empty screen.
I almost pick up my sweater that she’d tossed on the nasty bed, but decide to leave it there. Who knows what’s crawled on it by now. “Mike just wants a piece of your ass, Allegra. Now get your shoes on, and let’s go.”
“Maybe I want to give him a piece of it,” she challenges, not moving to put on the damned shoes. “What’s it to you?”
I breathe in sharply through my nose, mouth tight. “You don’t.”
“Maybe you’re wrong,” she says after a long minute, her voice quavering. She doesn’t mean it.
“I’m rarely wrong about people.” I bend to pick up her shoes and hand them to her. “Let’s go.”
She acquiesces and slips on the flats. I nod in approval. She pockets her phone, picks up her purse from the night before and pulls out the bottom drawer of the dresser.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I hid my money here. I know this place is a hole.” She reaches her arm back and a moment later pulls out a wad of hundreds and gives me a sly grin. “Not as dumb as you thought, huh?” She shoves the bills into her purse and zips it up.
I smile and gesture to the door. “I never said you were dumb.” She’s just desperate. I can see that. She must have had over two grand in cash with her. She planned on disappearing. But she has to know she can’t hide from the mob, and not from her brother, not if he wants to find her. I get the feeling this is very personal for him.
We settle into the SUV, and Enzo starts driving. Allegra’s stomach growls.
“When did you last eat?” I ask her, realizing money’s an issue if she’s using cash. She’s run away with the intention of not being found. Up until this point, I guess I didn’t realize it was as serious as it is. Even when I saw that bruise. Not until right this second.
“Oh, yesterday,” she says, not quite looking at me.
I don’t push. When we get to a local diner I frequent, I escort Allegra to my booth at the back, and we sit.
I smile at the pretty young waitress who approaches us.
“Good morning, Mr. Santa Maria.” She glances at my guest with a nod but quickly returns her gaze to mine. “Usual for you, sir?” She’s new, but they’ve schooled her.
“Morning. Yes, usual. Make it two, though.”
“I’m not hungry,” Allegra says.
“Two,” I repeat, dismissing the waitress before turning to Allegra. “I heard your stomach growl on our way here. You’re hungry. Besides, it’s rude when I’m treating you to breakfast.”
She sighs.
“What’s really going on, Allegra?”
It’s quiet as the waitress returns with two cups of coffee. “Here you go, sir.”
“You like this, don’t you? The Mr. Santa Maria?” she mimics the waitress. “Sir.”
My eyes narrow in warning, but she doesn’t see it, or, if she does, she ignores it and reaches for her coffee. But I place my hand over hers and stop her. “You’d do well to learn a little respect. Didn’t your father teach you anything?”
“No, actually, he didn’t. He sent me away to boarding school instead. Which was a godsend after two years living with his vile wife and viler son.”
I study her. That, I did not expect.
“Can I have my coffee?” she asks, struggling to hold my gaze.
I pull my hand away. She picks up the coffee and brings it to her lips.
“I remember when your mother died, and your father took you in,” I start cautiously.
She’s sitting back in her seat, looking at everyone in the place but me.
“You were ten, right?”
She nods.
“You went to boarding school then?”
“Yes. Two years later.”
“And you finish university this year, right? Social studies?”
She glances at me, maybe surprised that I know. “Yeah. That was the plan, at least.”
“Was?”
“I’m John Antonino’s only daughter. Even if my mother was just his mistress, I’m still his, and he’s acknowledged me. I don’t know that the plan was ever for me to walk away from that, as much as I try to fool myself into thinking it’s possible.”
“Walk away from the family?”
“My father and I had a decent relationship, considering. I remember him from when I was little, how he was when he visited us. I didn’t even realize we were different from other families. That they weren’t married. My mom used to tell me my dad worked in America, and that was why he couldn’t spend more time with us. The bodyguards who watched us? I thought were my uncles.” She sips her coffee. “Sounds stupid, right?”
“You were a kid. How could you know?” I knew some of the details but not much. John Antonino kept a mistress, Allegra’s mother, in Florence, Italy. Although his wife knew about the mistress, he’d managed to keep Allegra’s existence hidden right up until her mother had been killed, leaving Allegra orphaned.
“I never knew he had a whole other family. A wife. I just…my mom was my mom, and my dad was my dad. That’s all. I wasn’t ever supposed to be part of the family. That’s not what our life was. He had another family for that.”
“But you became that after the accident.”
She nods. “We managed two years in the same house, his wife and I. She and Arturo both hate me because he loved her. He loved my mom.” She shakes her head. “Dad sent me away to keep peace in his house, for which I am eternally grateful.” She sips her coffee while I watch her. I believe she is grateful, but I also see the hurt of rejection because ultimately, in sending her away, he chose his other family over her. Over her dead mother.
“He visited me once a month. Gave me everything I needed or wanted, too much even. He still tried to shield me from anything having to do with the mob. I think it was because of my mom. His way of making up for what he couldn’t give her in life, what they couldn’t have because she was the mistress. And I think he felt guilty over her death.” She turns away for a second, and I notice she swipes her hand across her face. Her eyes are glistening when she looks at me again, but I don’t say anything.
“But if the plan is to finish your degree, why did you run away?”
“Because Arturo pulled me out. I’m not finishing school. I’m cut off, actually,” she says with a chuckle that ends with her voice breaking. “I have nothing, and he controls everything. He thinks he’s already the boss of the family. And I’m not stupid. I know my dad’s not waking up from this.”
I don’t say anything. She’s right. It’d be a miracle if he did. Like Lazarus rising from the dead.
“He cut you off how?”
“Money. I have none. My accounts are frozen, and he hasn’t paid my tuition this entire year. He thinks he can force me to do what he wants by withholding money. Fucking idiot.”
Our food comes, and she picks up her knife and fork before I can unwrap my napkin. I watch her eat a mouthful of eggs.
“What is it he wants?” I ask.
She takes a bite of sausage and studies me as she chews. She doesn’t want a pity party, I know that. And she doesn’t trust me, my question, my intention. I guess her trust was stolen when she was young, though. When the reality of life as a mafia princess hit her, it hit hard.
“He wants me to marry Eddie Rossi,” she says with a smirk. “Thinks an alliance will be good for the family.”
“Eddie Rossi?” I ask, shocked.
She nods, miss
ing the tone of my voice, the expression on my face.
“Jerk,” she snorts, cutting into a piece of bacon.
Eddie fucking Rossi? For one thing, the man’s more than twice her age. For another, the Benedetti family and the Rossi family are enemies, which means they’re my enemies. They’re out on the west coast, though. It’s the one thing that’s kept war at bay. They deal in shit we won’t touch. Bad shit that makes us look like saints. I can’t imagine why Arturo would want an alliance with them because he’d be going against the Benedetti family. I wonder if she knows this, if she knows telling me will make trouble for him. But I don’t think so. I don’t think she’s manipulative. I think she’s trying to stay afloat and failing badly.
“When did you run?”
“A week ago.”
My gaze shifts to that spot on her cheek again, and this time, I don’t pretend to not see it. She notices and looks away, wiping her mouth. When I touch her jaw, she freezes but doesn’t pull away. I nudge her face and brush my thumb over the spot. “Did Arturo give you this?”
She shakes free, but not before a tear slides over my thumb.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” she says.
I catch her arm before she can run. “Allegra, I can help you. If he hurt you, if anyone hurt you, I can help you. You just have to trust me.”
She studies me but doesn’t speak, not for a long time. She lets out a sort of snort instead, one that tells me she doesn’t believe me. “I really have to go.”
I release her, and she scurries out of the booth.
Enzo’s on his feet, but I signal for him to give her space. She’d have to go through the kitchen to slip out the back door, and she can’t do that without me seeing her. She disappears into the bathroom, and I stand, taking out my wallet and dropping some bills onto the table. I’m beside Enzo a second later.
“Call my brother. Tell him I want information on Arturo Antonino. I want to know everything. Every fucking detail of his life. I especially want to know if he’s been in touch with the Rossi family.”