The Girl I Didn't Kill For (Jessie & Nick Book 2)

by Annabelle Costa

  I groan.

  “Well, it’s true.” Chrissy shrugs. “I finally got sick of watching the two of you being miserable. Obviously, neither of you are capable of finding a decent relationship on your own, so here you go.”

  “I’m engaged, Chrissy.”

  I know Chrissy dislikes Seth, but she has to understand he and I have a history together. Nick is… well, intense. But I can’t throw away thirteen years for a guy I reconnected with an hour ago. That would be ridiculous.

  _____

  I stumble into my apartment after midnight, which probably isn’t the brightest idea in the world. In order to avoid living in an apartment the size of a broom closet, we picked a neighborhood that isn’t the greatest. I carry around a can of mace in my purse, and I pull it out after Chrissy drops me off at the front of my building. Even inside the building, I don’t feel safe.

  When I get upstairs without incident, I’m surprised to see that Seth is sitting on the couch, obviously waiting up for me. The second I come through the door, he rises to his feet. “Jess,” he says, “I was worried about you.”

  I’m not ready to forgive Seth for the fight we had earlier, and I’m not in the mood to explain myself to him. “You should have called me then.”

  “I did.”

  I reach into my purse to locate my cell phone. Sure enough, there are three missed calls from Seth. Cleopatra’s was very loud—I guess I missed them. “Sorry,” I mumble.

  “I was really worried.” A crease appears between his eyebrows. “I mean, I know we live in this shitty neighborhood, and I know it’s my fault. I actually… I went looking for you…”

  “You did?” Some of my anger fades. “I didn’t realize…”

  “All I could think about was that if something happened to you…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know if I could go on. My life wouldn’t be worth living without you.”

  I swallow. Hard.

  He hangs his head. “I’m sorry about the fight we had earlier, Jess. This practice is stressing me so much. It’s turning me into a jerk.”

  I don’t disagree.

  He takes a deep breath. “I decided tonight. I can’t put us through this any longer… I’m going to look for a job at a law firm. Shut the practice down.”

  I stare at him, stunned. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” he says. He takes a step toward me. “And after shutting down this goddamn practice, the first thing I want to do is marry you. This engagement has gone on long enough—let’s get freaking married already. What do you say to this June?”

  My heart is pounding in my chest. “Seth…”

  His eyebrows scrunch together. “You still want to marry me, don’t you?”

  I close my eyes for a second and remember the way I felt when Nick was sitting across the table from me. God, there was nothing else like it. Nick and I have an intensity I’ve never felt with anyone else.

  But I barely know Nick. All I know is he refused to speak to me when I needed him the most, then ignored me for thirteen years. Oh, and he has a ridiculously beautiful girlfriend he readily tells people he doesn’t care about. Plus he owns the most popular nightclub in Manhattan and seems to get whatever he wants at the snap of a finger.

  And then there’s his disability. It doesn’t bother me, but I realize it’s another aspect of him that’s new to me. He’s used it as an excuse to keep me at a distance in the past. How close would he even allow me to get?

  Seth is a man I’ve known for thirteen years. I live with him. I share my life with him. I know just about everything about him, including all his strengths and weaknesses. And despite some rough times lately, I love him.

  I don’t love Nick Moretti. Not anymore.

  “Of course I want to marry you,” I say. “And June sounds perfect.”

  Seth’s eyes light up. He grabs me in his arms and kisses me so passionately, I swear it’s just as good as any kiss I ever had with Nick. It’s the longest kiss we’ve shared in months, and my knees are shaking when I pull away.

  “So,” he says, as he strokes my hair. “How was it standing outside Cleopatra’s? Or did you eventually get in?”

  I grin at him. “Actually, we got right in! Chrissy works for the owner, as it turns out.”

  “Wow.” Seth looks impressed—maybe he’ll be nicer to Chrissy from now on. “Who is her boss?”

  I hesitate. I’ve never said Nick’s name to Seth during all these years. But I suppose there’s no harm in telling him. “His name is Nick Moretti.”

  His eyes grow wide in recognition. “Chrissy works for Nick Moretti? Holy shit, I never knew that.”

  I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach. “You know who Nick Moretti is?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He shrugs. “I’ve seen his name in the papers a bunch of times. He’s one of those mobster guys. Like John Gotti. Or Al Capone. You know I love stories like that.”

  “Nick wouldn’t...” I start to say, then I correct myself, “Chrissy would never work for a mobster.”

  He laughs. “Wouldn’t she?”

  I open my mouth to defend my friend, but then I shut it. Because the truth is it all makes a scary sort of sense. I remember the way Nick’s dad was arrested when we were in college because of his “taxes.” All that money they had. The way everyone used to be scared of Nick. Regular guys don’t just own the hottest club in Manhattan.

  God, I can’t believe I thought Nick and I might get back together. Nick clearly isn’t who he used to be. What an idiot I am. At best, I’m sure all he wanted was to hook up with me one last time.

  “So did you get to meet the mobster?” Seth asks eagerly.

  I hesitate again. “Uh, yes. I did.”

  “Cool,” he breathes. “What was he like?”

  “Um…” How could I describe Nick to my fiancé? “He’s, you know, very smooth. Good looking.”

  He laughs. “I’ll bet.”

  I hesitate again. “He sort of… he offered to let me try out to sing at Cleopatra’s.”

  “Seriously?” Seth snorts. “You? Singing at Cleopatra’s?” He shakes his head. “Wow, he must have really wanted to get into your pants.”

  I know I should get offended, but I can’t. Seth is absolutely right. Me singing at Cleopatra’s is absolutely ludicrous. Nick only offered because… well, Seth got it right.

  “Not that you’re not an amazing singer,” he adds quickly, realizing what he said. “But he doesn’t know that. And you have to admit that the girls who sing at a place like Cleopatra’s are more… well, you know…”

  “I know,” I mutter. It’s so obvious I would be wrong for Cleopatra’s. I can’t believe I was considering it for even a second. For one night, I got sucked into a different world—it was fun, but not where I belong. This is my life.

  “Anyway.” Seth pulls me close to him so that I can feel his hot breath. “I’m glad you had fun with Chrissy the Mafioso. And now it’s my turn to have some fun.”

  I grin up at my fiancé. “It’s only fair.”

  He leans forward and kisses me again, but halfway through, we collapse onto the sofa. Seth starts pulling off my clothing, and I pull off his just as eagerly. I’m so turned on. I want him inside me, pumping against me. I want…

  God, why can’t I stop picturing Nick?

  Nick

  I can’t stop thinking about Jessie the entire rest of the night. She and Chrissy leave Cleopatra’s at half past eleven, but it doesn’t help. She’s burned into my brain.

  At around midnight, the manager, Alex Mitchell, makes a stop at our table to schmooze. He’s good at that—all the customers love Alex. He pulls up a chair next to Natalie and smiles charmingly at her.

  “You’re looking beautiful this evening, Miss Natalie,” he says.

  “Hi, Alex.” Natalie flashes him the first genuine smile I’ve seen from her all night. I know she’s got a thing for Alex. When she and I are over, I’m sure she’ll be in his bed the next day. Alex do
esn’t have my money or reputation, but he’s tall and darkly good looking. He’s not a paraplegic either.

  “And how are you doing, Nick?” Alex grins at me. “Happy with all the acts tonight?”

  I nod. “Yeah, and I got a new one for you.”

  “Do you?”

  “A singer.” I shift in my chair. “She’s fantastic. I’ll have Chrissy send you her contact information.”

  “If you like her, I’m sure she’s great,” Alex says. He looks Natalie over. “You have great taste.”

  I laugh. “Hey, Alex, do you think you could stop hitting on my woman?”

  Alex winks at me. “Never.”

  If I loved Natalie, I’d be angry. But he knows I don’t, and I know he wouldn’t have the balls to fuck Natalie while I’m still with her. Maybe it’s not a real relationship, but one thing I expect from her is to be faithful to me, even if I don’t reciprocate. Maybe it’s not fair, but I’m the one paying for her goddamn apartment, so if she doesn’t want to get evicted, she has to play by my rules.

  Natalie looks longingly in Alex’s direction as he walks off. For a moment, I consider just ending it with her right here and now. Why not? Jessie is the one I really want. Natalie is just a distraction—a depressing one, at times.

  “Are you going to want me to come home with you?” Natalie asks me. I can tell she’s hoping the answer is no.

  I glance over at Carrie, the waitress who’s been making eyes at me all night. At the start of the evening, I thought I’d send Natalie home and go to the back room with Carrie. But now, I don’t want either of them. I only want Jessie. She’s all I can think about. I’m not even upset about Lombardi bidding on the property in Jersey. Let him have it if he wants it so bad—Jersey smells, anyway.

  “No, you can go home,” I tell her.

  “Thank you,” Natalie says, and I wince. I know getting hot and heavy with me isn’t her favorite thing, but she doesn’t have to act like it’s some chore that I’m releasing her from. Chrissy was right—this relationship isn’t working. I need more than a pretty escort.

  I need Jessie.

  Chapter 8

  Jessie

  I spend the entire morning debating what to do about my lunch with Nick.

  Around nine-thirty, I make the mistake of Googling “Nicolas Moretti.” And from there it’s all downhill.

  The first headline that comes up is: “Moretti Denies Allegations of Involvement in Sindona Money Laundering Scheme.” At first, I’m hoping it’s an article about Nick’s brother Tony or even his father. But no—the article specifically mentions Nicolas Moretti.

  The second: “Crime Boss Questioned in Disappearance of Luca Falcone.”

  The crime boss in question? None other than Nick Moretti.

  And that’s the tip of the iceberg.

  What. The. Hell?

  A freaking crime boss? Nick?

  What happened to the kid who was humiliated by his brother’s multiple arrests? Who looked like he was going to break down crying when his dad got taken away? Maybe one or two of the stories are exaggerations, but not all of them. Nick is in deep. I don’t know how it happened or when, but it’s clear his life took a wrong turn somewhere along the way. He started doing all the same things that got his father arrested. All the things he swore he’d never do.

  Did he change his mind? Or was he lying when he said he’d never end up like that?

  Maybe something changed in him when he got shot. Maybe losing the ability to walk also robbed him of his integrity. Then again, the old Nick always wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps. So maybe I never knew that guy either.

  I find a website where you can look up public arrest records. I hesitate, wondering if I want to know. Nick might have abandoned me after he got shot, but my memory of him is of essentially a good kid. I don’t know if I want to know if he ever got thrown in the slammer. I don’t want to imagine him behind bars.

  In the end, curiosity wins out. I type Nick’s name into the search engine and…

  No. He’s never been arrested. Looks like none of the “allegations” ever panned out. Or more likely, he’s got good lawyers.

  By half past ten, I start in on the image search. The first image that comes up isn’t a mugshot or anything close. It’s a picture of Nick at what appears to be one of his clubs, talking to some guy I don’t recognize. He’s dressed in a dark suit and looks so incredibly handsome that I find myself gawking at the photo for several minutes. God, he’s sexy. None of the other mob guys look like him.

  No matter what he has or hasn’t done, Nick is still really hot.

  The second photo is of him with that woman he was with last night. The one who was superhumanly gorgeous—Natalie, Chrissy said her name was. He’s got his arm around her shoulders and she’s leaning against him. Now that I can study her carefully, I can see I was absolutely right about her beauty. She’s one of the most stunning women I’ve ever seen.

  The sort of woman a crime boss would date.

  I shiver as I look at another photo of him sitting with Natalie, wearing another clearly expensive suit. He’s handsome as hell, but at the same time, his eyes are so dark and penetrating. Scary. He looks like a guy who could order a hit on somebody without blinking an eye. Isn’t that what they call it in the mafia when you order someone to be killed—a “hit”?

  I remember what the girls used to say about him in high school. He’s cold. Dangerous. I was the only person who didn’t think so. But maybe they were the ones who had it right.

  I notice none of the photos show Nick in his wheelchair. He’s almost always behind a table or something else that conceals the chair. I wonder if that’s intentional. It makes sense he wouldn’t advertise his disability if he wants to intimidate people.

  One thing that’s also obvious is he and Natalie are very much an item. From the dates on the photos, it looks like they’ve been together for at least five or six months, even though he claimed it wasn’t serious. Another thing he lied about. Maybe they’re engaged. Hell, maybe they’re married—nothing would surprise me at this point.

  Well, I wouldn’t blame him for marrying her. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. If Nick can be with a woman like her, I’m baffled as to why he wants me.

  Probably for old time’s sake. The girl who got away—you know.

  In any case, I know with a hundred percent certainty this new Nick Moretti is somebody I don’t want to get mixed up with. God, can you imagine me hooking up with a mafia boss? It’s almost as ridiculous as the idea of me being a nightclub singer.

  By eleven o’clock, I’ve made up my mind that it would be a mistake to meet Nick for lunch. Since he never gave me his number, I decide to call Chrissy to cancel.

  “I’m super busy right now, Jess,” Chrissy tells me in a distracted voice. “Can I call you back after work? Better yet, let’s get drinks.”

  “I just need to tell you something real quick,” I say. “I need you to tell Nick I can’t make it for lunch today. Okay?”

  There’s a long pause on the other line. “What are you talking about? You’re meeting him in an hour, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but…” I chew on my lip. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Well, I’m not going to be the one to tell him you’re not showing up.” Chrissy sounds furious. “If you want to stand him up at that restaurant, then that’s your prerogative. But I wouldn’t do that to him.”

  “Chrissy…”

  I realize I’m talking to a dead phone.

  I don’t want to stand Nick up at Blue Moon. At the very least, I get the feeling people who don’t show up to an appointment with Nick Moretti wind up at the bottom of the East River with cement blocks on their feet. I’ll go to the restaurant and tell him to his face that we can be friends, but that’s it. And that I’m absolutely wrong for Cleopatra’s.

  I’m sure it will go fine.

  Nick

  I allow my driver to take me to Blue Moon rather
than driving myself, because while there’s a handicapped spot in front of the restaurant, my next stop won’t have one. In general though, I prefer driving myself. A lot of people find the traffic in Manhattan to be stressful, but I like weaving in and out of lanes, avoiding crazy taxi drivers and dumbass pedestrians. It’s almost like a sport and nobody does it better than me. I nearly punch the window when the driver takes 34th street to get across town, even though everyone knows the traffic is out of control at this hour. After he does that, I gotta call the restaurant and ask them to seat Jessie ahead of me and bring her a glass of their best wine.

  When we get there (only five minutes late), the driver gets out to grab my wheelchair from the trunk. They always insist on putting my chair in the trunk because it will “mess up the leather” if I store it next to me. It’s not my car, so I don’t argue, but I’m not thrilled about it.

  The host is waiting for me when I get into the restaurant. He smiles at me, obviously eager to make me happy. Smart guy. “We seated your lady friend at your usual table and brought her a lovely Cheval Blanc.”

  “Was she upset that I’m late?” I ask.

  The host shakes his head. “She didn’t seem so.”

  Good. So I haven’t already blown it.

  My usual table is off to the side of the restaurant, so we’re not right by the entrance but I don’t have to navigate between tables to get all the way to the back. I’m so goddamn nervous, the last thing I need is to crash into somebody’s table right now and knock over all the water glasses. That’s the kind of thing I used to do all the time when I was first injured. I’ve been wheeling long enough now that I’m good at making my way through tight spaces, but the second I see Jessie sitting at that table, sipping on wine, my brain is scrambled.

  This time I check the position of my legs before I start wheeling over to her. I’m fine—just need to stay that way. I make it halfway there before she looks up and sees me. I smile bigger than I’d intended. My heart is pounding so hard, I feel dizzy. How does she do this to me?