by Renee Strong
“Thank you for helping me,” she said in the same gentle voice and she gave a little smile that made my stomach flip. “It was getting out of hand. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come in.”
She took my other arm and leaning up a little bit on her tiptoes, she planted a soft, quick kiss on my lips. A feeling of calm washed over me.
Behind us, the asshole on the ground moaned again.
“My nose… I think you’ve broken my nose.”
I gave myself a second to savor the feeling of her kiss that lingered still on my lips before I turned to look at him again.
He was holding his big gorilla hands to his face, the blood rushing down his chin from under his palms. The anger inside me rose a little again and I took a moment to cool before replying.
“Oh shut the fuck up,” I said. “From the looks of it, it had been broken plenty of times before. I’m guessing not always in the ring.”
His eyes widened at that last bit and I nodded, enjoying the panic that bit of information elicited from him.
“That’s right,” I said with satisfaction. “I know exactly who you are, Mike Barron. And if this gorgeous lady hadn’t stopped me, the coroner would have learned your name as soon as someone missed your sorry old ass. Which, I’m guessing, would not be as soon as you might like.”
I turned back to Lexi. She was smiling that little smile again. It made me want to take down everyone in Angel City just so I could give the keys to the kingdom to her.
My cooler instincts kicked back in as I started to assess a more practical next step.
“We should probably get out of here now, just in case anywhere heard the racket.”
She nodded, mutely, and reached under the bar to grab her purse and jacket. I took a second to enjoy the sight of her bending to get them. I turned back to Mike and kicked his foot. He scooted back away from me.
“What if he calls the police?” Lexi said then, worry in her voice. I crossed my arms and leaned over Mike again.
“Old Mike here’s not going to tell anyone what happened, are you, Mike?”
The rummy old coot shook his head and drops of blood splattered onto the floor with his movement.
“No,” he said, his voice muffled under his palm.
“I don’t think anyone would care about a scumbag like this anyway.” I turned to look at the tray-full of smashed glasses on the floor, pointing my thumb to it. “And clean that mess up. From what I’ve seen from the other side of the bar, Lexi has enough to do around here without cleaning up your messes.”
He nodded rapidly. Lexi had shuffled into her jacket again and she touched me lightly on the arm.
“I’m ready to go now, Dominic,” she said, her eyes fixed on her boss on the floor, and I gave her my warmest smile.
“Okay, babe,” I replied easily. “Whatever you want.”
I hooked her arm in my mind and steered her gently toward the opening of the bar, making sure she didn’t step on any glass. When we got to it, I lifted the hatch and pulled back the lock on the little wooden door and pulled it aside for her.
“After you,” I said and I noticed with delight that she blushed a little. I watched as she walked through, taking in the wiggle of her hips and her curves under her jeans.
I willed myself to break my stare, to stop watching her ass, and turned back to Mike who was still on the floor, though he had pulled himself up to slump against the bottle fridge.
“One more thing,” I said over my shoulder. “This is my girl. You fucking treat her like the queen she is or I will be back. Do you understand me?”
He gave one more vigorous nod, his head bouncing stupidly like one of those bobble-head dogs you see in a car window, and I turned my back on him.
I stepped through the opening of the bar. Lexi had stopped to wait for me. I put my hand into hers and walked her to and out the front doors.
Chapter 4
Lexi
This time, when we got to my apartment building, I let him in. If I’d thought there was another option, I would have taken it. My sensible voice had finally managed to yell loud enough to be heard and it was screaming at me about all the ways this was a terrible idea. It was a big risk letting him that far into my world. For as much as I was attracted to him, I knew that I should be protecting myself.
I’d seen what his temper looked like; what he could do when angered. It was frightening…but at the same time, it was exhilarating. I got goosebumps just remembering how he came running to my aid. No one had ever defended me before, much less beat the ever-living shit out of someone who was threatening me.
Not that I’d ever expected anyone to. I was used to being an independent woman—standing on my own two feet and fighting my own battles. I’d never fantasized about the handsome prince rescuing me from the tower that imprisoned me. Funny, since him calling me a “queen” back in the bar felt like hearing the words I never knew I wanted to hear spoken.
Since I was a little girl, making my own dinner each night while my mom worked, I didn’t look to anyone to have my back besides my mother. She’d drilled it into my head: It’s just you and me against the world, kiddo. And for most of my life, she’d been exactly right. Until she got cancer and had to be hospitalized long-term for it. Then, it was mostly just me against the world.
Now, Dominic had crashed into my life. In just two days, he was forcing me to reassess a lifetime’s opinion. Maybe I didn’t need to be on my own. And maybe I didn’t have to feel so powerless in the world anymore.
I trailed my fingers along the peeling green wallpaper lining the communal stairs as we ascended to my apartment.
This was a place where you watched your back. To have someone swoop in and save me from danger was new and so much more exciting than I ever would have expected.
If you’d asked me beforehand, I would have laughed at the idea I’d be bowled over by someone being my savior.
To me, in that moment, Dominic was a hero in an expensive Italian suit…yet I’m sure to countless others, he was the dark, menacing shadow that kept them awake at night.
As we made our way to my apartment, Dominic walked ahead of me on the stairs, his eyes watching for threats, and I took the few moments it gave me to assess the situation.
Could anything happen between me and Dominic? I wished I had my mom to talk to about this but I wasn’t sure she’d understand why I was involving myself with a criminal at all. Besides that, she was too weak at the moment to take on my problems.
I didn’t know if it was possible that Dominic and I could be a real-life couple—or even wise to imagine it. Yes, he made my knees go a bit weak whenever I was beside him for too long…and yes, he did just ride in like a knight in shining Armani right at the moment when Mike was making me legitimately afraid for my safety…but I still knew what he was.
He was a dangerous guy; the kind of guy the police are even afraid of. I couldn’t act like that was no big deal.
Still, a bit of me really wanted to know who he was—not what he was or what other people said about him. You don’t work in a dive bar for as long as I had without meeting all kinds of people—including those with records as long as your arm. You quickly learn that people aren’t the sum of a police report. I’ve met more than a few guys who had serious reputations, guys who were as likely to greet an old friend with a head butt as a handshake.
But in their quiet, unguarded moments, when they were two drinks in and lonely for conversation, many of them had bared their souls to me. They talked of their hopes and dreams, their sad childhoods, and their confusion over where life had taken them.
And my heart warmed to them. Whatever they’d done, they were still people with good sides, as well as faults and weaknesses. The level of good varies from person to person but I’ve learned that not all bad guys are…well, bad guys.
Dominic, though, he was a different kind of “bad guy” to the ones I’d met before. Despite all of my experience with tough guys in the G-String or wit
h people in my neighborhood growing up, I don’t think I’d ever met an honest-to-God mobster before I met Dominic.
I would never have expected that one would be so handsome. And Dominic, though he was genuinely a scary guy in a fight, didn’t make me feel afraid. There was something about him that made me feel warm and safe, like no one else ever had.
That made me want to know more about who he was a person—not what he had done in his time as a mobster.
Dominic stopped at the top of the stairs, waiting for me to lead the way, and I pointed to my door. “7a,” I told him. I readied my keys and got to work on the two flimsy locks that separated me from the trouble that spilled over into the hallways at night.
As I did, I turned the word “Mobster” over and over in my mind. It was such a strange term, one that made me want to laugh nervously when I thought it. It wasn’t the sort of word you think of often. I wasn’t even sure it was the right word. Did people still call guys like Dominic “mobsters” any more, I wondered? The word seemed old-fashioned, even cutesy. When I heard the word, I didn’t think of Godfather or Goodfellas. I thought instantly of the kids’ movie Bugsy Malone.
Dominic gave me a little smile as I got the last lock and led him into my apartment, inviting him to sit on my old, worn armchair.
Without a word, I went to a kitchen cabinet to get some things to tend the wound he’d acquired in defending me—a badly split knuckle. I set a basin of warm water on the coffee table, with a towel, washcloth, a selection of band aids, and some disinfectant.
He gave me another little smile and I returned it, before I grabbed one of my rickety old kitchen chairs to drag over to sit in front of him. I didn’t speak the whole time I was doing it and neither did Dominic.
I realized he was waiting for me to start talking to him first. I hadn’t said more than a word or a sentence here or there since we’d left the bar. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say to him. Hell, I didn’t even know how to phrase the questions I wanted to ask him. I couldn’t exactly ask him outright—“Say, Dominic, what do people in the mafia community like to be called these days?”—so I didn’t ask.
Instead, I got to work wiping the blood from his split knuckle with the washcloth and some warm water without saying a word and trying my best not to look at him for too long. I knew that looking at him directly was like looking at some sort of sexual eclipse: bad, bad, bad idea. If I so much as hazarded a direct glance, I would be blinded by his raw sexual appeal and my urges would overtake my good sense.
Dominic, apparently, couldn’t stand the silence any longer. I was so lost in my thoughts that I jumped a little when he spoke.
“Why do you work in a dump like that?” he asked and I stopped rubbing the washcloth across his knuckle for a second. I took a deep breath.
“Because I have to,” I said. It was as simple an explanation as I could give without getting into some sad tale. I scrunched the washcloth into a ball and dropped it into the water, watching idly as the water tinged red with his blood. I picked up the towel and patted his skin dry, pressing the towel finally to stem the bleeding. I pulled it away, applied a dab of disinfectant, and forced myself not to smile when I saw him wince out of the corner of my eye.
A big tough guy like that who still winces at the sting of disinfectant—it was oddly the sweetest thing I’d seen in a long time.
“But why?” he continued, oblivious to what I was thinking. “Surely you’ve got someone who could take care of you?”
Despite the conversation I’d just had with myself a minute earlier, I hazarded a direct look at him. The sight of him was just as dazzling as I’d expected. I wanted to just climb on his lap and kiss him until he was begging to be inside of me.
No, Lexi. Stop that.
In my best mom voice, I told myself to focus on what he’d said to me. As I did, I realized what a weird question it had been. Someone who could take of me? What an odd assumption to make.
“Not everyone has someone to take care of them,” I said as levelly as I could. “I’m not sure how it is in your”—I paused a second, struggling for the right word—“circles, but the rest of us have to take care of ourselves. We don’t have people to watch out for us like you do.”
Or like I assumed he did. Isn’t family a big thing to the mafia? I wondered. It would stand to reason that he was used to having a lot of support around him—violent as those supporters might be to everyone else.
He didn’t say anything in reply, just kept looking at me curiously as I started to unwrap a Band-Aid to stick on his cut skin. I pretended not to notice his intense gaze.
“I’ve got a mom who’s sick,” I continued more quietly. “Probably only a few months left. Thank God she has insurance but the co-pay on her nursing care is expensive. I work every hour that I can just to pay for it.”
I finished sticking the Band-Aid on him and chanced a look at him. I was surprised to see that his handsome face was full of empathy and sadness. He looked so genuinely distraught that I couldn’t stand it.
“Besides, I like it there,” I added in a rush, keeping my voice light, just to make that sad look on his face go away. “I like the people, mostly, and the music’s good.”
I thought of Conspiracy Theory’s performance and wrinkled my nose.
“Well most of the time the music’s good. It’s not so bad, working at the G-String.”
I gave his hand a gentle pat, careful not to touch his knuckle, and then got up to make some coffee. I couldn’t be near his smell or that sweet look any longer. It wasn’t safe.
“You don’t go no siblings or aunts and uncles who can help out?” he asked as I took down the coffee to measure enough for a pot.
I shook my head without looking back at him and spooned enough coffee in.
“Nope. Just me and my mom since I was a kid.”
“And your dad?”
“Never met him. He ran off on my mom when she told him she was having me. Never sent a cent or bought even a birthday card for his kid. Meanwhile, my mom worked two or three jobs my whole childhood.” I reflected a moment. “Guess I’m just returning the favor to her now.”
“That asshole,” Dominic said in a low, dark voice and I turned back to him, the spoon and the coffee can still in my hand. His fists were clenched into tight balls, his knuckles white, and I was afraid he was going to burst his cut open again with the pressure he was putting on it.
“It’s okay,” I said to him anxiously, to make him unfurl his fists. “Really. You get to be tough when you grow up like that. I don’t even think about him anymore.”
Suddenly, he got up and strode across the room until he was standing directly in front of me. He brushed my hair back behind my ear and gently planted a kiss on my lips. I almost dropped the coffee can to the floor with the delight and surprise.
“It’s not okay,” he said as he broke away from the kiss to give me that intense stare again. “Men shouldn’t treat women like that.”
He took the can and the spoon from my hands and laid them on the counter.
“They shouldn’t hit women or grab them or say shitty things to them. And they shouldn’t run off on their lady when she’s giving them the greatest gift anyone can—a child.”
I started to say something—or rather I started trying to find something to say. On the rare occasions when I told people about my childhood or my problems, they got embarrassed or they said nice but meaningless things about life working in mysterious ways. I wasn’t used to anyone wanting to know more. No one ever wanted to talk about how life had been tough, much less to condemn what my dad or guys like Mike had been doing to me and my mom for my entire life. That wasn’t what people did in polite company.
But Dominic didn’t seem to know that. He held my face gently and leaned in to kiss me again.
“I’m going to fuck you until you’re seeing stars.”
He kissed me again, longer and harder this time. Then, without another word, he picked me up and sat me onto the kitch
en countertop. With that, whatever thoughts I had been thinking melted away in a moment.
She looked tough. Spoke tough. Acted tough. And really, Lexi was one tough cookie who could undoubtedly take care of herself. But listening to her talk about paying for her mom’s care and her deadbeat dad running out on her like neither was a big thing to her got me.
I spend my days around guys who act like nothing can touch them, like they’re the baddest motherfuckers who have ever been born.
But really, if you want tough, a woman like Lexi beats any tough guy hands down. Women don’t front or talk a big game or make believe like they are tough. They get on with what needs to be done, without complaining or crumbling at times when some of the biggest, most vicious guys I know would go to pieces.
I’d seen how Lexi handled herself at work. She didn’t take any shit but she tempered her attitude with kindness, too. I’d watched her smile at some of the broken, old men who propped up her bar, old timers who had no one in the world who cared about them. She didn’t know I was watching her, that first night in the bar, but I had been. I’d seen how she got things done while still having a joke or a good word for anyone who needed it.
And then, I’d shown up and punched Mike. I was waiting for Lexi to freak out after that. I was expecting it. She had figured out what I did for a living—that I was a hitman and enforcer for the mafia. Most other people would be scared, intimidated. I doubt too many of them would have invited me home.
But Lexi had just wordlessly walked me to her apartment to clean me up. A little bit of it was shock, I figured—but a lot of it had to do with how she handled life. Practicality and kindness. I was fast coming to realize that those two things—not her tough exterior, impressive though it was—were what really shone about Lexi.
I wondered if she knew that she was the most amazing woman those guys in the bar had ever met. I’d known her less than forty-eight hours and I could see it, but somehow she didn’t even seem to realize how special she was.