by J. L. Drake
My heart rate skyrocketed, and my vision dwindled to a pinprick. I couldn’t hear over the rage swirling inside of my head.
“No,” I said without thinking about the consequences of my answer. I knew better than to taunt this man.
His eyes darkened. “No?” The single word floated from his lips in slow motion. He released my hand, and I stumbled backward, the backs of my thighs colliding with the edge of the mattress. “Let me be clear. If you so much as feign interest in another man, I will destroy him.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, my eyes flaring.
His temple ticked hard. “Exactly what you think it means. In my world, a man who can’t keep his fiancée in line loses respect. He isn’t a real fucking man.”
Smoke-like tendrils of defeat coiled around my chest, and I plopped down on the bed, burying my face in my hands. “Why are you doing this? I just want out. I don’t get it. I’ll sign a blood oath, pledge my first-born, or get lobotomy. Whatever you want. Name it, and end this farce.”
The bed dipped next to me, and we sat side-by-side in silence. My skin prickled with awareness. The suffocating weight of my predicament flooded the air, making me feel more claustrophobic than I’d ever divulge out loud. Although I wanted to ask him to go, I knew the request would be in vain.
He pried my hands away from my face and pinned them to my sides. “I’m trying to protect you, Evangeline, I really am. You need to stop fighting me every step of the way. Play by my rules for a little longer, and you’ll get your life back.”
I twisted my torso to face him. “I will?”
He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and the pads of his fingers tarried along the side of my neck. I could only describe the look in his eyes as torn and adoring. My pulse raced under his fingertips. “You will.”
I swayed toward him, and his arm circled my shoulders, pulling me next to him. “You promise?”
“Yeah,” he whispered, his warm breath ruffling the top of my hair. “You need to stop fighting me, though. Tony is already suspicious, and while I trust him with my life, he could say something to someone who wants to take me down.”
“Like who?”
“All you need to know is that the threat is real. These people kill first and ask questions later. What you saw that night at my club is nothing. They don’t give second chances.”
“You did,” I said.
“Yeah, well, I don’t know why I did it. I shouldn’t have. It’s probably going bite me in the ass.” He pinched his eyes closed for a second, and I missed the attention. The heat. Something warm and welcoming swirled inside of me whenever he focused on me. “Now we’re stuck.”
I brushed my hand down the side of his face, and his stubble pricked at my fingertips. “I know. I’m sorry. I just…” I didn’t know what to say. In retrospect, my actions were selfish. I’d snapped under the pressure that had been building long before I met him. “I hate being alone all the time.”
“What about Carmela?” he murmured, staring down at me through hooded lids.
I paused long enough to take a few stuttering breaths. “What about her?”
He ran a callused thumb across my lips, and my heart squeezed. Damn him. I didn’t want to feel anything around him. All week, I had tried without much success to wipe the memory of our kiss from my brain. Late at night, when I couldn’t sleep, my thoughts would inevitably circle back to him.
The feel of his hands against my skin, his taste, his scent.
And then I couldn’t sleep because I’d spend hours analyzing why I couldn’t stop thinking about him when he hadn’t shown me a flicker of interest in days. Until now…
His hand tightened on my shoulder, bringing my thoughts back to this moment.
“Why don’t you give her a call? I’m sure she’d be happy to hang out with you.”
I swallowed back the pain inching up the walls of my throat. I needed Carmela, more now than ever. I couldn’t do this without her. Over the last year, she’d had my back through every up and down. Now it looked as though I had used up all of her patience. “She’s pissed at me. She hates me. She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
His brows crinkled together. “That doesn’t make sense. Of course she doesn’t hate you.”
I swiped the back of my hand across my eyes, attempting to erase the tears leaking out of the corner of my eyes. Stupid tears. Stupid me. Could I be any more pathetic?
“She really does. I called her a couple of times this week, and I might as well have been talking to a wall. She’s pissed about us. She thinks I’ve been lying to her for months. She thinks I was cheating on Kevin with you.”
His lips thinned. “Did she say that?”
“No, but I know her. She thinks it.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
My hand curled into the lapel of his jacket. “What are you going to say?”
The corners of mouth lips twitched, and he braced his forehead against mine. “I’ll think of something.”
“Maybe we should—”
He cut me off by kissing me, except it wasn’t any old, forgettable kiss. His mouth consumed mine, stealing the words I needed to say. Stealing the thoughts I wanted to hide. He lingered, taking his time as if nothing mattered except his lips against mine.
I lit up one nerve ending at a time like a choreographed firework display.
Boom. Pop. Crash.
With every explosion, another chink in my armor dissolved. Armor I desperately needed to get out of this mess with my heart, soul, and career intact.
Unbidden, a moan slipped out of my mouth.
“You like that?” he said, his voice scratchy. His eyes were hypnotic, his lips curled up in invitation. He was intoxicating. Addictive.
He was going to be my downfall.
Motionless, I stared at him, acutely aware that we sat on a bed in a hotel room alone. Picturing him running those calloused hands all over me should have made me nauseous. For some reason, it didn’t. Images of twisted sheets, the hot slide of skin against skin, and his naked frame above me flashed through my mind.
My eyes popped wide with panic, and I scrambled to my feet, needing to sever the hold he had on me. He shot me a cocky grin that managed to simultaneously irritate me and make me want the wrong things. Things that would only muddle our situation. Things that would only send more mixed signals. Both of us knew the end game, and it wasn’t a happily-ever-after. I didn’t need to invest time in another tragic love story. Been there, done that. Got the visual of my ex screwing someone else tattooed on my brain.
I cleared my throat and waved my hand between us. “Why did you do that?”
He stood and buttoned the top button of his suit jacket, and I saw the gun tucked in a holster near his hip. A shiver ghosted down my spine.
“Because I wanted to,” he replied. “Are you ready to go?”
I frowned. “Where?”
“Home.” His gaze roamed down my bare legs and back up again, taking so much time to complete the action that goose bumps actually showered my skin. “I already settled your bill. We need to go. I can’t have my guys thinking I’m a pussy who doesn’t know how to handle his fiancée.”
I yanked on the hem of my shirt, feeling exposed. “I don’t want to waste your money. I’ll leave in the morning.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.” He snagged my purse from the top of the dresser and slung the heavy leather hobo bag over his shoulder. “That’s not happening. You can either come willingly, or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you out.” He shrugged. “I pride myself on how reasonable I’ve been to date, but there’s only so much I can take. Consider this decision a red line you don’t want to cross.”
I jutted my hip to the side, our gazes locked in a silent battle. The only sounds were the faint ding of the elevator and the revving of cars on the busy Brooklyn street outside the window.
He flexed his hands, the lone tell in his otherwise calm demeanor. “Don’t test me, Evie. I’
m not in the mood. I will ground your ass, and you can kiss your physical therapy and training goodbye. You won’t be able to leave my house for any reason until this is over.”
I plucked my jeans off the arm of an electric blue club chair and shoved my legs into them. “Fine. You don’t have to threaten me. I get it.” My voice was a vacant, unattractive rasp that mirrored how I felt inside.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Gian
“Fuck my life.” I disconnected the phone and tossed it on the desk in my home office.
In the last twenty-four hours, Evie and I had managed to establish a fragile truce of sorts. We stopped avoiding each other. We weren’t fighting. I convinced myself the kiss in the hotel room was an error in judgment, and I successfully ignored every last urge to push the relationship into something we’d both regret.
Now my mom and Carmela had come up with some half-assed plan to convert the family Sunday dinner into a fucking engagement party. I tried to talk my mom out of it. I told her I had to work. I told her Evie had a cold. I told her the timing wasn’t right, and Evie and I wanted to wait a couple of months prior to making any sort of formal announcement. I told her Evie would want to invite her out-of-town family. None of my excuses mattered the minute she pulled the trump card. She said she wanted to have the engagement party while my dad was still healthy enough to enjoy it.
I couldn’t blame her. If our engagement were real, I’d be insisting my mom threw an engagement party. Hell, I’d fast-track everything. The engagement party, the bridal shower, the wedding. It’d be a done deal in thirty days, maybe less. However, nothing about our relationship was real, except the chemistry between us that I couldn’t smother regardless of how hard I tried.
I opened the door to the office and spied Evie resting on the sofa with her legs curled into her chest. Aiming the remote at the television, she clicked through channel after channel, never stopping long enough to hear more than a word or two.
“Hey.” I crossed the room and leaned my hip into the arm of the sofa. “Are you busy? Can we talk?”
She raised her eyebrows, keeping her gaze glued to the flickering flat screen. “Go ahead.”
“My mom has a family dinner at her house every other Sunday.”
Her thumb paused mid-click. “Uh-huh.”
“Tomorrow is one of those Sundays.”
“That’s fine.” She shrugged, and her white shirt slid down, revealing the top of her creamy shoulder. “I’m okay hanging out here by myself. I won’t run off anywhere if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I stretched out my legs and crossed my ankles. She wasn’t going to like this. “Actually, my mom invited you. She decided to make Sunday dinner an engagement party for us.”
Her head whipped toward me, and she muted the volume of the T.V., blanketing us in silence. “What?” she finally said, her voice hardly a whisper. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, avoiding making eye contact like a damn pussy. I hadn’t felt this pathetic this since I was a kid and my mom yanked me into the house by ear for peeling the bark off the neighbor’s tree. “It won’t be that big of a deal. Carmela will be there, and she invited a few other family members.”
My mom claimed she had only invited a few people, but a few people to my mom might mean anywhere from ten to thirty. This was bad on so many levels. I didn’t know where to start. Pulling Evie further into my life made it harder to extract her when the time came. She’d hear things she shouldn’t, see things that couldn’t be unseen. From there, she could infer a whole lot of stuff better left in the shadows. When the idea flashed through my mind and I claimed we were engaged, I never considered how quickly the fiction would snowball into more.
“I don’t think this is a good idea. Once you introduce me to your parents, there are going to be expectations, and it’ll only drag this out longer.” She picked at the hem of her white shirt. “I want my life back, and I don’t see how perpetuating this lie is going to do that.”
“You’re probably right, but I already agreed. I can’t back out now. She’s probably started prepping the food and calling our relatives. I can’t let her down.”
“And you think celebrating a fake engagement is somehow the lesser of two evils? That she’ll somehow be proud you created this illusion only to tear it down in a month or two?”
I focused on the silent sitcom playing on the television screen. The actors patted each other’s backs and tossed their heads back in laughter. They lifted their drinks and toasted some unknown occasion, accomplishment, or anniversary.
“Gian,” Evie barked. “Are you listening to me?”
She slammed the remote onto the black coffee table Carmela had selected along with most of the other furniture. I didn’t care enough to make the effort. For the last few years, I split my time between here and the apartment over the club, but neither of the places felt like home. They were places to sleep. The last time I had a real home was when I lived with my parents.
I jumped up and headed to the kitchen. I needed a drink.
“Did Carmela tell you what’s going on with my dad?” I asked without turning around.
“No.” She followed me down the hall, the soft shuffle of her bare feet unnaturally loud in the confined space. “She changes the subject every time I ask her about anyone in her family.” A regret-laden chuckle escaped her mouth. “If she said more, I might’ve recognized you that night at the bar, and this whole mess would’ve been avoided.”
“Maybe,” I answered noncommittally. I grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and held it up. “Do you want one?”
“No. Alcohol was one of the things I gave up this week. I need to get back in shape if want to land a role anytime in the near future.”
“Right.” I cracked open the top, and a hissing sound filled the air. “How’s physical therapy and training?”
“It’s fine so far.” She folded her arms across her waist. “Tell me about your dad.”
I took a large pull of my beer. “He was diagnosed with cancer two years ago. The treatment was working until six months ago, when things took a turn for the worse. He doesn’t have much longer.”
She dipped her head, her coppery hair catching the light, making it look like flames dancing around her flawless face. God, she was fucking beautiful. Even the tiny bump on the bridge of her nose somehow added rather than detracted from her looks. Maybe it gave her character or personality. I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“You don’t know that.”
I tapped the can of beer against my leg. “He refused to do any more treatment. The chemo and radiation were making him too sick to do anything other than lay in bed. He said he would rather have three or four quality months than a year of hell.”
She bowed her head and licked her lips, sadness etched into the planes her face. “I’m sorry to hear that, Gian. That sucks.” She paused, and for a second, I didn’t think she’d say anything else. “Carmela never breathed a word.”
“Yeah, she doesn’t confide in many people. She holds in her emotions and pretends everything is fine.”
She stared sightlessly at the wall over my head. “Huh. I guess that makes me a shitty friend. I complained to her nonstop about my pathetic excuse for a fiancé. She always listened without complaint when she had real problems.” She rolled her head like she was attempting to unscramble her thoughts. “I suck. No wonder she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. I’m the worst kind of friend: a self-absorbed asshole.”
I set my beer on top of the counter. “Hey. That’s not true.”
“No. I really am.”
“Come here.” I threaded my fingers through hers and pulled her closer to me until our shoulders made contact. “She told me you helped her after her fiancé, Rocco, died. She said she would’ve never gotten through it without you. That’s what a real friend does. She won’t forget that simply because she’s pissed about us. She’ll get over it.”
“Maybe.” She tipped up her head, h
er brown eyes glossy. “She really said that?”
“Yes.” I tapped the tip of her scrunched up nose. “So she repaid the favor by helping you with Kevin.”
Her attention drifted to the side, and she squared her shoulders. “What does your dad have to do with this engagement party?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” I despised talking about my dad dying. I spent the first thirteen years of my life both hating and fearing him. That all changed when he opened his world to me. Hate and fear shifted into love and respect. Rather than wanting to run away from him the minute I turned eighteen, I wanted to stay and prove my worth to him. Make him proud of me. That was probably what made him a great capo. Nobody wanted to let him down. I was still trying to earn everyone’s respect, but I’d get there.
“Is it because he’s dying?” she whispered so low I nearly missed her words.
“Yeah, I guess so. I want to make him happy. I want to make my mom happy, and if having a stupid engagement party makes them happy if only for a couple hours, I’ll do it.”
Her too-knowing gaze collided with mine, and then her eyebrows raised. “All right. I’ll do it. But if you get a wild hair up your ass and decide to get married for the same reason, I’m not doing it. I narrowly escaped one disastrous marriage, and I will not consider jumping into another to grant your dad’s dying wish to see you married. With my track record, I’d pick cement boots and a swim in the Hudson over a white dress and stroll down the aisle without batting an eye.”
An involuntary chuckle burst between my lips. “Wow. Okay. Good to know. Death is better than marrying me. If I didn’t have a healthy ego, I’d be crushed right now.”
She rolled her eyes. “If the gossip about you is any indication, you’ll recover.” She flipped her messy braid over her shoulder. “In fact, if what I’ve heard about you is close to truth, I think you’d pick death over marriage.”