Reformed (Gangsters at War #5)

Chapter Twelve

Jane

I knew I was alone even before I opened my eyes. That I was beginning to get used to the hurt and anger simmering deep inside on being solo yet again scared me. Was I really willing to put up with a man who treated me as little more than a booty call?

Don’t think about it too hard, you mightn’t like the answer.

Getting out of bed, I took a quick shower and got dressed into yellow bellbottom pants with a white and yellow striped shirt. I needed something bright to drag me out of the moroseness threatening to swamp me under.

Tying my hair up into a high ponytail, I slid my feet into some beaded sandals, then made myself a cup of coffee and took it with me downstairs. My gaze slid to the sales counter, and I slowed to a stop, my face warming and my core throbbing as I recalled how thoroughly I’d been fucked on it.

Alessandro had imprinted the memory onto my retinas. I was having flashbacks to his dominant lovemaking, his skilled—

I shook my head, clearing it as I unlocked the front door and flipped the sign around to open . I had to focus on the present, on my customers and running the shop. I deliberately began to go through all the menial tasks ahead of me. I had to unpack some boxes of scarves and shoes, and dress a dummy in an outfit I wanted to display in the front window—

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Glass shattered and I screamed as I dropped to the floor, coffee scalding my hand as the cup broke apart on the floor. I heard tires squealing on the road outside, panic then a rising tide inside of me as I realized someone had fired bullets into my shop.

I pushed to my feet and raced upstairs, grabbing my cellphone.

“Jane.” Alessandro’s rich, baritone voice filled my ear. “I’m sorry I—“

“Someone just f-fired bullets into m-my shop,” I interjected, my voice high pitched and shaking. “I unlocked the f-front door and seconds l-later bullets hit the window, m-making the glass shatter.”

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice lower now and much more intense.

“What? Oh, n-no. No, I’m fine, just r-rattled.”

“Have you called the police?”

“N-no. I-I probably should.”

“No, let me take care of this, okay?”

I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see me. “O-okay.”

“Don’t go back downstairs. Lock yourself in the bedroom. I’ll be there soon.”

I nodded mutely and disconnected the call, ignoring his advice and going straight back downstairs on shaky legs to survey the damage. There were glass pieces that looked like confetti all over my floor. That there was a huge, jagged hole now in my shopfront window was a security risk as well as a public safety risk.

It’d take weeks, maybe even months for insurance to fix the window. Then there was the loss of income I’d have to deal with for both myself and Trudy.

I hurried back to the front door and locked it, my heart jerking erratically in my chest, the lump in my throat growing to a boulder and making it hard to breathe.

What if the shooter was still out there?

What if there had been more than one man with a gun?

What if it’d been me they’d been trying to shoot?

What if I was still in danger?

A car’s tires swished past outside, making me jolt and take a short step back. Fuck . Was I experiencing delayed shock?

I pivoted, then ran back upstairs. Less than a minute later, I slammed shut my bedroom door and locked it.

Shock soon turned into a numb kind of emptiness. Even the beep on my cell, which revealed Alessandro’s text letting me know he was a block away, barely registered.

It still felt like a lifetime, but was probably a few minutes later, when I heard him call out my name, the doorbell then chiming to let me know he was really there.

“Jane, answer me!” he shouted. “God dammit, tell me you’re all right?”

It was his panicked voice that got me out of my trance and forced my legs back into action.

My heels tapped down the steps and across my storeroom, the sound in-synch to my heightened pulse.

I should have rang the police, except Alessandro had told me not to and I trusted him. Huh. Trusted the man who’d taken my body to such heights, then left me crashed and broken after he’d left me alone.

I was either totally na?ve or a downright idiot to trust him.

I swung the door open and Alessandro stood there in a dark suit and an even darker expression. “Jane, thank God. I was starting to think—“

He shook his head. “Never mind, I’m just glad I didn’t need to break your door down and cause more damage.” He stepped inside and drew me against him, holding me so close I could hear his heart beating at a furious pace. When he finally stepped back he held my stare and said, “Didn’t I tell you not to come back downstairs?”

I blinked up at him. “What?”

His eyes darkened along with his voice. “You came back down to lock the shop door. Don’t think I didn’t try to get inside that way first.” He shook his head. “What if the shooters had been waiting for you to do just that?”

“They weren’t,” I said faintly, my emotions switching from hopeful to irritated and something in-between at his overprotectiveness.

His assessing stare darkened. “What happened to your hand?”

I glanced down at the blistered, bright red mess above my knuckles. “Oh, it’s a coffee burn. When I heard the shots I-I fell to the floor, I wasn’t thinking about the hot drink in my hand.”

He led me to a small sink at the storeroom at the back of my shop, where he placed my scalded hand under cold, running water. I didn’t bother to tell him it was too little too late now, it was kind of nice to be pampered. Only once he’d gently patted the burn dry, used some burn cream from the first aid kit in my shop, then dressed the area, did he seem satisfied.

I almost smiled knowing my mobster lover was caring for me as good as any nurse.

He released a deep, steadying breath. “Pack a bag.”

A frown took away any further hope of a smile. “What?”

“You’re coming with me.”

I shook my head. “Thank you, but no. I can’t. My shop—“

“I have people coming to fix your window. You’ll never have to worry about bullets again.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Actually, I do. Bulletproof glass is all but indestructible.” He exhaled long and slow. “You’ll be safe...unless the shooter steps foot into your shop.”

I stiffened. “You think that’s possible?”

“Anything is possible.”

“But I’ve done nothing wrong! Why would anyone target me?”

He dragged a hand over his face. “I’ll explain later.” He looked around the shop. “We’ll need to install security cameras.”

“Security cameras?” I repeated blankly. “I don’t have the—“

“Let me take care of it. For now, let’s just get you somewhere safe.”

I sagged. My vintage shop had always been my safe place. It was surreal now to think of it as anything else. But there was little I could do about it now, I most certainly couldn’t trade with the storefront window shattered.

“I’ll ring Trudy first, let her know the shop will be closed.”

“Of course.”

I rang her quickly and explained the situation, reassuring her I was fine before adding that I hoped to reopen the store as soon as possible. She was grateful when I told her she’d be paid for the next month. When I disconnected, I glanced around and said, “I should probably clean up the glass first.”

“Leave it. The workers coming here will take care of all that.”

“You’ve organized everything.” I shook my head. “But of course you have.”

He cocked a dark brow. “Why do I get the feeling that wasn’t a compliment?”

I turned away from the mess of my shop and climbed the stairs to my home, his tread on the steps behind me. “You’re just so capable.” It wasn’t until we were in my dining room that I turned to him and asked, “Just what do you do for a living?”

“I’ll tell you everything at breakfast.”

“Breakfast?”

He nodded. “I want you to meet my family.”

My eyes widened, my voice a squeak, “You do?”

“It’s time,” he said simply.

“That’s a big jump in our...relationship. You always seem eager to leave me alone in my bed.”

“Not because I want to.”

I glowered. “What does that even mean? If you didn’t want to leave me, you wouldn’t.”

“I left to protect you,” he said gruffly, the brackets around his mouth showing his tension. He exhaled long and slow. “I’ve called a meeting with my family. You’ll soon learn everything.”

My stomach squeezed with tension. “Why does that scare me?”

He blinked. “You should trust your instincts; I’m betting they’re rarely wrong.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

His smile was closer to a wince. “I just want you to be prepared.”

I had a feeling very little could prepare me for what I was about to learn. I almost snorted. I guess I really was beginning to trust my instincts.