Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
Just My Fucking Luck
Marco
To avoid another near-death experience by fuck-me boots, AJ waits with Chiara while I go and fetch the car from where it’s parked.
I bring it around to the front of Joey’s, still shaking my head with amusement.
Who the fuck wears sky-high stilettos in the thick of a New York winter?
But one look at her designer outfit and my guess is she cares more about fashion than function.
Pulling up to the curb where she was waits with AJ, I keep the car running and hop out to help her get settled in the back seat, adjusting the heat so she can get warm again after her impromptu photoshoot.
Turning my attention back to AJ, I extend my hand out to him.
“See you soon, brother. She’s a danger to herself, but she’s safe with me.
” He grasps my outstretched hand and pulls me in to bump his shoulder with mine.
I go to pull away, but he holds me in place.
“I better not fucking regret this decision, Marco. If it was up to me, I would have put that little devil straight back on that jet for pulling this hotel stunt. But since you insist, this is your problem now.” He pauses and flashes me a menacing smile for good measure.
“I’m trusting you to make sure she keeps the fuck out of trouble so it doesn’t become mine. ”
“Received loud and clear. Vault does the security for the Belmont family, so I assure you we have it sorted. We installed all the security cameras at Arabella’s apartment. Top of the line and multiple viewpoints. I’ve already got my boys set up on surveillance to watch the house day and night.”
“Good to hear. Let me know when the rest of that paperwork is sorted on your end for La Rosa. I want to get it all closed off before any more shit can go sideways.”
“It’s all in motion. It’ll all be sorted by the end of the week.” I squeeze his hand in my own warning. “Is there anything else I should know about?”
“It’s been handled. Just get it done.”
His tone brooks no argument, and I’m distracted by my phone buzzing incessantly in my pocket with text notifications.
The deep rumble of an engine puts an end to any further questions.
AJ saunters towards the sleek black Ferrari now gliding up beside us with a purr.
The doors automatically lift open and Xander, AJ’s second in charge, jumps out, making way for AJ to take the driver’s seat while he folds himself into the passenger seat.
The man is a literal wall of muscle honed from lifting heavy weights.
The type of guy you want around in a fight.
With one final nod at me over the roof of his luxury car to acknowledge we’re both on the same page, he climbs in and guns it down the street.
I hop back into the car, hoping to steal a look at the texts I’ve received while also bracing myself for another request to blare audio porn through my car, but my phone rings before either of those things can happen.
It’s Raf. Calling again. He’s being an insistent motherfucker today.
I consider firing back one of those annoying automated “I’m busy” texts seeing as he clearly didn’t understand my words.
But AJ’s parting command gnaws at me, and my intuition screams that Raf’s insistence to see me today is related.
I disconnect the Bluetooth from the car and connect to my earbuds instead so Chiara only gets one side of the conversation this time.
I don’t want to risk Raf blurting out something not for her ears.
“You better be on your way to the office. And if you’re not, turn the car around and get here. We may have a problem.”
The line goes dead, and I waste no time following his order.
I feel a tug on my sleeve and look down to see Chiara has poked her head between the seats. A wicked smile splits her face. “Please tell me I get to meet Big Bad Raf now.”
It’s the very last thing I fucking need, but the office is on the way to Arabella’s apartment, so it makes sense.
Chiara squeals, and I can’t help but think how disappointed she’s going to be if she’s expecting a friendly reception from him; if there’s one thing Raf Princi does not do, it’s warm and fuzzy.
I put the car in gear and take off. The silence is a welcome reprieve. It doesn’t last long.
“Oh, before I forget, you had a whole bunch of messages come through, the last one from someone called Kitten. Very cute nickname,” Chiara hums conspiratorially.
I’ve already pulled into traffic, so I don’t want to risk our lives by checking my messages while driving.
I’m also not taking the risk of reconnecting my Bluetooth and opening them around Chiara’s prying eyes and ears given our last exchange.
Instead, I let them burn a hole in my pocket, excitement over what they might say building behind my zipper.