Chapter 3
“Hey, come on in.”I give Mari a kiss and let her in, making sure not to touch anything with my right hand because it’s covered in egg. I’m cooking chicken piccata, a personal favorite, which I needed after the day I had.
I’m not working at the club tonight, so I decided to invite her over. Mari and I are friends with benefits—that’s the best way to describe it. We started hanging out six months ago. She’s sweet, and I enjoy being around her, but I don’t see any sort of actual relationship in our future. I work nights; she works days. That alone drastically limits the time we can spend together. Between that and needing to keep my work life private, it’s easier to keep things simple, which I’ve been up front about from the beginning.
“How was your day?” she asks, setting down her things and joining me in the kitchen.
“It was a day. I’m glad it’s almost over.”
“That good, huh?”
“I guess it wasn’t all bad. Just a pain dealing with people. At least when you deal with people, they’re all smiles and happy for you to order them around.” I shoot her a smirk. Mari’s a photographer—that’s how we met. She was out in the park for a photo shoot while I was on a run. She was too pretty to pass up. With her dark hair and angular features, she could be in front of a camera rather than behind it. But that’s not her style.
“Right, and no one is ever fussy when they see the final shots from a shoot. Nope. Always perfectly satisfied.” Her brightly sang words are soaking in sarcasm.
“Alright, so you might know a little something about dealing with annoying people,” I admit with a wink.
“I took a couple up to my spot for an engagement shoot at sunset a few days ago. They hated it. Had to reschedule the whole thing. I think they’re going to end up doing a studio shoot. Can you imagine?” She stares incredulously.
“They didn’t like the rooftop?” I know exactly what spot she’s talking about. She’s taken me up there a couple of times, and I have to agree that it’s pretty amazing. Gorgeous views of the river at sunset. I had a little trouble enjoying it, however, because it’s awfully romantic. Sometimes I get the sense Mari wants more. She hasn’t ever pushed the matter, so I could be wrong. I think more than anything, I project my own concerns about stringing her along. She seems totally content with our sporadic interludes.
“They said the place was dirty and old.” She rolls her eyes. “Some people have no vision.”
“Gotta trust the professional.” I wink at her, then take the last cutlet out of the browning pan and place it on a tray and into the oven. “Dinner will be ready in about fifteen.”
“It already smells delish. Anything I can do to help?”
“Don’t think so—” I’m washing my hands when my phone rings. It’s my cousin Conner. “I have to take this, sorry.” I give her a thin smile and lift the phone to my ear. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Just checking to see if everything seemed okay today from your end.”
“Yeah, looks like it’s all there, and I think the delay was legit. That had to be the oldest forklift I’ve ever seen. Not that I see a ton of them, but still.”
“Good. Renzo said he’d let me know when we can come by next week to try again.”
“It’s all you, cuz. He and I didn’t exactly hit it off.”
Conner sighs. “Why is it you get on with people I’d rather you didn’t and piss off important allies?”
A voice I know well hollers in the background. “Is that my Shae? Got good instincts, that one. You’d do well to follow her lead.” It’s our grandmother Nana Byrne, my favorite person in our whole family.
“That’s right, Conner. You should listen to the woman. She’s very wise.” I’m grinning because I can already hear him grumbling on the other end of the phone.
“She’s something, alright. Told me I had to come out to help with a pest problem. I’m thinking ants or mice, and she tells me to get Paddy out of the house ’cause she’s sick of his snoring.”
I burst out laughing because that is so Nana.
“Yeah, laugh it up,” Conner mutters.
“That’s what you get for not being on my side. That guy intentionally pushed my buttons, and I’m not going to let that shit slide. You wouldn’t either.”
“Whatever, Shae.” His exasperation entertains me way more than it should. “I guess I’ll handle it from here.”
I grin. “Works for me. Give Nana a hug for me.”
My cousin only grunts before hanging up.
“That your family?” Mari asks.
“Yeah, one of my cousins.”
Mari doesn’t know anything about the nature of our family business or the life I lead. I’m particularly careful about what I say when she’s around. She thinks I’m a self-defense instructor, and in a way, I am. I help out sometimes at the gym where I train.
I’m tidying up my mess on the counter when Mari hugs me from behind. We’re the same height, so her chin rests easily on my shoulder. We sway for a second before she stills and sniffs my neck.
“Is that … cologne?”
Some of Donati’s cologne or aftershave rubbed off on me when I put him in that headlock. The scent is fucking incredible, which drove me crazy after we left, and I couldn’t escape him. My senses must have adjusted. I don’t smell it anymore and forgot all about it.
I shrug. “You know my work involves a lot of physical contact.”
“Yeah,” she gives me a thin smile. “It just surprised me, that’s all.”
Her gaze drops to the pendant necklace I wear every day. She doesn’t know anything about it, which makes me wonder why she’s staring at it now after asking me about cologne. It seems odd, but then again, I could be paranoid. My job lends me to that sort of thinking.
“Well, today was a little unusual, too. That’s why Conner called me. He heard that I got a little overzealous today and upset a student when I put him in a headlock. Conner wants to make sure the guy isn’t going to sue me.” The lies roll off my tongue with such ease that sometimes I scare myself.
“You put a student in a headlock?” She gapes at me.
“He ‘accidentally’ grazed my tits one too many times. Needed a lesson.”
“You’re a little crazy, you know that?” She bites her lower lip and peers up at me through a forest of long black lashes. I pull her body against mine and appreciate the way she softens against me.
“I wish I knew how to be a badass like you,” she whispers.
No, she doesn’t.
Mari is flowy dresses and daisies and picnics under sunny skies. She isn’t remotely the type of person who could handle treading the same path as me. We are so incredibly different. And when I think about it too closely, I know that we’re too different. That more than anything may be why I’ve never considered a real relationship with her.
I pull away and smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be badass enough for us both.”
We have a nice dinner together. I always enjoy spending time with her, but I can’t seem to focus on our conversation. My mind is elsewhere, more specifically, imagining endless alternative scenarios of how my afternoon at the docks could have gone down. I can’t seem to escape those searing blue eyes.
As the evening draws on, I admit defeat and claim a headache. I tell myself I just need a little time alone when that is the last thing I need because I know all I’m going to do is think of him.
I send Mari home. I can tell she’s a little disappointed. I am, too. I had hoped having her over would be a perfect distraction. Now I’m starting to wonder if anything but time will effectively drown out thoughts of Renzo Donati. God help me.
“You hear that Oran’s engaged?”Conner leans against the welcome desk, where I spend most nights managing security at the Bastion social club. At nine in the evening, our night is only getting started.
“For real this time?” I ask teasingly, knowing he and Lina have resolved their drama.
“For real. Sounds like the wedding will be soon.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I mutter. “You people keep getting married, and I’m never going to have a free weekend.”
“Maybe you’ll be next,” he jabs.
“Nope. Not happening. I don’t care how fast you Byrne men fall. I’m not like that.”
The smug glint in his eyes makes the leather corset top I wore suddenly feel suffocatingly oppressive. “I’m not saying it would be a bad thing to settle down. I just don’t see how it would happen when I’ve never met anyone I’ve remotely entertained wanting to keep around forever.”
“Interesting,” he muses. “I had an entirely different take on the situation.”
My hand lifts to my necklace without my permission. “What situation?” Playing dumb is always a great defense.
Conner smirks. “It wasn’t but a handful of months ago. I doubt you’ve forgotten.”
I shrug. “Considering you know nothing about said situation, that’s quite an assumption to make.” I try to keep my voice light. I don’t want him to sense that he’s unbalanced me.
It was one week, and I never told anyone. How could he possibly suspect anything, let alone something serious?
“Absolutely.” He raises his hands in surrender. “I could have completely misinterpreted things.”
I hold my phone out like a reporter, eyes wide as she gets the story of her career. “Can you repeat that, sir, for the record?” I can count the number of times on one hand I’d ever heard one of the Byrne men admit they might not know it all.
He huffs a dry laugh. “Fuck off, Shae.”
“Fucking right off, sir.” I salute, happy to escape any further scrutiny, and retreat to the back office.
I’m watching feed from our multitude of security cameras when I get a text from an unknown number.
Shae, it’s Renzo. Forklift is fixed.
I stare at the screen as if glaring might force it to explain why Renzo has texted me. It’s been six days since our hot mess of a meeting at his warehouse, and I hadn’t heard anything about the matter since. I assumed Conner had handled it. Renzo didn’t even have my number. He would have had to go out of his way to get it. Why?
Me: Thought you were working with Conner on that.
Renzo: You thought wrong.
Me: Well, I’m telling you now. Get with Conner.
Renzo: Either you meet me at the warehouse tomorrow at 1 or we keep the crates. Your choice.
The fuck is he up to?
A strange thudding pounds in my chest. I’m not sure if it’s wariness or excitement, or why I’d feel either of them where Renzo Donati is concerned.
Me: You think you can keep our shit?
Renzo: Your family owes me for our part in that arrangement.
Renzo: And if your cousins ask, I’ll simply explain that you refused my one simple instruction.
Motherfucker.
It pisses me off that he has me, and he knows it. I don’t understand what he’s up to, and I like that even less. Why is he demanding to meet with me? Is he trying to intimidate me? Because hell no.
Me: No need to get your panties in a twist. I’ll be there if it’s so important to you.
Dots dance in their bubble, then disappear three separate times before a response finally comes through. God, I love that it’s so damn easy to wind up men. The smallest insinuation of emotional dysregulation and they lose their ever-loving minds.
Only, his response isn’t what I expect. He ignored my intended condescension and focused on something else entirely.
Renzo: Can’t twist what I’m not wearing.
Me: Panties?
I snicker to myself.
Renzo: Anything.
My brain glitches. Renzo is texting me naked?
My eyes squint shut. Damn my vibrant imagination—the unwanted image brands itself on the backs of my eyelids where I can’t escape it.
Me: Renzo Donati, are you sexting me?
I try my best to play things off as nonchalantly as possible.
Renzo: You’re the one who brought up panties. I was just correcting you.
Renzo: And Shae?
Me: Yeah?If the text could be audible, it would be a whisper. How did he manage to unnerve me every fucking time?
Renzo: You’d know if I was sexting because your fingers would already be buried deep in that pink pussy of yours, desperate for release.
Oh. Shit.
The man has game. Or at least, he talks a good game, and that can be just as important as the rest. Most of the time, when a partner tries to top me, I find it more funny than anything. That shit’s innate. Either you have it or you don’t. Most don’t.
I think Renzo may have been given more than his fair share.
Fuck me. I’m playing with fire.
And while I’m not the type to retreat, I’m not stupid, either. So why is it so damn hard to keep from egging him on? Why do I desperately want to know how far he’d take the conversation? I need to know what he might say next and whether it will cause a surge in my pulse—that delicious feeling of lightheadedness signaling the body’s preparation for something extraordinary.
It’s a sensation I rarely encounter outside the boxing ring. And Renzo Donati seems to summon the reaction at will as though I’m a puppet on strings.
Why is it always the impossible ones that pique my interest?
It’s not happening. Not again.
Me: I’m at work, so that’s unlikely. I’ll be there at one.
I hit send, hoping I don’t sound as though I’m presenting a challenge or am affected in any way by his comment. In reality, I wish my panties were in a twist because it might give me the friction I need to soothe my aching clit.
I was right when I decided Renzo was trouble with a capital T.
I need to get those damn guns, then get the hell out of Dodge. I’m just as capable of handling this in a professional manner as any of my cousins.
Warehouse. Guns. Gone.
Easy peasy.