Chapter 9 #2
The ride home feels like a funeral procession. Unfortunately, I don’t have anybody else I can reach out to for help. No family, no friends.
Pathetic.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to reject Carlo’s disgusting proposition. Maybe if I’d known this was coming, I would have swallowed my pride and let him paw at me for three days.
Three days with you warming my bed.
The memory makes my skin crawl, but desperation does funny things to your moral compass.
Then Romero’s face flashes in my mind—his rage when he yanked that door open, the way his fist connected with Carlo’s nose. Just remembering it makes my chest pinch.
A dark thought slithers in after it. I still have his business card.
If I’m going to sell my body to anybody, it might as well be to a man I’m actually attracted to.
I try to shake the idea away, but it digs in deeper, and the closer I get to home, the less insane it sounds.
In fact, by the time I park my scooter in front of our apartment and walk through the unhinged door, it’s starting to feel like genius.
He’s rich. He could pay the whole forty thousand without even feeling it.
Then all I’d need to worry about is finding a job so I can get our utilities turned back on.
Hell, maybe I could even ask for fifty.
Forty for the loan, ten to sort out the immediate bills. Just the thought makes my shoulders sag with imagined relief.
And really, what’s the most he’d want? Probably only a week? Two, tops.
A man like him wouldn’t want long-term commitment. At least not with someone like me. The elegant woman he was introduced to that night floats through my memory. Yeah, that’s more his usual type.
For some reason, that thought makes me resent him a little.
No, I’m not doing just a week or two. I’m not going to let him push me around.
If I’m going to do this, I might as well go all out.
My heart pounds faster as I strategize. I’ll ask for a year. A full year, not as a mistress, but as a wife, his wife.
A crazed laugh escapes me at the thought, giddy excitement flooding my system.
He’ll say no, obviously. I’m not delusional enough to think he would actually marry me. But that leaves room to negotiate down to six months, or at least three. That should be long enough to have Rick and his men too scared to ever try to mess with my family again.
I’m not stupid. Even though Romero’s a lawyer by day, I know what he is by night.
A Nightshade. The mafia syndicate that rules the entire city.
And lesser gangsters like the Mudrats and whatever group Rick belongs to fear them and avoid getting on their radar like their lives depend on it. Because they probably do.
Once Romero rejects the marriage idea, I’ll try to negotiate for public dates. The more people see me with him, the more they’ll think he cares about me—and stay away from me and my family.
I nod, completely sold on the plan now. Maybe my association with him might even help me get a job. Just like some people try to avoid the Nightshades, others would do anything to get in their good graces. Because having them in your corner makes you almost untouchable.
Yes. I’m doing this.
Before I can chicken out, I hurry to my room and grab his business card. Then I quickly type his number in and dial.
He picks up on the second ring.
“Hello?” His familiar, deeply masculine voice washes over me, sending my heart into overdrive and making my stomach do backflips.
“Hey, this is Leni Barlowe. You helped me at the police station earlier this week, and we met again at that party two nights ago?” My voice pitches up nervously. What if he doesn’t remember me? I didn’t think that far. “You drove me home.”
“If it isn’t my little troublemaker.”
“Haha,” I deadpan, not cracking a smile. At least he knows who’s on the line. Sweat makes the phone slippery in my grip as my nerves spike. “Remember that savior complex thingy I mentioned before? I think I might need it again.”
He chuckles. “Are you in trouble again?”
Understatement of the century. “Can we meet somewhere? It’s too complicated to explain over the phone.”
He suggests some fancy restaurant down in Williamsburg, and my mouth waters, but I can’t afford distractions. I need to make my request and find out if I’m getting rejected quickly, not while stuffing Italian food down my throat.
“No, we need somewhere quiet where we can talk. Meet me at the Clinton Hill Library in thirty minutes.”
“Do you think I have time lying around to meet you at some random library?” The question is serious, but I detect a hint of curiosity in his tone. He’s intrigued.
“I know you probably don’t, but I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.” I hold my breath until he lets out a resigned sigh.
“Alright.”
Holy shit. He said yes. I pump my fist in the air, then clear my throat. “Cool. See you then.” I hang up with trembling hands. This is really happening. Him agreeing to meet up isn’t an agreement to anything else, of course—but it’s a promising first step.
Now… to get dressed.
Knees a little wobbly, I head to my closet and take out the best dress I own. A cute little number I bought last year after I got my piercing. It might be overkill for a library meetup, but it makes me feel confident—like I can actually pull this off—and I need that energy right now.
I pair it with sneakers since my only heels are work pumps, and really, driving a scooter in those would be impractical as hell. After curling my bangs just right, I sweep my hair into a bun. No point styling it fully now; the wind will ruin it on the ride, so I’ll let it down when I get there.
I dab on some perfume, and with my pounding heart, I set off.
Thankfully, I get to the library before him. And because it’s still early on a weekday, the place is nearly empty, aside from a few high schoolers hanging around on the far side.
I find the best spot by the window overlooking the parking lot and settle in to wait. I’m still taking my hair down from its bun when the fancy Maybach pulls up next to the only other vehicle in the lot—my beaten-up scooter.
Romero gets out of the car, straightening the lapels of his jacket, his hair slicked back in that signature side part. God, he looks ridiculously good. I catch myself licking my lips as my eyes trail over him.
His gaze drops to my scooter, and I chuckle at the little frown that appears between his brows. What, never seen an old scooter before, pretty boy?
He looks away and heads into the library. As he walks in, his presence seems to suck all the oxygen from the room, and my heart starts pounding furiously as he scans the space, searching for me.
He came. He actually came.
And turns out I’m not overdressed after all. He's in a full damn suit—tie and all. Then it clicks: he must have been getting ready for work when I called him. He came here first.
Don’t read anything into it, I order myself sternly, but something tightens low in my ribs anyway, a flicker of feeling I can’t quite crush.
Then his eyes find mine, and the world narrows to just this moment. Those green irises are so vivid, so intense, they seem to burn right through me. A slow pressure coils around my chest, squeezing tight, making my already frantic heartbeat almost painful.
Shit. The way I react to this man could be a huge problem.