Chapter 6
Ringo
Ellie played a good game, but she was hiding in more ways than one.
She retreated to her room after dumping me on the couch with not only her foul-mouthed pillow, but a printed blanket that tossed me right back to my childhood.
Except that dang cartoon handed out its advice peppered with profanity now.
She had stuff like that all over her little two-bedroom condo.
During my security search, I discovered tiny mustache stickers on her outlet covers, a rooster clock that really needed to be shot, and a bathroom word sign that read, “If you let them SHENAN once, they’re just going to SHENANIGAN. ”
Cute, or a cry for help?
I played with the overlarge planchette on her coffee table as I pondered that question. Then noticed, even it had picked up her personality.
Maybe I would summon her last fuck like the plastic pointer directed.
The instant I thought the word I remembered the hot as hell night we spent outside Genoa at the sprawling mansion Mario and I bought. It was one of those places designed to impress. When I picked it out, I had the stupid idea I’d bring Mom there one day and rub her face in my success.
Ellie and I had been in Milan that morning.
We spent the day looking for her sister.
She was looking. I was distracting her. We did two of the touristy things she had detailed in her trip package.
First, we went to the Duomo to get a good view of the penthouse Mario’s father lived at.
But with all the tourists milling around, I couldn’t exactly pull out the rifle scope I’d carried with me.
Frustrated and cold, I let Ellie drag me to the Galleria.
The stores were overpriced, and the crowds huge. It would be a great spot to shiv someone and disappear into the throng. Not even the twenty-seven cameras I’d spotted would be able to track me.
Ellie spun on her heel and laughed until she was dizzy. I caught her on the third turn, and she looked up at me, flushed and happy.
I had to have her that way.
So, I took her on a long trip home to my bed. The place I felt safe because I’d made it that way.
What a mistake. Yet I didn’t regret a damn minute of that night.
Only the next day when I led her up the coast to the villa Don Manca held.
This time, I brought the whole rifle with me.
Ellie didn’t notice the bag I carried, being content to dance ahead, stop and smell early flowers, point at olive trees, and glow.
Just… glow. Like an ethereal angel filled with joy.
Then I spotted the sniper. I sent her ahead, pointing out the house where her sister and Mario were having breakfast on the fucking terrace. Right out in the goddamn open.
The hitman lined up his shot, and I scrambled to assemble the rifle and take aim. Ellie had her phone to her ear because she wanted to warn Allie we were on our way up.
I ignored her and focused on making the craziest shot of my life. There was a light crosswind, sun slightly behind the target, and an uphill angle, making the calculations shift by the millisecond.
Right as I squeezed the trigger, she asked, “What are you doing?”
Then all hell broke loose. She freaked out, following the line of my aim and seeing the sniper fall out of his perch, roll down the terrace, and disappear into the brush.
Worse? She was on the phone with her sister, and by proxy, Mario. I’d outed myself in the worst way possible.
At first, she screamed at me. I was compared to her no-good ex who’d killed Adelmo Conti.
Then she just froze me out.
It was for the best.
I was the rebound fuck. The guy to screw the bad taste out of her memories. I’d done my job, protected my best friend. Led him to the real killer. Got him out alive so he could live happily ever after with Ellie’s twin.
And I’d lost the girl.
The bedroom door rubbed against the carpet as Ellie cracked it open. I’d turned off the lights so I could see out of the sliding glass door better. Her bedroom light was on. It reflected the outline of her head in the glass of the slider better than a mirror.
“Ringo?”
It took me a minute to push the anger out of my voice. “Yeah, babe?”
The swath of light grew larger as she slipped out and approached.
She had both hands in front of her.
Was she carrying a weapon? I tried to make out the details and fell short. But I wouldn’t turn around. If she was going to stab me in the back, the hole would match the one I’d done to myself that horrible day.
“May I show you something and get your opinion?”
She’d stopped just behind the couch. I turned my head to get a look at her.
Her pajamas weren’t from the trip.
She’d packed a whole bag of sexy lingerie that ended up with her sister. I heard the complaints for three days. She’d worn my T-shirts two of those days, and one very intimate night, not a damn thing.
But the fuzzy black and white…thing she wore looked like a child’s costume. Except it was overlarge and swamped her perfect figure under about an inch-thick fake fur.
“What the hell is that?”
She looked down at her outfit. “It’s a honey badger. As in—”
I stopped her before she got both of us sidetracked. “What do you have to show me?”
She handed over a piece of paper and slouched over the side of the couch. “It was tucked in my suitcase.”
“From Italy?”
“It wasn’t there in Italy. When I came home, I had the driver dump the bags in the lobby. But he couldn’t get in, so he tucked them behind the fence.”
This woman was too stupid to live. I unfolded the paper.
I breathed out a stream of air and tried to remind myself why the hell I was here.
She stared at me with her chin propped on her fists. “Well?”
I turned the paper in my hands. Johnny had signed his name to the death threat. “Is this his handwriting?”
Ellie’s hopeful face fell. “Yeah.”
I re-read the misspelled and grammar-less scribbles.
Pay me the 50k u owe me for the pre-nup, or your ded.
“Fifty grand?”
Ellie disappeared behind the arm of the couch. Only the little round ears of her hood peeked out. “I sent him a pre-nup contract the day of the wedding. In it, if we stayed married a year, he’d get fifty thousand. But that’s it.”
“Then you don’t owe. You didn’t marry his dumb ass.”
“Tell him that.”
I leaned a little to get a glimpse of her, but all I could see was the stupid cartoon face sewn onto the hood. “Get off the floor.”
“But I like it down here.”
“No, you don’t.”
Her head cleared the lip of the sofa arm. Her blond hair stuck out of the hood in disarray because she’d shoved it on too quickly to straighten the mess. “Don’t tell me what I like.”
Was that a dare? “Chiacchiere served with chocolate lattes—light on the chocolate, lemon creme tarts, strawberry vodka, and—”
“Shut up.”
“—bad boys who can’t spell for shit.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Can you spell?”
“In four languages, sweetheart.” Although my German was questionable.
“Don’t call me that.”
“What? Sweetheart?”
“Or babe, sweetie, darling, none of it.” Her face turned pink.
“What should I call you?”
“Ellie. Just Ellie.”
I shook my head. “No can do. You’re a hell of a lot more to me than just Ellie.”
Her mouth fell open. Slowly, she sank behind the arm of the couch.
I stood up and picked her up off the floor and sat down on the couch with her ugly sack of a costume and everything.
“You’re going to be too hot to sleep in this.” Already, I could feel her warmth through the fur.
The silence that stretched thin was uncomfortable.
“Ellie?”
“I get cold.”
Right. Venice. The first night.
I tugged the blanket free and tried to get it to cover us both.
“I’m not sleeping out here.”
“Shh.” I was tired of arguing with her.
“I mean it, Ringo, I only came out to ask your opinion of that…”
“Threat?”
She squirmed until she could face me. “Will he do it?”
Since he’d already killed once, I doubted she was safe. But if I said that, she’d freak out. “I think he’s an idiot.”
“Is that your professional opinion?”
“Sweetheart, you don’t want my professional opinion.”
She blinked at me. “Yes, I think I do.”
I swallowed. This close, I could smell her shampoo. And her warm skin. “I think Don Manca’s right.”
Her eyes went a little wider. I nodded because we both couldn’t say a whole hell of a lot if she was being followed like she thought she was.
“Scooch.”
“What?” I asked.
“Give me some room.” She wiggled free and then unzipped her costume.
Underneath she had a lightweight cotton shirt that drooped off her shoulder, and thin pajama bottoms that were soft as hell.
I knew that because she slid over me and stretched out on the couch, giving me the outside and stealing the inside. “Now cover me up.”
Her ass wiggled against my leg. I rolled until I was stretched out against her. She was small enough to fit against me, but her couch wasn’t long or wide enough to fit both of us. “This isn’t going to work.”
I stood up and collected her, blanket and all, and carried her into her bedroom. She’d turned down her covers, so I laid her down and flipped the rest of them back so I could crawl in beside her. “No funny business. This is… me being a professional only, okay?”
“I don’t—”
“Ellie, don’t argue with me. You’ll lose. At least on this. Got it?”
She rolled over to face me. “Why are you such a good bad guy?”
“Excuse me?”
Her face scrunched. “You. All sexy and fun, and…” her fingers traced my chest, “…built. And you brought food. But you probably know at least a hundred ways to do—”
The quick glance she sent me was part fear.
“My job?”
Her hand flicked away. “Yeah, that.”
“Try about five hundred ways. Or maybe just six.”
“Only six?” She asked.
“That covers the main categories.” I began to count them off as I whispered in her ear. “Firearms, bladed objects, strangulation, blunt force trauma, drowning…” I trailed off, distracted by the soft fuzz on her cheek.
“That’s five.”
I smiled. “Flame thrower.”
“You’re making that one up.”
I was, but she didn’t need to know that.
Our eyes met across her pillow.
“You think I’m sexy?”
She rolled her eyes. “Four languages?” she asked through narrowed eyes.
I nodded. “I went to boarding school in Switzerland. They had French, Italian, and German as required courses.”
“That’s three.”
“What language are we talking in now?”
She shook her head. “Doesn’t count.”
“Oh, I think it does. Ol’ Johnny Pornstach can’t even spell his native words correctly.”
“He knows Italian.”
“It’s not that hard to learn.”
She pushed at me. “I’ve been trying to learn for six months.”
Ah, that was her problem. “You don’t try. You do.”
“Okay, Yoda.”
“Sei incantevole, I tuoi occhi sono come due stelle. Ti adoro. Per te farei di tutto.” My words trailed off because they were too honest, too close to the edge of insanity for me to trap them if more spilled free.
“How does that sound in German?”
I snorted. “Like two hammers trying to fuck.”
Her laughter died quickly. The light in her eyes, however, didn’t. After two unsuccessful attempts to speak, she whispered, “Per te farei di tutto.”
“I won’t hold you to that.”
“What’s it mean?”
“Tutto, everything. Per te, for you.” I translated only part of it.
She filled in the rest with a small nod. Her hand came to rest on my chest. “I don’t want you here.”
“I know. I’m just another bad boy. You don’t want that in your life.” She’d made that point perfectly clear.
Her fingers tightened, pulling my shirt away from my skin. “You’re here because you’re protecting me. You’ve been ordered to. I get that. What I mean is…”
There were tears clinging to her eyelashes. She swallowed.
“…I don’t want you here like that.”
You and me both, babe.