16. Tiia
Adrenaline slams through my veins as I sprint the length of my apartment and hurriedly, dangerously, hook one shoe onto my foot and try not to pitch face-first into the floor. I wear a dress; I’m not sure why, when I prefer jeans. Or shorts. Or hell, underwear and an oversized shirt as I lounge around my apartment and avoid the heat.
But, like, this is a job interview-esque dinner, so I chose a cute little piece that flows to about two inches above my knees and cinches in at my waist. Minimal cleavage on display, because god forbid I sit across the table from the Felix Malone, and he cops an eyeful of my boobs, intentional or not.
Worse, sitting across from the Christabelle Cannon, and showing her man my boobs.
I’ve always considered Felix to be one of the most dangerous beings in this city. I mean, his reputation precedes him, and though it’s not like I’ll bring up such topics over steak and wine, I’m pretty sure there are countless unsolved crimes that all have his name attached.
But now he’s practically hitched. Which surely means she has become the most dangerous, no…?
Nevertheless, it’s not a risk I’ll willingly accept.
So if I have to go to that house tonight, clinging to Micah’s hand, wearing an outfit I would wear to the shop, and sewing my lips shut for fear of asking a mafia don about his criminal activity, then I guess that’s what I’m doing.
Oh, how my life has changed this year.
I stop in the hall outside my bedroom and bend to fix the straps on my sandal, pushing leather through a steel buckle, and feeding the clasp through the gap.
My hands shake.
Are they shaking?
They’re shaking!
And because I’m folded over, blood rushes to my head and leaves me red-faced.
Probably means I should get back to the gym after my hiatus of laziness and bad decisions.
Finishing with one shoe, instead of running again and risking death, I slip the second on, wiggling my toes until they’re comfortable, and working on the strap until it’s fitted where I want.
“I was supposed to have until six o’clock,” I grumble, feeding the metal pin through the hole. “It’s only five.”
“But I missed you.”
Hands touch my hips, and a bellowing, aching scream sprints through my chest as my back snaps straight. But I don’t get to spin. Or release the cry from its bubble in the depths of my throat. Because a heavy hand comes up to my mouth, and the other, like a seatbelt across my torso.
“No screaming, Grá. It’s just me.” He presses his body to mine. His broad chest to my back, and his hardened cock to my backside. He wraps himself close and sets his chin on my shoulder. “Relax.”
“What the hell are you doing?” I twist in his arms, only for my breath to explode when he presses me to the wall with a thud. “You broke into my apartment!”
“I walked through your door.” He leans in and peppers small, measured kisses to my shoulder. “Your locks are a joke.”
“You broke into my apartment!” I could lift my knee and crush his balls. Or bite him. I could slam my fist into his stomach and enjoy the way he gasps.
I took those Rumble classes at the gym back in the day. And a women’s self-defense class from the Brazilian guy whose great-great-grandfather invented contact sport… or something. I don’t know!
“Micah, my front door was locked. But now you’re in here, which means you violated my perceived safety.”
“It’s locked again now.” He nips at the warm skin over my collarbone, only to follow it with a gentle lave of his tongue. “I’ll send some guys out tomorrow to get you something better, since your security is clearly lacking. And fuck,” another bite, “you smell good.”
“What’s up with you?” I could simply allow him to ravage me; god knows he does it well. I could close my eyes and let him have me; we’ve already crossed the line. So what’s another time? I could remove myself from reality, from common sense. I could set aside that gnawing, nagging voice in the back of my mind that screams you’re catching feelings for the bad guy! But I always was a little too reckless for my own good.
Micah seems intent on nibbling on my skin, but I slide my hand up and into his hair, grab hold of the shaggy—albeit, neatly combed—locks, then yank back and separate his lips from my flesh.
His eyes flare wildly, his temper bubbling just below the surface. But there’s something there. An emotion I can’t quite pinpoint that he’s keeping under lock and key—far more secure, evidently, than the one on my front door.
“Something bad happened?” I analyze his beautiful green eyes. The hard-set line of his jaw. Then I swallow, because his cheeks are a little too pale. A little too unsettled. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” He comes closer again, inhaling my neck and caring little about the fact that I’m still pulling his hair. “I wanted to be near you.”
“What’s going on?” I gasp when he reaches down and cups my thigh. Lifting, he leaves me to balance on one leg. Because he brings the other around his hip and crashes forward to press his cock to my core. “Micah?—”
“I’d rather ignore the outside world right now and focus on this.” He pulls back from my neck, but only so he can slide his tongue over my lips. “Compartmentalization is healthy. Paying attention to only you is what a woman wants, no?”
“Dissociation is not healthy if the subject you’re avoiding needs to be processed.” But god, as he glides his hand around and massages the globe of my ass, I know he could convince me otherwise. “If something so terrible happened today that you’d rather ignore it and fuck instead, then it probably means you should talk about it.”
“With you?” He takes my lips, and groans when our tongues duel. “You want me to discuss my deepest, darkest shit with a woman I’d rather sink my cock into?”
“Well…” I should be offended. I think I’m offended. I’m more than a holster for your cock! “I meant a therapist, mostly. Or the cops, depending on what it is.”
He chokes out a soft laugh and presses his hips against mine. I know tomorrow, I’ll find a bruise. Or tenderness, at least. “I don’t need to speak to the police. Or…” He stops and pulls back, his eyes flickering between mine. “Maybe, once upon a time, the cops would’ve been interested to know what I know. But now… I dunno. Probably best to leave the past buried.”
“Is that a metaphor?” I search his eyes. “Or is someone actually dead and buried?”
Smiling, he dives forward and bites the soft, warm skin where my pulse lies. “A little of the first. A lot of the second.”
My heart thumps in response, impossible to hide from the man who kisses me. “Micah?”
“I didn’t kill anyone, I promise. You taste good.”
“Um… thanks. When you say you didn’t kill anyone… You mean, like, ever, right?”
He grins against my skin, teasing and playful. “What was the most recent thing your doctor said about your hearing?” He nips along my neck. “What did he say about your prognosis?”
“Um… I?—”
“Because I helped myself to your apartment, Grá, and I wasn’t stealthy about it.” He brings his hand up and cups my sensitized throat. His palm, fiery against my feverish skin. “That’s dangerous.”
“He said my hearing will return to normal eventually. Probably.” I drop my head back and sigh when his hand comes down to stroke my thigh. “Ear infection. Blown eardrum. It’ll get better.”
“Are you ready to come to dinner?” He dips his fingers into my cleavage, sending shots of electricity sprinting through my gut because he plays me like a guitar. One hand on my thigh, stroking and seductive, and the other, by my heart. Invading, and yet, intoxicating. “Are you hungry yet?”
“Are you really not going to tell me what happened today?” I search his emerald stare. “We’re going with silence on the matter?”
“I plead the fifth.” He leans in and presses a kiss to my lips. “I prefer privacy for now.”
“Tiia Hale.” Felix the-mafia-don Malone steps into the doorway at the end of a long hall as Micah walks me through the front.
To outsiders, I assume we’d appear as a cute couple out on a stroll. Aesthetically, of course, we look entirely acceptable. But on the inside, we must acknowledge my dragging feet. My thundering heart. The hands on my hips, forcing me forward.
Because if he lets go, I might turn on my heels and run out of this multi-story mafia mansion like my ass is on fire.
I’m not this brave.
I’m not this selfless!
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Felix wipes his hands on a towel and flips the fabric over his shoulder. Waiting in what I come to find is the kitchen, he leaves behind the woman I know to be Christabelle Cannon, her heated stare warming my face, and yanks me from Micah’s hold the moment we’re close enough. Instantly, his lips touch my cheek. Too informal. Too comfortable. “I doubt introductions need to be made.” Gently, he pulls back and makes damn sure to keep hold of my hand. “I’m Felix. You’re Tiia. No one inside this room is so na?ve as to think we haven’t looked into each other’s business.” Releasing just one of my hands, he glances back at the woman worth millions.
Billions, maybe.
And hell if she doesn’t look it up-close.
“Christabelle, Darling.” He smiles for the woman he loves and preens when she sets a bottle of water down, making her way closer. He wears most of a suit: black pants, black shoes, and a white button-up shirt. But his buttons are half undone, and his tie hangs limply over his shoulders.
He’s mid-undress and totally okay with it.
Christabelle, on the other hand, wears an oversized shirt. She swims in the fabric, and yet, somehow makes it look elegant and expensive. She wears her hair up in a high ponytail, remnants of her makeup remaining on flawless skin.
She came home—because this is her home now, right?—and shucked off an expensive outfit. She tossed aside high heels, and whipped her hair up. Then she donned her lover’s shirt, a pair of shorts that show off the ample length of her toned thighs, and left her makeup exactly how it was: elegant and done well, but she didn’t reapply or freshen things.
When you’re Christabelle Cannon, you needn’t try to impress people.
And when Felix Malone looks at you the way he looks at her, you know you’re beautiful, no matter what’s going on after a long day.
He takes her hand in his spare, so he has me on one side and Cannon on the other. “You should know you’re the first woman my brother has ever brought to this house.”
“Lix! Dude.” Micah tries to grab my hand, to yank me from his brother. But Felix is fast, and his smile remains.
“First. Ever.” He insists. “So if you could take care of his heart and ensure it stays in one piece, that’d be fuckin’ awesome.”
Irritated, Micah finally tears me back and shoves me under his arm. Part hug, part possession. “Could you not make shit weird for once in your damn life?”
Felix only chuckles, completely and ridiculously at ease—nothing like the man we see in the media. The killer who runs a criminal empire and rules over countless men. “I like making things weird.” He winks. “Turns me on.”
Christabelle rolls her eyes, grunting when Felix mirrors his brother’s stance and tugs the woman under his arm. But she’s more practiced at this than I am. Less tolerant of their bullshit. So she jams her elbow into the don’s ribs and smoothly extricates herself from his hold.
Better yet, she takes me from Micah and starts our trek across the kitchen. “You’re going to want to murder them at least once a day. It’s okay,” she meets my eyes, “if you and Micah are meant to be, then love will keep him alive. And if you’re not, then you’ll be able to leave in one piece. They’re not nearly as scary as they’d have you believe.”
“Yes we are,” Micah grumbles. “We’re gangsters.”
“If, at any point, you feel the urge to press a pillow to his face,” she releases me as we stop by the counter, then she circles around and takes her spot by her water, “once again, this is okay. Completely natural. The Malone genes are strong, and the personality quirk that runs most rampant is being the most annoying person in the room. Luckily for you, Felix will always take that title. So, unlike me, when you’re done for the day and you’re heading to bed, you get to leave him behind for a good, solid eight or so hours. That must be so refreshing,” she sighs, whimsical and sweet. “I haven’t spent a night alone since I met him.”
“And you never will again.” Felix leaves Micah by the door and crosses back to us. He wraps Christabelle in his arms and rests his chin on the top of her head. Of course, his silly act is just that, an act. Because when his eyes lock on to mine, I see the fire.
The ferocity.
“Tell us something our background check doesn’t know about you.”
“Background check?” Stunned, I shoot a look toward Micah. “You ran a background check on me?”
“Pretty sure I made my thoughts clear on the Wilkes thing.” He pushes away from the doorway and saunters across the kitchen. “I thought you worked for the enemy. So I asked questions about you before I decided to trust you.”
“And do you?” I swallow my nerves when he stops by my side and envelops my hand in his. “Trust?”
“I do.” He pulls out a stool and sits on the edge.
He’s not as showy as Felix. Not nearly as loud in his actions. If one is the family mouthpiece, the other is the surveillance. Felix speaks. Micah observes.
It’s a system that, I think, works well for the duo who, beneath the business and genetic basis of their relationship, are best friends first and foremost.
“So, we know what you studied in college,” Felix inserts, drawing my eyes around. Though my attention remains rooted exactly where Micah’s finger strokes my wrist. “We know you have one brother and one sister. We know how much you make per year.”
My brow shoots high in disbelief. “That’s rude, don’t you think?”
“I think so,” Christabelle agrees. “They don’t need to know your net worth to determine if you’re connected to Wilkes.”
“Not true,” Felix counters. “We need to know if she’s getting wads of cash dropped in her bank account on the regular. Such a pattern would spark questions.”
“And you let this happen?” I meet Micah’s eyes, my temper tripping a little closer to the surface. “You let people invade my privacy like that?”
“Let them?” He gently pulls me down until I rest against his lap. I’m not entirely sitting on him… but I’m not not sitting on him, either. “I instigated the searches, Grá.”
“You’re an ass.” I find the couple opposite us and scowl. “You’re both asses. I’m not na?ve to the risks of being here tonight. And if I’m to believe the media, then calling you,” I nod to Felix, “an ass may be the reason I’m not found tomorrow. But it has to be said. Both of you. Asses. You’re overbearing and rude.” Then to Micah. “And you’re not nearly as charming as you think you are.”
“But we are,” Felix sniggers. “The women we choose hardly tolerate us. It’s almost a prerequisite to a relationship with a Malone at this point. We understand they don’t like us. But I assure you,” he presses a kiss to Christabelle’s temple, noisy and breathy and obnoxious, “they love us. And love is not something a person can switch on or off at their whim.”
His eyes glitter, like he knows a secret I’m not yet ready to tell. “Love will always rule our actions. When the shit hits the fan and we’re left with a choice, love will ensure we choose correctly. So…” He purses his lips, playful, “tell us something our background check hasn’t found. I already know what’s on paper. Enlighten me with something that’s not.”
“There’s nothing to say.” Good work, stupid. Defy the don in his own kitchen. “I’m as boring as my record at the DMV.”
“She romanticizes the pieces sold in her shop.” Micah drops his forearm across my lap to keep me close. “The chest that belonged to a warrior, the desk that belonged to a queen.”
Curious, I glance back and meet his eyes. “What?”
“You want to sell each piece only to the worthy, not necessarily to the customer with money.”
“That’s because money can buy treasure, but it can’t buy class. It would be a tragedy for a scoundrel to own a piece of romantic history, when someone else, probably someone poorer, deserves it more.”
“Socialist?” Felix rolls his bottom lip between his thumb and finger. “Politically or idealistically?”
I scoff. “Can’t I just think some people warrant more, and others, less? Not every successful man deserves good things, and not every broke man should have nothing.”
“A social vigilante, then.” He insists on labeling me. Grinning, though he knows I’m insulting him. It’s hidden and vague, but I doubt anyone in this room is so unintelligent that they miss my cues. “You sold my brother the Mongolian chest.”
“Under duress.” I see now, after mere minutes spent with another Malone, that they’re all challenging and annoying. They enjoy conflict and hardly bat an eye at being called pompous, classless pricks.
“She likes to argue,” Micah counters, pressing a gentle, subtle kiss to the top of my shoulder. “She might even do that thing you do, Lix, where she keeps debating for the sake of debating. She’ll go until she’s blue in the face and her foe gives up in exhaustion.”
“A worthy opponent,” Felix snickers. “I like that. Where are your siblings?”
My heart thuds, just one hard thump that bruises the inside of my chest. “What?”
“Rapid-fire questions,” he smirks. “Also known as an interrogation. Your siblings?”
“Exist.”
He snorts. “Where do they exist?”
“Planet Earth.”
He drops his smile in an instant and raises a single, challenging brow instead. A warning that says stop fucking with me, Hale.
“My brother lives in New York,” I sigh. “My sister lives in Rhode Island. She’s still in college.”
He considers me for a long beat, while behind me, Micah’s heart beats a steady drum. I know he, too, absorbs my every word and swallows it down for later consumption.
“What is your sister studying?”
“Political science. She’s in her final year.”
Felix chuckles. “That tracks. Seems politics was dinner table discussion during your childhood, just as surely as it was during ours. Your brother?”
“Lives on the Lower East Side and is not yet married or in a serious relationship.” I wrap my hands around Micah’s and use him as an anchor. I touch his still-tender limb. I feel the rough stitching, and realize, in all the time I’ve known him, this is a first for us both.
He’s letting me touch. And I’m brave enough to want to.
But his mafia brother is shaking me down, and I’ll be damned if I accept it without having someone to hold on to. “My brother and I are reasonably close,” I admit. “He’s my twin, actually.”
“Your twin?” Micah startles beneath me. “You’re a twin?”
“Fraternal, obviously.” I focus on Felix. “Where are yours?”
Immediately, his eyes shoot over my shoulder and stop on Micah.
But I shake my head in defiance. “There are five of you. Where are the other three?”
“Publicly available information.” He steps away from Christabelle, his easy mood visibly harder for him to cling to when I pry into his family. He heads to the fridge and opens the large steel door. Searching the interior, he finds what he’s looking for and pulls back to reveal a covered tray. “Archer and Tim have lived in Copeland for many years. One is a cop, the other manages a bar.”
I know I risk my neck with my next question. But I ask it anyway.
Curiosity and all that.
“And the third?”
“Attending college in Copeland City,” Christabelle murmurs. “Happily. Safely. Cato is finally making good choices for his life.”
“Is your sister single?” Felix asks, earning a scowl not only from me, but from Christabelle, too.
“I’m not asking for myself,” he laughs, setting the tray on the counter. “My brother is in college, your sister is in college.” He unwraps the dish and reveals cheese. Crackers. Rolled slices of meat. “Perhaps we both want our siblings to meet educated, decent people.”
If that were the case, I’m not sure I’d introduce mine to Cato freakin’ Malone.
“My sister is in a relationship.” I smile for the mafioso who seems to enjoy the back and forth of thinly veiled jabs. “Why don’t you tell me something about you? Something not publicly available.”
He barks out a laugh, his shoulders bouncing with the movement. “You’re like a dog, Ms. Hale. Challenging and stubborn, and completely unwilling to give up a bone no matter how threatening the alternative is.” He looks over my shoulder at Micah, “Wise choice. Life would be dull if you brought home a fuckin’ bore.”
“Charming.” I study the tray of appetizers and reach across to select an olive. I don’t ask permission, and no one offers. I merely help myself and plop the morsel between my lips. “What’s for dinner?”
“Figured we could grill on the patio.” Felix grabs a small knife and stares into my eyes. Taunting. Sinister. Yet, entirely too Malone for me to be afraid. Then, he slices a piece of cheese off the block, places it on a cracker, and offers the lot to Christabelle. “Ms. Cannon and I are partial to a decent steak. I hope you’re not opposed to eating meat.”
“Nope.” I select a thin slice of prosciutto and place it on my tongue. “Steak sounds delicious.”