Little Dove (The Lost DeLuca Sisters #3)

Chapter 1

1

AMARA

“Whore.”

Instead of reacting, I close my cash register and move away to sweep off the hair on the floor. From the number of times I’ve completely ignored similar remarks, you would think people would eventually get bored and move on, but they haven’t yet. The insults are practically white noise to me now. Hell, whore is the tamest one of them all. With the way they carry on, I’m surprised they haven’t pinned a scarlet letter on my chest. Then again, that would take guts they don’t have. Instead, they choose to lash out with ugly words and then quickly bury their heads in the sand so they can ignore their own hypocrisy.

“Did you hear me?” the woman snaps. “You think I don’t know that you’re whoring yourself out to any man who gives you the slightest bit of attention? You broke up the Wilsons’ marriage because you slept with her husband and son! The sheriff is going to arrest you, just you wait and see, you fucking whore.” Then, she swipes a small glass jar of candies off the counter. When she storms off, I turn to look at the mess.

I’ve heard all the rumors swirling around the town about me, and all the opinions on what the sheriff will do about them. Not the breaking up a marriage part, of course, but they claim I slept with a minor. A fifteen-year-old boy, to be precise. None of which is true, but this town will do anything to get rid of me.

For the millionth time since I turned eighteen, I wonder if staying here is really a smart idea. I mean, it’s not like I’m having a great life here. I’m an amusement, a popular target for gossip, and vandalism when the mood strikes. I have nothing other than this shop keeping me here, and its hold on me is tenuous at best. Old Man Withers needed the money, and no one else in this tiny town wanted it, so here I am, renting this tiny space—for now, anyway. He clarified that if a better tenant comes along, I’m out on my ass.

Maybe it really is time to move on from Zion, Arizona.

Unfortunately, leaving will take money I don’t have right now. Setting up my shop took everything I’d managed to save by living in the rundown hotel on the edge of town—limiting my meals and walking everywhere. Owning a car is out of the question. I took Driver’s Ed in school and got my license when I turned sixteen, but, hell, it’s been so long, I’m not even sure I remember how to drive anymore.

That’s a problem for another day. I don’t have the funds, or the means, to get out of here yet, which means I’m stuck.

I sweep up the broken glass and wasted candy and return to clean my station. The chair is old, and the mirror has seen some better days, but beggars can’t be choosers when you’re just starting out. Not to mention, it gives the salon an old west appeal that most of the men in town seem to like. The women, not so much, but they’re the ones who come at me the most, so I don’t give a damn.

Hell, I’m surprised Bailey came in. Normally, she goes to the pricier salon on the other side of the town, but when she called this morning asking for a last-minute appointment, I couldn’t turn away the money. I realized what she was up to the minute she walked in, though, I truly hadn’t expected her to smash the jar.

Now she has something to share with her church group and all the PTA moms. Of course, she’ll embellish what she said to me, spinning it to make herself look like the champion. And me? She’ll tell them she left me in a puddle of tears and guilt on the floor.

I put away the broom and look at my books. I have two more cuts today, but neither of them will take long since they’re both men’s. I nearly groan at the name on my next appointment. Shit. I thought I had another couple of days before having to put up with him.

The women in town like to call Ezra Boyd a hunk and a ladies’ man. I call him what he really is: a creep who thinks only with the shriveled-up brain in his pants—not the shriveled-up brain in his head. He leans on his looks, trying to pass himself off as a sweet southern cowboy you can trust to take your daughter out for a good time and have her home by ten o’clock with nothing more than a peck on the cheek.

Little do they know that the very same man they adore is the one who will pressure women into fucking him, and if that doesn’t work—and this is only my suspicion based on what I saw one night when I went to the bar to do the owner’s hair after hours—spike their drinks to get himself exactly what he wants. The women he goes after are getting younger and younger. The last girl I saw him with was barely eighteen.

I should just refuse to cut his hair, but I can’t turn away money. Not if I want to save enough to get out of here.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts when doorbell clangs and Ezra walks in, a sly smile on his face. I can see the appeal, with his blue eyes framed by long, thick lashes, dark brown hair he keeps under a black Stetson at all times, and a wide smile full of straight white teeth. He keeps in good shape, always showing off his physique, wearing tight button downs and jeans. He likes to show off. On his feet are shiny black boots that I figure he has to polish every damn day, considering all the dust around here. They’re certainly not a working man’s shoe.

Then again, Ezra hasn’t worked a day in his life. No, he’s a trust fund baby with more money than sense, and soft, manicured hands. Just like his brother had. Or maybe still does, but I don’t want to go there right now. I need to keep my wits about me.

Smiling politely, I say, “Hey, Ezra. Have a seat.”

He swaggers into the shop, scanning it carefully before sitting in the chair. “How are ya, darlin’?”

We’re a long way from Texas, but it works for him, so I doubt he’ll ever change it.

“Fine, thank you. And you?” I wrap the cape around him swiftly as I take in his hair. This is his second appointment with me this month, which means he’s only come in here to try and flirt his way into my pants, or insult me. We’ll see which one it’s going to be today.

“Well, now, I would be so much better if someone would finally let me take her out,” he says pointedly, giving me a flirtatious smile in the mirror.

“You already know my answer, Ezra.” No fucking way in hell. “Now, are we just doing a trim today?”

His blue eyes darken at my rejection. The man hates being turned down, and every time I do, I know I’m getting closer and closer to his breaking point. A man like him will only take so much before he snaps.

“Yes,” he says, but I don’t miss the way he tracks me in the mirror as I move around to get my clippers, comb, and scissors. “And try not to fuck it up this time, huh, darlin’?” he adds silkily. “I have another lady who’s willing to give me her attention, and I don’t need to look like an idiot when I get there.”

I ignore his dig and get to work. I say nothing as he launches into an endless monologue of town gossip. I simply listen with half an ear, concentrating on not making any mistakes, even though I’m sure he’ll find one. He’ll want an excuse to come back and berate me.

“So I hear you’ve been a busy girl,” he remarks with a wolfish smile.

I don’t stop what I’m doing, but my stomach clenches because I already know where this is going. “How so?” I finish running the clippers around his left ear, brush off his neck, and pull the apron away.

“Oh, well, you’re just the buzz of the town, Marri,” he replies, purposely using the nickname that makes me want to vomit. By sheer will and a decade of practice, I manage to keep my expression blank and the bile down. His eyes are cold and filled with malice as he gets to his feet. “People are saying that you slept with not only Charlie Wilson, but also his boy, Nicholas. Of course, when I first heard that, I thought, no, not our Marri. Surely, she’s learned her lesson from last time. But you know what they say, a leopard doesn’t change its spots, so why wouldn’t a woman who did the same thing over a decade ago not do it again? Or did you think we wouldn’t remember?”

He takes a step toward me, but I stand my ground. Instead, I wrap my hand around the scissors I just set on the counter and say calmly, “You and the rest of this town have the same long memory, Ezra. Just like you also know that these new rumors are nothing more than a distraction to keep the truth from getting out.”

His face twists with anger as he takes another step forward, fisting his hands. “What I don’t understand is why you act all self-righteous around me. You give it away to a married man and his son, but you look at me like I’m shit on your shoe. You’re nothing, Marri. You will remain the unwanted gutter trash that you are.” Then he lashes out and grabs me by the wrist, yanking me forward. I don’t struggle, but I twist the scissors in my hand, ready to strike. “Maybe it’s time I see just what my half-brother and uncle got a taste of, huh?” His grip tightens, and he pulls me closer.

I’m ready to pull my hand up when the bell rings and the shop door opens. I have never been so happy to hear that sound.

“Release her,” a deep, thickly accented Italian voice orders, its force compelling enough that Ezra immediately lets me go.

He spins around with that practiced smile on his face once more. “Hey there,” he says, but then he stills and his smile falters as he takes in the newcomer.

I move around Ezra to get a look at him, but damn, I definitely didn’t have to. The man is a giant. At least six-seven, he barely fits inside the shop. And not only is he tall, but he’s pure muscle. I’m surprised he’s able to wear such a nice suit, because one wrong move might make it explode at the seams. All of that is background noise though, because this man oozes danger, and he has his sights set on Ezra.

Looks like Lazaro Cattaneo, my final appointment for the day, has arrived just in the nick of time. Damn, who knew my guardian angel would come in the form of a giant? Maybe God has a sense of humor, after all.

“Mr. Cattaneo,” I rush to say, deftly tucking my scissors into my pocket. “I’ll be with you in a moment. I just need to get Mr. Boyd checked out.”

His dark eyes shift to me, softening slightly as they take me in. Whoa. Those babies are potent. It’s the kind of look that consumes you completely, and I can only hope he can’t see—or hear—the way my heart races. “Of course,” he says smoothly, stepping further into the shop and moving toward the chair I’ve set near the front for customers to wait in. But I don’t miss the way his gaze stays locked on Ezra, who’s staring at him like Lazaro is a demon from another galaxy, sent to tear him limb from limb. He sits in the chair, and I swear I hear it groan under his weight.

I move swiftly behind the counter and put the total into the register for Ezra. His face is flushed when he turns stiffly toward me. He pays me, deliberately short-changing me, but I say nothing. I don’t want another confrontation. “I’ll see you later, Marri.” There’s a wealth of promise in his voice that puts me instantly on alert. “We have a few more things to clear up, after all.” Then he plasters on his fake smile and turns toward the door.

“Your discussions with her are finished,” Lazaro informs him before he can leave the salon. Ezra freezes, turning his head. “If you touch her, you and I will be meeting again,” he adds, but there is no missing the undertone in those words. Huffing, Ezra stalks out, slamming the door behind him.

I wince as the glass rattles, sure that it’s going to shatter any second, but by some miracle, it stays in place. That’d be the icing on the cake, and Old Man Withers would kick me out for sure. Wouldn’t matter to him the reason or who did it. Not to mention he’d put me on the hook for the repairs, and I can’t take that kind of hit right now.

I turn back to Lazaro who is watching me intently, as if he’s sure I’m about to break into pieces after that. He’d be sorely mistaken, because it takes a lot to break me. I’ve been proving that my entire life.

“Mr. Cattaneo, I’m sorry about that,” I tell him quickly. “Thank you for waiting. If you’d please have a seat, we can get started.” I walk toward him.

He gets to his feet, and I have to crane my neck back to look at him. Damn, he really is big, and being this close to him really drives it home. Instead of moving to my station, he reaches out and takes my arm in his hand, and I freeze.

Oh shit.

I struggle not to panic, wondering how fast I can yank out my scissors before he does whatever he’s planning. Fuck, I shouldn’t have put them in my pocket. Carefully, I turn myself even further toward him, trying to slide my free hand into my pocket.

“No need to stab me, dolcezza ,” he tells me in a low voice, not even looking at me as he inspects my forearm, carefully turning it to reveal the bruises that Ezra left. “I just want to see what that son of a bitch did to mar your skin. He’s lucky I have other pressing needs or I’d have made him pay for every single one.” His gaze finally lifts to mine, and I have to work hard to hide my reaction to his words.

Why is that so hot?

My stomach burns at the thought of just what kind of damage a man like him could do. Especially to someone like Ezra. He might work out, but his muscles don’t hold a candle to the ones this guy is packing.

“Uh, I-I’m fine,” I manage. “He’s just not my biggest fan.”

Lazaro’s eyes narrow slightly. “That does not matter. No man should put his hands on an unwilling woman. Especially not when there are far more pleasurable touches one can give a woman.”

Holy shit, is it getting hot in here or what?

“Well, that will never be happening with Ezra Boyd,” I assure him, pulling my arm free. He lets go, but his eyes stay locked on mine. “But thank you for the timely rescue. It saved me from getting blood on the floor,” I add with a wry smile. I doubt I’d have been able to do much damage, but it would have been enough for me to at least get away. “Would you like to have a seat? Do you know what kind of haircut you’d like?” I gesture toward the chair.

Shit, I still need to clean that up.

“I’m afraid we don’t have time for that, dolcezza ,” he answers, making me turn back to him, confused.

“You’re not here for a haircut?”

Suddenly, glass shatters and screams fill the street as the front door is kicked in, and I’m tackled to the floor. The only thing that keeps me from getting knocked out are the large hands enveloping my head, cushioning me.

What the hell is going on?