Chapter 23 #2
“Oh, Rafi.” I reached for his hand and held it so tightly that I almost felt tethered during a time of free fall. “You can say no. This is dangerous.”
Moments ticked by with the pounding of my pulse, but then the grin I loved split his cheeks. “I have a meeting in the city next Wednesday, so another stop won’t be a problem at all. Shall I hear your confession on Thursday, around ten?”
My heartbeat stuttered as I took my next breath. I nodded confirmation of the time he would disclose whatever he found in the box and whispered, “Let the game begin.”
?
“TELL ME AGAIN. Why are you wearing his jacket?”
I glanced away from the menu I couldn’t read to Luca as he strolled the perimeter of the Cantina.
My mouth went dry. He was too handsome for his own good, but his appearance was insignificant when compared to the danger radiating off him with each step he took.
The scar just made him more intriguing, and I wasn’t the only person staring.
But his eyes blinked to mine with an intensity that made everything outside of our connection disappear.
“Hey, Earth to Vivi.” Sam snapped her fingers in front of my face, and my attention averted to her blonde ’fro. “The jacket?”
“He’s fully suited,” I pointed out. Though I refrained from explaining that he borrowed the suit coat from a guy on his team to cover his gun holster. I also didn’t comment on the fact that I had claimed ownership of the one I wore.
“That’s not an explanation,” she insisted.
“It was chilly when we left the house, and he’s a gentleman,” I said, refocusing on the menu. She pushed it down with a manicured nail.
“I’m not sure I believe anyone thinks that man is gentle.”
“He is with me.”
Her brow rose. “And?”
I sipped from my water glass. She nudged me with her foot.
“And we’ve had a lot of time to talk over the last couple of weeks.”
“Talk.” She rolled her eyes. “And?”
“He’s very predictable. Up before six, his shirts are perfectly pressed and wrinkle-free. He does his own laundry, cleans up after himself, and cooks real food.”
“As in edible, the complete opposite of your manicotti.”
“Hey.” I feigned an insult but couldn’t hold back a laugh. “My manicotti was totally fine.”
She groaned and clutched her stomach. “I still have cramps six weeks later, and my gag reflex is broken. Which, by the way, is a real drawback when giving head. Dale has forbidden me from ever eating a Vivienne Cabello original again. But enough about my boyfriend. Let’s talk more about yours.
Sweet baby Jesus. Waiter?” She waved him over to order a double margarita—premium tequila, of course.
One for her, and the other for me. The glasses were the size of a fishbowl, but she wouldn’t hear my protest. “We have a lot to talk about.”
“There’s nothing left to say. Luca’s a great roommate.”
“Roommate, my ass. That man doesn’t just look at you. He gobbles you up and snacks on your heart for breakfast.”
The organ she mentioned fumbled in my chest. “Luca works for the family. I’m his job.”
Her lips pursed while she glared at my bodyguard. He leaned against a brick wall with his arms crossed watching the door, then me. Not conspicuous at all. I rolled my eyes and found Sam’s locked on mine when they refocused.
“Besides,” I said, pausing as the fishbowls arrived. “I’m about to leave.”
“What the fuck, Viv?” She leaned in and whisper hissed, “When? Are you going to Naples?”
“Soon. A week, maybe a little longer.” Just enough time to meet with Rafi and find whatever my mother left for me at the house.
Then I’d use it to get the hell out of dodge.
There was just one problem. A big one that broke my heart in half.
“As much as I’d like to take Luca with me, he’s bound to the business, and I’m going to bargain my way out of it. ”
Her hand fell on the table, clanking dishes. “How in the name of God are you bargaining with Vigo?”
“I may have something that could help with negotiations.”
“Like what? A bazooka?”
I nodded. “Maybe. Yes. Let’s call it a smoking gun—at least I hope it is. I don’t have all the details just yet.”
“But it’s something,” she poked.
I stayed silent, sucking in a long drag of margarita while waiting out her exasperation.
“Fine. Don’t tell me, but this shit sounds risky. Fuck risky—it’s perilous, like jumping from a plane with no parachute. Are you following me? I can’t support this.” Mirroring Luca’s arm stance, she tried to mimic his glare too, but she looked more like a genie in a bottle than a dangerous hit man.
I pushed her shoulder to loosen her up and smiled. “I love you too.”
She blinked away with a glassy-eyed stare. “You know I do, Vivi. I can’t lose you like the rest of my family.”
“Hey. I’m going to figure it out. And trust me, staying alive is my absolute goal.”
“Let me know what I can do to help, you know, with your escape. When, where, whatever you need. I’m there. Deal?”
“Deal.”
We clinked glasses, drank, and ordered queso and guac with fresh tortillas.
Latin pop songs kept a hip-shaking beat beyond the din of voices.
The lunch crowd was boisterous, and so were we.
I laughed until my stomach hurt, and I had no more stories to tell about my ass in Mama’s dresses.
We talked about the camping trip she’s been pushing on me for a year.
How she knew Dale would never propose, even after three years of dating.
Nerd movies followed. Sam had an amazing Sméagol voice that she used while rehashing a story about Dale’s sister, who she swore was just like the creature from The Lord of the Rings.
After an hour, I had to break for the restroom. As soon as I stood up, Luca stepped forward. I motioned where I was headed, but his glare kept me still. Three strides closed the distance between us, and then he bent to my ear. “I’m going with you.”
I appreciated the warmth of his breath and the shiver it created. But no.
“Absolutely not.” Tequila gave me strength to deny him. I pushed him out of the way, rushing to the ladies’ room, where his hand stopped the door from opening.
He hovered behind me, the heat of his body warming mine from my toes to my ear where his lips hovered. I stared at his long fingers and his trimmed, clean nails, wondering what they would feel like digging into my skin. Then reality clouded the daydream.
“This is wrong, Luca. I can pee all by myself. I don’t need you to shove my panties aside.
I take that back—just not in this context.
Definitely not in this context. I’d like to be wooed a little first—a lot, actually.
I like flowers; any kind will do. I also love poems, and if you write them yourself, I’ll memorize every line.
You’ll take me to a carnival with games and a Ferris wheel.
We’ll kiss when the car hits its highest peak, of course.
Of course, we will. You’ll win me a big prize, the biggest they have, and I’ll love it forever because it came from you.
We’ll talk all night, and you’ll tell me everything about you. Like when your birthday is.”
He didn’t move; he didn’t say a word. Only when I danced on my toes and the need to go became uncomfortable did I look him in the eye. But it was his smile that stole my breath.
“Wow,” I whispered. “I like happy Luca.”
His grin grew, breaking a dimple into his left cheek. “And I like when you talk to me.”
“I always talk to you.”
“Not with this kind of freedom, but now I know your kryptonite—booze.”
I swayed on my feet, but it wasn’t from the alcohol. Then I ducked under his arm and maneuvered into the bathroom, where I gave him a parting shot. “Yeah, it’s called a Mancini Manhattan. A Luca Lemon Drop. What’s your middle name? It’ll give me some more ideas.”
But he didn’t enlighten me; he gave me something better. A chuckle. A deep, silky, eye-twinkling rumble. “Five minutes, Vivienne, and then I’m coming in. Make that three.”
I didn’t give him a chance. My business was done in 2.10, and I used the last few seconds to freshen my lip gloss. If I wasn’t high on Luca, I may have paid more attention when I broke through the door with an excited smile and a pounding heart.
A man’s grunt stopped my exit.
Shattering glass straightened my spine.
I cringed and peeked around the door at a tray and its contents littering the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, then bent down to help the waiter clean up the mess I caused.
As I tossed a broken glass stem on the tray, I blinked the scene into focus.
The legs of three men were braced apart and surrounding me, but no one offered to assist. Luca would.
He’d never let me handle razor-sharp shards. God forbid, I cut myself.
I froze.
My pulse stumbled.
Sweat broke out on my brow.
I stood and looked around. Luca’s gun was drawn and pointed at the chest of a waiter turned shooter. His weapon was aimed right at Luca’s heart. A third guy pressed the long nose of a silencer to his temple.
“Don’t,” I pleaded, holding out a hand. “Please don’t hurt him.”
Someone grabbed my neck from behind, pulling me into the hard lines of his body.
I gasped and elbowed my attacker while using Mama’s heels to play Whac-A-Mole with his toes.
He howled and cut off my oxygen. I scraped at the fingers that squeezed my throat.
Luca’s face blurred out of focus, but I clearly heard the dark violence shimmering in his voice.
“Let her go.”
The hand holding me faltered, and I gulped in a breath.
Luca studied me for a second before his vision shifted over my shoulder, and he became someone different.
A man.
My savior.
The monster.