Remy

13. Remy

REMY

Fractured murmursof their conversation reach me at the door. A heartfelt apology. A whispered plea.

The part that hits me the hardest? He’s a good man.

Carlo is the only person who believes that. Not even my mother would agree, and she knew me before the Grim Reaper was born.

But despite the situation we’re in, the last six months have made me reciprocate that admiration.

Carlo is a good guy. Full of heart, yet oddly pragmatic.

He only wants what’s best for his daughter, and given the respect he’s stolen from me since this arrangement was made, I’m inclined to help him achieve his goals.

Ollie glances over her shoulder at me, her face pale.

Clearly she disagrees with her old man’s assessment of me. With reason. Too bad she’s going to have to get over it, and quick. My patience is wearing thin.

“Are you done?” I ask, harsher than necessary.

Anger flares in those pretty eyes.

“Yes.” Carlo nods with an appeasing smile. “Take care of my girl for me.”

“I’ll do my best.” I jerk my chin toward the door, wordlessly telling Ollie to get her ass moving.

Carlo doesn’t approve of me tailing her. He made that blatantly known when we texted earlier. But his daughter’s desire to run to the cops can’t be ignored. And someone exhausted and suffering from cancer isn’t the right person to sprint after her if she finally makes that move.

So I’m stuck in the ring for now.

Ollie starts for the door.

“Liv, wait.” Her dad stops her a few feet from me. “I’d like to keep my health issues between us. Please don’t tell Ivy or Allison.”

The request furrows her brow, her nose wrinkling.

I clench my jaw, beating back unwanted sympathy.

Then she gives an abrupt nod and continues outside, leaving me to incline my head in farewell to Carlo and follow her back down to the lower level.

I don’t say a word as she takes her sweet time tidying up her shit. She needs to adjust to her father’s deception. To figure out how she’s going to handle my presence in her home. So I bite my tongue even though I’m starving and equally fucking fatigued.

More than an hour later we walk out of there, the sun already starting its descent, the cold of late winter clouding the air whenever I breathe.

I drive her home in silence.

It isn’t until I turn into her street that she breaks the quiet with a hearty “I’ll never trust you.”

It’s not the usual way to thank someone for not killing them, but I’ll take it as a win that she’s initiated conversation.

“As devastating as that is, I’m going to work hard to get over it.” I park across the road from her quaint cape cod home, not wanting to risk her safety if my Bentley is recognized in her drive. “Your father trusts me. That should be good enough for you for now.”

“My father is obviously suffering mentally as well as physically.” She yanks off her seatbelt. “You’re taking advantage of a sick man.”

She shoves her door open with a huff and climbs out to stalk for her drive.

I sigh.

Where the fuck is she finding the energy for this animosity?

I cut the ignition, and yet again, follow after her, catching up as she strides along her garden path to the three stairs leading to her small porch.

I’m an asshole, so when she stops to unlock her door I stand closer than necessary, breathing in that intoxicating strawberry scent.

As soon as the door is swung wide, she turns on me.

“Wait here.” She glowers, then escapes inside.

My dumb ass complies.

How this woman gained power over me is astounding. But I really need to get a handle on that shit. And still, I stand out in the cold for seconds that tick into minutes.

Finally she returns, her arms filled with electrical devices—two tablets, an Echo speaker, and a laptop.

“There.” She shoves them against my chest. “That’s every form of contact I have with the outside world.” She digs into her pants pocket as I juggle the unwanted gifts, then adds her cell to the top of the precarious pile. “You can check if you like, but you’re not staying inside. If you’re worried I’ll do something stupid, the risk will only increase if I don’t have space to come to terms with what’s happened. I’ve had enough people-ing for one day. I need time to think.”

She’s adamant. Her posture carved from the toughest stone. Yet her hands quaver at her sides. Her eyes plead instead of demand.

She’s beautifully daring in spite of her fear.

What I wouldn’t give to drop the weight in my arms and yank her against me. To eviscerate her hostility by slamming my mouth on hers.

I clear the tightness from my throat. “That’s some set of balls you’ve?—”

“My father trusts me. That should be good enough for you for now.” She throws my words back at me, then slams the door in my face.

Perfect.

Just fucking perfect.

I’m the murderous motherfucker in this equation, and still, despite the odds, she’s the one who’s calling the shots.

A humorless laugh escapes me, the pile of devices growing heavy in my hands.

This goddamn fucking woman.

I swear to hell she does unnatural things to me. And it’s not just the unruly reaction from my dick.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ollie,” I yell through the door. “I’ll grant you some space. For now. But my lenience won’t last.”

There’s no reply. Not even another slammed door or hissed rebuttal. The house falls deathly quiet.

It’s too fucking cold for this shit.

I swing around to face the yard with a growl.

This never should’ve fucking happened. Who the hell stays at work overnight? Especially when their place of business houses dead goddamn bodies?

My cell vibrates in my pocket, inspiring another growl.

I drag my feet from Ollie’s porch like the unintentionally whipped psycho I am and dump her shit in my trunk before sinking into the driver’s seat.

It’s no surprise the message is from my brother.

Salvo

Where are you?

Me

I’m taking the weekend off. Stop riding my ass.

The three little dots of his impending reply pop up, then disappear.

I should call him. Should tell him I’m not a little bitch who needs to check in, but I’m starting to itch for a fight, and having it out with the unhinged dictator won’t help this situation when lack of sleep has my wits at an all-time low.

Instead, I stare at Ollie’s house, cursing that night at the godforsaken dive bar.

Three of us had watched her walk inside—me, Russo, and Valenti—all of us spaced throughout the building to keep watch on my brother’s meeting in the back booth.

I’d recognized her instantly thanks to the background check Salvo had arranged on the Pelosi family. Had known a complication was about to potentially fuck with the diabolical partnership my brother had been exceptionally proud of nurturing to fruition.

I’d wondered if Carlo had been stupid enough to tell his daughter about the meeting. If she’d arrived in a vain attempt to stop the illegal negotiation.

The only thing I’d known for sure was that the photos in the background file hadn’t done her justice.

She was beautiful, her dark hair braided in some sort of whimsical artistry that only increased the appeal of her wide, innocent eyes and plush, glossy lips.

Both my men had stood to take action. All it took was a glared warning to seat them back in place.

I wanted to be the one to approach her. To shut down whatever plan she had to derail our success. So I placed myself in her path, waited for her to slam into me, then lost all commonsense when those hazel eyes met mine.

All I’d needed to do was figure out her motive and distract her.

I’d done both.

But touching her? That had been a mistake. I can’t forget the softness of her skin. The goddamn moisture between her thighs.

Ollie Pelosi is a clueless temptation—one that’s pure as snow, with her fucking hymen still intact.

I glare at her house, waiting for her to turn on a light and give me insight into her activities.

She needs to eat. To shower. To keep occupied.

Yet there’s no movement. No glow from behind the curtains.

“Fuck this.” I grab my coat from the backseat and climb from the car, convincing myself I’m performing a perimeter check when what I’m really doing is trying to get eyes on her again.

I scan the front windows as I stalk the drive, my head hung low in case she’s got nosy neighbors. I listen for movement as I pass the left side of the house and continue into the backyard.

The garden is bathed in twilight, the few trees and shrubs casting dark shadows over the lawn.

I slow my stride along the back of the house and yank on my coat, the chill seeping into my bones. Still, I hear nothing. See nothing. No cries or hiccupped sobs. No flicker of illumination or twitch of drapes.

I turn down the far side of the building, stalking between the vinyl siding and the chin-high pale fence to her neighbor’s yard. When I reach the glass sliding door to her laundry, I pause.

Again, there’s no movement from inside.

Salvo will fucking kill me if he finds out I’ve been playing Russian roulette with our lives all because of a pretty face.

I return to the Bentley, pull out my cell, and distract myself from my building temper by making phone calls.

I lay down the law with Russo and Valenti.

I chat with my sister and niece.

I even dial Salvatore’s number and pretend my drunken ass is out trolling to get laid instead of being the sober fuck who’s freezing his balls off while staking out a woman who makes me dispense more wood than a lumber mill.

Still, no movement.

Did she go to bed? Is she curled up on the sofa crying? Is she the type to self-harm?

Fuck.

I scrub a hand over the back of my neck and stare at those front windows for another ten minutes, my pulse thrumming in my ears.

I clench my way through ten more, my stomach growling in both hunger and frustration.

This damn fucking woman.

If she hurts herself I’ll…

I shove from the car yet a-fucking-gain.

I follow the path I made earlier—through the carport and into the backyard. I listen at every window, attempting to spy through curtains. To listen at doorjambs.

When I reach the laundry, I test the handle to the glass sliding door only to find it locked.

“I should’ve killed you and saved myself the trouble,” I snarl under my breath.

I turn, determined to pound on the front door until she answers when a bright light blinds me from over the pale fence.

Shit. I squint, shielding my eyes with one arm as I reach behind my back for my gun with the other.

“Don’t move,” an elderly female voice calls.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

“I have a weapon,” the crone croaks. “And I’ve already called the police.”

Fuck my fucking life.

“I’m not an intruder.” I continue gliding my right hand beneath my coat, then my suit jacket, splaying my other palm in placation. “I’m doing a welfare check on Ollie.”

“Ollie?” She scoffs. “That girl hasn’t been called Ollie in the three years I’ve known her. Now move away from her door before an arthritic spasm has me mistakenly pulling the trigger.”

Of all the fucking ways to die, I will not be taken out by a senior citizen.

“Lady, I’m no threat.” I chance a glance around my raised hand, blinding myself with the flashlight the old crow has lasered on my eyeballs. “Olivia had a hard day. I wanted to check on her.”

“By snooping around her house? You don’t think I’ve been watching? That I haven’t seen you spying on her from your car for over an hour?”

A light flicks on from Ollie’s laundry, a familiar silhouette approaching the sheer curtains covering the glass door. She pulls the material aside, a fucking goddess in light pink winter pajamas with her hair loose and wavy around her cheeks. She squints against the glow and lowers her gaze, her attention snagging on the grip I have on my gun.

Horror bleeds into her features.

“Lesley,” she yells through the door, quickly unlocking it and pulling it wide. “It’s okay. I know him.”

The old bat averts the flashlight’s beam to my chest. “Did you also know he’s been prowling around your yard like a peeping tom?”

“I wasn’t prowling,” I snarl.

“It’s okay,” Ollie repeats, stepping close to discreetly glide her hand beneath my coat, her warm touch attempting to ply my grip from the gun. “I know him. We, ahh…” She winces. “We’re friends.”

“Friends?” the fossil asks, dubious as fuck.

“Yes.” Ollie’s fingers dig under my palm. “This is, ahh… the guy I told you about. The one from the bar.”

I raise a brow, my homicidal mood interrupted.

She told her neighbor about me?

All I get in return is a pointed glance, the stare pleading.

“The handsome one?” Lesley trains the light back on my face. “Who curled your toes but never gave you his number?”

Ollie winces.

She did tell the old witch about me.

The knowledge has an unhealthy amount of blood rushing to my dick.

I grin through my squint, releasing my gun to grasp her wrist and drag her into me. I use the proximity as a silent threat but also to keep her warm. Those pajamas can’t be giving her much protection from the cold, and her thin socks are an invitation for frostbite.

“I never said he curled my toes.” Ollie places her palms against my chest, attempting to maintain distance. “Could you please turn off the flashlight before we’re permanently blinded?”

The crone harrumphs, the illumination vanishing with a soft click. “So why didn’t you give her your number?”

“Lesley,” Ollie chastises.

“For good reason.” I stare down at her, my fingers itching to guide the unruly locks of her hair behind her ears. I’m not sure if she’s showered, but she’s removed the remnants of her makeup, her skin now flawlessly dewy. “I didn’t give her my number because my life is problematic.”

I hold her gaze, hating how her eyes harden.

“Yet now you’re here?” Lesley questions.

“Yes.” I keep the bitterness from my tone. “Now I’m here.”

“…snooping around her house,” she adds.

For fuck’s sake.This living history lesson isn’t going to let up.

“I told you I wasn’t snooping.” I turn my attention over the fence, the squinted eyes of the old relic meeting mine.

She can’t be a day under three hundred and seventy-five, her skin like crinkled wrapping paper, her grey hair pulled back into a thin pony.

“Well, tell your story to the police, because they’re on their way.”

“No.” Ollie pushes harder against my chest. “You need to call them back. Tell them they don’t need to come. It’s a waste of resourc?—”

“It’s too late.” The old woman shrugs. “Look, they’re already here.”

The faint glow of red and blue blinks across her face from the front yard, the colors growing more adamant with the sound of an approaching car.

Lesley treks a few steps toward the imminent threat, the crunch of grass carrying from the other side of the fence.

Fury prickles my veins.

I drag Ollie closer into me, her body stiffening as I lean in to nuzzle her cheek.

“Be on your best behavior,” I whisper. “Naughty girls get punished.”

Her spine straightens. “And what if everyone realizes I’d have better taste than to spend time with someone like you?” she murmurs under her breath.

There she goes with that animosity again. It’s such an inopportune time to be turned on.

“Then people will die, my pretty little pyro, and you’ll be responsible.”

“Over here,” Lesley calls out. “Come this way.”

I grasp Ollie’s hips and turn her toward the path leading to the front of the house, my chest settled against her back. Then I grab my gun and point it against her ass.

Her breathing hitches.

“Just an FYI, your body is fucking flawless.” I slide my free hand around her waist to splay across her belly. “But that’s not my cock digging into your ass.”

She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even move as Lesley continues to call for the cops.

“Such a good girl.” I nuzzle her hair, dragging her scent deep into my lungs. “Stay quiet and this will all go away.”

Another flashlight approaches, the bright illumination slicing around the building and slashing my eyeballs.

Ollie flinches.

I tighten my hold on her.

“We had a report of a suspected intruder,” a man states in a heavy Boston accent.

I keep my gaze averted, my jaw tight. “It was a false alarm.”

“Apparently,” Lesley mumbles.

The flashlight is dimmed and lowered, the silhouette of two officers coming into view near the front of Ollie’s house.

“It’s my fault.” I paste on a charming smile. “I wanted to check on Olivia but also didn’t want to disturb?—”

“He was snooping around her yard,” Lesley talks over me. “Peering in her windows and watching the house from his car parked across the street.”

“The Bentley is your vehicle, sir?” a young, male voice asks.

“It is. Is that a problem?” If only they’d lower the spotlight farther I’d be able to see their faces.

Ollie makes to step away, but I increase the pressure of my hold, a subtle growl vibrating from my throat.

She sucks in a breath. “Please, officers, I… I can’t take much more of this.”

What the fuck is she doing?

I press the gun harder into her back, my pulse thunderous.

“I’ve had the worst day.” Her voice fills with emotion.

“Did he hurt you?” the crone asks. “Tell us what he did.”

I dig the gun harder. Press my hand tighter. “Careful,” I whisper into her hair.

She slides her palm over my knuckles and digs her nails into my skin. “He?—”

The flashlight reclaims my vision, cutting Ollie off with a flinch.

“Is that you, Mr. Costa?” the younger voice asks. “It took me a minute to recognize you.”

“And you are?” I blink through squinted eyes.

“Sorry, sir. I’m Officer Hawkins. We’ve met before.”

“You hear that, Ollie?” I murmur against her ear. “He’s on the payroll.”

“Let her finish,” Lesley demands. “Can’t you see she’s under duress? I’ve known her for three years, and not once have I seen her act like this. I’m telling you, that man is responsible.”

“That’s not the case.” I keep my tone level. “Olivia has already explained that we’re friends.”

Ollie remains quiet, her breaths increasing. She wants to sing. Does she have the balls?

“Miss?” the Boston accent asks. “Can you tell us what you were going to say?”

She shakes her head.

“He’s crowding her,” Lesley demands. “Tell him to step away.”

“She’s cold,” I snarl.

Fuck. If I’m forced to move, Ollie will run, and this shit show will turn into a slaughter scene.

“Fix this,” I murmur under my breath. “Now.”

She clings to her silence, letting me drown in a disaster of my own making.

“I swear to God, Ollie?—

“Lesley, please just stop,” she finally pleads. “This isn’t about Remy. It’s my dad. He had a fall last night and was taken to hospital.”

Something warm and expansive takes over my chest. Relief? Victory?

“Good girl,” I breathe.

She shudders, and my dick twitches as if her response was made in pleasure and not disgust.

“It’s been a heartbreaking twenty-four hours.” She shifts her hips away from mine. “I didn’t realize until I arrived at Johns Hopkins that he’s been battling cancer. He’s even had chemo without telling me. It’s a whole big mess that I’m struggling to get my head around.”

“Oh, Liv.” Lesley awkwardly peers over the fence. “I’m so sorry, dear.”

Ollie’s hand slides from mine, her arms wrapping around her middle. “Remy was checking on me because I didn’t take the news well. I swear, there’s nothing inappropriate happening. You can even call the hospital to confirm. My father—Carlo Pelosi—spent the night in the oncology ward.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, miss.” Boston turns off his flashlight, his short, pudgy silhouette exposed in the moonlight beside his taller, leaner partner a foot to his left. “But I appreciate the clarification. I’m happy to write this off as a misunderstanding and let you get out of the cold if you’re certain you’re okay.”

“I’m sure I will be.” Her tone is flat. Unconvincing.

“Don’t worry, officers.” I glide my weapon into the front of my waistband and discreetly reposition my suit jacket. “I’ll make sure she’s all right.”

She straightens her shoulders, the light from the laundry casting her rebellious shadow across the fence in simplistic beauty.

She despises me. Loathes me.

Why is that such a fucking turn-on?

“Come on, Ollie.” I direct her toward the glass door. “It’s time for me to take care of you.”

She pivots, her panicked eyes meet mine, and it’s clear this mesmerizing pain-in-my-ass understands the double entendre.