7. Luca
SEVEN
LUCA
KYLIE
I t takes him a moment to recover. To accept that I’m really there, and that while it’s true he neglected to lock the door to keep me downstairs, the reason I shouldn’t be upstairs at all is hanging loosely from my grip as I walk toward the nearest window and peek outside.
One look and I confirm my suspicion that I’m not in Springfield any longer. It’s a big city with multiple sectors, but despite the urban, suburban, and crowded downtown areas, there’s one thing that it’s missing: mountains and trees.
What do I see outside the window?
Mountains.
And trees.
There’s more snow up here, too. I can see it weighing down the empty branches, piling up on the dirt path. It must be from an older storm since the fresh tire tracks drove right through the unplowed side yard, allowing me to see the frozen dirt beneath it.
From when he drove me up here? Probably.
But why?
I thought I’d get a bullet in the back of my head. Instead, I’m in a small house, cabin-type thing, up on a snowy mountain at Christmas, with a good looking guy who is holding a decidedly un-mafia-like weapon as though he’s never carried before.
Revolver, obviously. Another glance clocks it as a .22 caliber. Guns aren’t my weapon of choice—not when they’re so fucking easy —but I know my snub-nosed revolves. Mainly because they’re some of the most common types of concealed carries, and I need to know if my targets are hiding weapons on them, but either way, I’m pretty sure he has a Ruger LCR.
He’s pointing it down. I swallow my snort. Amateur. In my line of work, you learn quickly that, if you’re holding a gun, you better be prepared to use it. Pointing it at the floor? What is he going to do? Shoot straight into the basement while I’m standing by the window?
Please. I could disarm him and have him kissing his own gun in less than ten seconds if he’s going to keep it at his side like that.
Even better, he has no idea.
His forehead is furrowed into thick lines. The dark circles under his eyes seem to shadow them, darkening the shade of his green irises. He probably only just dozed off when my sudden appearance woke his ass up. Me, on the other hand? I’ve been out for a good six or seven hours at least considering it’s not dark outside any longer. It’s morning, and it’s time to face what today will bring.
It takes him a few moments to recover, but it takes me even longer to realize that he’s staring at me like that because he doesn’t know what to make of me. And while I often have that effect on people, in this situation, I’m not acting anything like he probably expected me to.
The driver looks like he expects me to start sobbing in terror. At the very least, I should be freaking out. Right? Maybe demanding to know where I am, what’s going on, and what he’s going to do with me… but I didn’t.
Oopsie.
Is it too late to conjure a tear or two?
Ah, well. I shake the chain. “Since these didn’t do shit, you think you can take them off?”
While he just gapes at me, I give him a once over. I’m pretty sure he was wearing a black jacket before. A suit jacket? Probably. He has on a long-sleeved button down shirt, a pair of black suit pants, and matching black sneakers. The shirt fits him well. Not only does it show off his long, lean build, but a tiny silver key is hanging off of a thin chain looped around his slender neck.
I point at it. “Is that the key? Please. This is just annoying.”
Instead of reaching up for the necklace, he dips his hand into his pants pocket. He pulls out three sets of keys: one smaller than the key hanging off his neck, one a little larger, and a car key.
He selects the second key, disappears the others, then walks over to me.
So the one on his neck isn’t for the chains. For the handcuffs, then? Or is that the smaller one he pulled out of his pocket?
And if it is, why is he wearing a key around his neck?
I want to know, but I want this stupid shackle off me more so I just stick out my boot and wait.
Without a word, he bends down, jamming the key into the shackle. He wiggles it around, the shackle pops open, and I let the links hit the floor.
I could use my elbow to power-drive him right next to the chains. Before he even face-planted, it would be child’s play to snatch his gun out of his waistband and shoot him with his own bullets. That gun holds eight rounds. I’d only need one to kill him.
Only… I don’t want to. Not yet, at least.
Not until I know what exactly is going on.
As if he finally realizes that I’m still out of the loop, he lifts his head so that he can look at me. His eyes search my face, and when he’s done, he pushes his body easily from the floor. His hands are empty again as he holds them up, as though showing me he’s unarmed and harmless now that he tucked his gun away.
Let’s see him shoot himself in the ass. ‘Cause that’ll be even more fun…
“Okay. Let’s get the obvious out of the way,” he says, and I’m momentarily struck by how warm and soothing his voice is. At first glimpse, I thought he might actually be a year or two younger than me. Hearing his voice from outside of the car, I adjust that to him actually being a little older . Twenty-seven, maybe, or twenty-eight. He has a bit of a baby face about him, like me, but that’s a man’s voice, and I respond to it more than I should. “Devil just needs your word that you won’t squeal. Okay? You didn’t see anything.”
Oh. Right. I got myself captured by a mafia man because I happened to be there right as his boss blew away one of the most powerful politicians in Springfield.
I figured that’s what happened. And now he wants me to believe that all I have to do is cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye-pinkie promise that I’ll be a good girl and keep my mouth shut about what I saw?
Where would the fun be in that?
Poor guy. He has to know that it would never be as easy as that. Why else has he gone to all this trouble to relocate me to the fucking mountains if the first impression I gave him was of someone who would snitch at first chance?
I mean, what kind of innocent bystander would I be if I didn’t let him be the big, bad villain he wants me to think he is?
Now, I don’t know what his deal is. Not really. However, I’m a pro at reading people. Always have been. One look at Lincoln Crewes and I knew he’d kill me, then step over my corpse if I collapsed in his path.
But his driver? He’s different.
When I look at him, I’m not looking at a killer—but he currently is when he looks at me imploringly like that.
Hell. Already I can think of three ways to incapacitate him, then eliminate him. The fireplace isn’t on, but there’s a fire poker propped on top of the mantel. He’d never expect me to attack him, so if I dove for his knees, I could probably get him on his back with the chain wrapped around his throat before he even knew it. That flower planter on the small table by the window looks heavy enough to brain someone.
And that’s not counting what a dose of strychnine could do…
He doesn’t see a killer, though. He seems a victim.
For now, I’ll give him one.
I bat my lashes, giving my foot an experimental shake now that the chains are off. I didn’t realize how much it all weighed until the shackle was gone, and remembering how I felt when I first woke up to discover it on me, I look over at him and say, “A good citizen would report she was a witness to a murder. She’d go straight to the cops.”
“There are no good citizens in Springfield. No good cops, either.”
He’s not wrong about that.
He also keeps looking at me as if he expects me to lose it, especially when he says in a surprisingly apologetic tone, “Then it looks like you’ll be staying here with me until you give me a different answer.”
Yup. Figured that out, too. Not that it was hard. The cuffs and the chains were pretty much a neon sign that said ‘sit down and stay a while’.
No wonder why he’s still gauging my mood after his pronouncement. He basically just admitted his intention of locking me in this cabin of his after abducting me in Springfield, all to protect his boss. I should be pleading for my freedom, not shrugging and acting like I couldn’t care less.
I know why he’s surprised. Earlier, I played the innocent, airheaded ingenue as I babbled at him, trying to distract him long enough to get an idea of where Devil and Collins were, and what exactly was going on behind the Blockbuster.
I blame Ronnie. Guy wanted to get his dick wet so badly, he interrupted me while I was eavesdropping on those two Sinners. I heard enough to know that the Devil of Springfield and the vice mayor were meeting up, but I had no idea that it was an ambush—or that only one of those men was walking away from it alive.
Now that I’m here, I see no reason to keep up the act. He stole Kylie.
He gets Kylie.
Only… he has no idea that I am Kylie, and he proves that when the next question out of his mouth is:
“What’s your name?”
Does he honestly believe I’m going to tell him that?
There’s a reason why I left any and all ways to identify me back at the hotel. It sucks that my phone’s there, too, but at least I was smart enough to ditch the fake ID on me before I approached the shiny black town car. Even if one of the Sinners goes back to sweep the area, the most they’ll find is a counterfeit New York State driver’s license with my picture and the name Beth Maroney on it.
When it hits him that I’m not going to answer him, he frowns. “You don’t know your name?”
“Oh. I do. But I’m not letting you know what it is.”
The frown cuts a deep line into his handsome features. “Why not?”
I shrug. “You have to work for it.”
Again, probably not what he was expecting from the chick he met tonight, but the sooner he understands that I’m not going to be as easy to control as he thinks, the better.
He wants me here? As long as he doesn’t actually try to point that gun in my direction, I’m okay with that. I’ll stick around, see exactly what he plans to do with me because I decide what to do with him , but it’s definitely won’t be easy .
Poor guy. He doesn’t get that.
Yet.
He pulls a lazy smile to his face, and damn, he’s even more adorable than before. “My name is Michael. You can call me Mike, if you want.”
My lips twitch. “You’re cute, but you’re also lying.”
His smile falters. “What?”
I purposely make my voice as low as I can, mimicking Lincoln Crewes’s deep voice. “‘Put her in the trunk, Luca’.” I switch back to mine as I say sweetly, “That ring any bells?” I wait a beat. “Luca.”
“Fuck. You heard that?”
Oh, yeah. I did.
“Delayed reaction on whatever you gave me, I guess. I had a good five minutes after to panic wildly before I blissfully went under. Thanks for that.”
Luca has the decency to be a little ashamed. “I was trying to keep you calm.”
“Before that other guy killed me?”
And there it is. I just put it out there—and he doesn’t deny it.
Instead, he says, “I got the boss to let me watch over you. To explain why it’s in your best interest to keep quiet. That’s all he’s asking. That’s all Devil wants.”
And what about Luca? He wants to be a tough guy, I’m thinking. Maybe he is. Rolling around with the Devil of Springfield… only a real Sinner would be that close to the head of the syndicate. Driving him around? Waiting in the car while he meets with shady vice mayors… he’s gotta be trusted.
Yet, here he is. Here I am.
And I’m pretty sure he’s my baby-sitter.
My mistake. I took him for the help. A hired chauffeur and nothing else. Whatever role he plays in his gang, I guess watching over loose-lipped witnesses is one of them.
I know one thing: Devil wouldn’t have left me alive. For all those rumors that he’s lost his edge after his kid was born, I doubt it. He didn’t hesitate to off Collins tonight, and I can only imagine what the vice mayor did to sign his death warrant.
Did Devil find out that Johnny Winter had every intention of taking over Springfield in the new year, no matter what it took? That the Snowflakes hadn’t given up on expanding their territory at all?
Maybe, but that’s the least of my problems. Because of the contract I took on, signed by Winter himself, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
But I’m alive because of Luca—and I can use that.
I have to bite the corner of my lip to keep my smile from widening.
Holy shit. This is going to be so much fun!
“Want to play checkers?” I ask.
“Excuse me?”
“Checkers,” I repeat. “You know the game. Black and red pieces. You jump them, then say ‘king me’? I love checkers. Or,” I add, drawing his attention to the television opposite of the couch, “we can see what’s on. I don’t know if there’s cable up here in the boonies, but if there’s a TV, there’s gotta be something to watch.”
Luca lifts his hand, swiping the back of it over his mouth. “You want to watch TV with me? You’re not going to beg me to bring me ”
“I could if you want me, too. Do you?”
“Not really.”
“That’s what I thought. I mean, you obviously went to a lot of trouble to get me here. I can’t imagine you’re going to let me go. Not when you’re sure I’m going to run to the first police station I can find and tell the whole world that the head of the Sinners Syndicate is a merciless murderer.”
Can he tell I’m being a smart-ass? I’m not so sure, but to really lay it on thick, I shrug my shoulders. “What would happen then? I’m supposed to stay. So if I try to leave and you try to stop me, I get a bullet in my skull courtesy of the gun in your pants?”
“I’d rather not have to do that.”
Somehow, I figured.
Soft touch. Are they kidding? They kidnapped me and stuck me with a soft touch for a babysitter. If it was me, if I’d chained Luca up in the basement, but he broke free, then scared the shit out of me by throwing open the door? I would’ve shot first, asked questions later.
Of course, I’m a fucking amazing shot. I’d be asking a dead man those questions so I wouldn’t be getting any answers, but still. I would’ve reacted way differently than Luca did.
He’s insistent that I’m staying with him. Luca. A good-looking guy. A secluded mountain hideaway that could easily get snowed-in at any moment.
A pair of cuffs and an empty cot in the basement where no one would hear me scream…
Hmm.
“So… checkers? Yes? No?”
His mouth works, but nothing comes out for a moment. He recovers again, quicker this time, though all he can do is remind me that, “This isn’t my cabin. I don’t know if they have checkers here.”
Pity.
“Okay. No checkers. Got it. Anything to eat? I’m feeling a little peckish.”
Luca winces.
I’m thinking that’s a ‘no’ on the food sitch, too.
Glancing down, I pluck at the t-shirt beneath my leather jacket. “What about clothes? You don’t want me going anywhere to turn in your boss. I’d rather not have to wear the same underwear day after day if I don’t have to.”
“Clothes,” he echoes in a strangled voice.
I sigh. “Not too prepared to keep a woman captive, are you?”
Luca swallows roughly. “I can honestly say this was not how I planned on my night going when the boss said he needed a ride.”
Huh. I guess not.
Taking a little pity on him, I say, “Size large top. Ten in jeans.” I caress the curve of my ass, and Luca’s nostrils flare. “Large in panties, too. And if you wanna splurge for a couple of bras, size 36C.”
His gaze immediately drops to my chest. I’m not surprised. He’s probably looking at my tits and trying to match that to the bra size I gave him. I mean, I practically invited him to gawk at my cleavage.
And maybe I did it on purpose. If I’m stuck here, it’ll make the time go that much faster if my captor can be manipulated by sex. Something about the way he’s hesitant around me even though he’s supposed to be the one in control tells me that he’s at least attracted.
I can use that, too.
“If I need anything else,” I add, moving near enough to him that I can pat him on the hard chest, “I’ll make sure to tell you.”
Luca freezes under my touch. I can’t tell if that’s a good or bad reaction, but I take my hand back, pretending not to notice it all.
“So your name,” he says after a moment, obviously still stuck on that. What is he? A stickler for introductions or something? “Does it start with a H?”
Maybe he is, but he’s also so damn adorable.
Like he didn’t see my ‘H’ tat in the web of my hand when he was putting those cheap-ass cuffs on me. If he wanted to restrain me, he needed standard issue police cuffs, not the shit you get for 3.99 at Walmart. Even kinky, furred cuffs would’ve been better, though my last ex would verify that I could break free of those with enough motivation.
What would he say if I told him I got the tattoo after the first time I dropped a hummingbird crystal figurine at the feet of the first contract I took? That it would be a real noob move to ink the actual bird on my skin, but a tiny ‘H’? Who would ever know?
Not Luca.
“Nope.” I make another display of looking around. “You work on getting me some clothes. Until then, I’ll just have to stick with these. But a shower… I want one of those. Please tell me there’s hot running water up here.”
“Um. Yeah. Actually, there’s a bathroom in the basement. You get your own bed, your own room, and your own bathroom.”
I give him an appraising look. “Okay. Maybe you’re a little more prepared than I thought. Good. And I hope there’s enough hot water otherwise you’ll be shivering when you wash up.” I pause for a moment. “You are going to be the one staying here with me, right?”
He hesitates for a moment. “Until Devil relieves me or tells me to come home, I’ll be here.”
Translation: until the Devil of Springfield decides I’m too much trouble and orders his driver to use that Ruger against me.
Nah. That’s not going to happen. And if it does…
Well. Playtime will be over for Kylie. Until then?—
“You want to join me?” I ask him.
“Join you?” I swear to fucking God, the heights of his cheeks turn pink . “You mean, in the shower?”
I shrug. “Sure.”
His hand falls behind him, landing on the butt of his gun. “No. I… no. I don’t think so.”
Me, neither, but didn’t stop me from asking—or seeing what I can get away with so far.
I wink over at Luca. “Worth a shot, ace.”
The quick flash of relief on his face switches to a look of confusion. “Ace?”
“Yeah. I don’t know. It suits you. You mind?”
He shakes his head, and proving that my read on him is spot-on, he asks, “And what do I call you?”
I laugh, moving toward the open door that leads to the basement. He tightened up when I took my first step, as though he expected me to break for the front entrance, only relaxing when I behaved like the perfect captive by crawling back to my hole.
Though he does frown a little when I tell him: “Nice try, but you still haven’t earned it.”
Then, pausing on the first step, I curl my fingers around the door so that I can look over my shoulder at Luca. “Don’t forget to lock the door behind me. Wouldn’t want your captive to escape.”
Then, releasing my hold, I waggle my fingers at Luca, holding my giggle back until I tug the door behind me and start down the stairs.
Only after I hear the tell-tale snick that he took my advice do I let it out.
Yup.
I was right.
This is definitely gonna be quite entertaining.