FORTY
Gigi
The interior of my apartment is light and airy. The kitchen units are a fraction lighter than cream, and the tiled floors are a speckled beige, uplifting the space with enticing brightness.
Yet when a hard knock pounds on my door, everything feels dark.
I pull the duvet cover over my head, hoping to conceal the noise, but the sound only resumes. With a grunt, I exit the bed and trudge towards the door.
As I unlock the deadbolt my intruder storms past me. I sigh heavily at Harry’s presence.
“What are you doing here?”
He’s dressed in formalwear like he hasn’t changed his clothes since last night. But this is a fresh suit – I can tell. It’s perfectly pressed, and there’s not a line or a crease on his white shirt despite his biceps struggling to accommodate the material.
Harry’s eyes travel over my body, making me feel as if I’ve been dipped in fire. His green-eyed stare is intense. It’s as if he can see through my silk pyjama co-ord, and my nipples pebble underneath the fabric at the thought. I cross my arms over my chest, hoping to deter his gaze.
“We have a long day ahead of us,” he says.
His intense stare causes me to squeeze my thighs together. He notices the slight change in my posture, and a groan vibrates off his chest as his eyes darken, finally finding mine. At the reminder of what happened with Leroy, I turn away.
Whether or not I trust Harry not to snoop through my belongings, there’s not much I can do to prevent it since I need to change. Thankfully, it doesn’t take me long to shower, and make myself look presentable. The warm weather has me choosing a light, airy dress.
When I walk the hallway from my bedroom to my new living space, my gun isn’t where I left it on the coffee table. Senses heightened, I turn quickly, only to find Harry turning the weapon over in his hands.
“Present from Daddy?” he asks.
“What are you – twelve?” I snatch it back from him, keeping the trigger aimed low despite how much I want to knock him over the head with it. “And besides, I’m very grateful.”
His ringtone pierces the silence. He slips his phone from his pocket, propping it between his head and shoulder. “Hello?”
I double-check the Glock’s safety is on before slipping it into the holster. Then I pick up my earrings from the tray table and turn to Harry as I fasten them into my ears.
“Put it on speaker,” I mouth.
He obliges, setting the phone on the table.
“… and Bobby from last night?” the Boss asks.
Harry says, “Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“The twins, Harry. You haven’t seen the twins?”
He purses his lips as if deep in thought then shakes his head. “Definitely not. I don’t know any twins. Sorry I couldn’t be any more help.”
A mumbled curse crackles through the phone speaker before Richard asks, “Are you with, Gigi?”
“I’m here,” I tell him .
“All missions a go today? Apologies that I couldn’t have given you a bit more notice – I was a little preoccupied last night.”
I shiver internally. “Absolutely fine. We’re just about to leave now since it’s a long road ahead.”
He rehashes some final details about the intentions of today’s task, but they slip my mind as something more potent rises to the surface. Something that churns my insides to ash.
When the silence indicates the call has ended, I ask slowly, “Harry …?
Fixing his cuffs, he mumbles, “Mm-hmm?”
“Where are the twins?” I ask, fastening the strap of my flashy, diamond-encrusted Cartier .
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice is faultless, refusing to give anything away, but there’s the faintest tic in his jaw that tells me everything I need to know.
“Harry …”
“Yes, baby?”
“Please don’t tell me you murdered these men in cold blood just because they were being disrespectful …”
“All right, I won’t.”
Heat courses up my skin, sending an emotion so strong through my body that I almost topple over. I glance around and really look at him.
He’s so handsome I can barely stand it.
His features are so perfect, so symmetrical, that if they were any more delicate he’d be too beautiful for a man.
His black hair, gleaming in the light, one lock falling forwards on his forehead.
The lining of his jaw.
His large hands – the very cause of people’s death.
Harry has avenged me .
He has killed for me.
Again.
“Oh my God!” I press my face into my palms, concealing my flushed skin. “You can’t keep killing the people who wrong me, Harry!”
He shrugs. “Why not?”
“You’re going to get yourself killed if you keep doing stuff like this!”
“At least I’ll die doing what love.”
I scoff. “And what’s that?”
“Protecting you.”
I blink.
If we weren’t part of London’s most notorious crime group, I don’t doubt Harry would treat any woman like an angel, respecting the ground she walks on. But our life is far from simple, and even responding to the feelings swarming my stomach could result in a death sentence for either of us.
“I miss the man who used to keep me at arm’s length and couldn’t stand being around me,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
A sad smile crosses his features. Harry’s eyes are fixed somewhere in the past as he stares straight through me and says, “As soon as I branded you with a hot poker, I became indebted to you for the rest of my life.”
Indebted to you for the rest of my life …
Is that how my scar torments him?
I can hardly lift my voice above a whisper. “A lifetime is a very long time.”
He blinks, bringing himself back to the present. “Then we might as well make it worthwhile …” He takes a step towards the door, turns the handle, and bows dramatically like a doorman. “Your carriage awaits, princess.”
We fill a rental car with our belongings, preparing for our upcoming mission. I’m excited to be working directly in the field after all my extensive training with Oliver, having practised relentlessly for this moment. Yet when Harry pulls up to a small airport and onto the runway, I feel perplexed as he stops the car, winks, and then exits the driver’s side.
I step out slowly, my eyelashes fluttering in awe. “By the carriage, I thought you meant we were taking the Bentley.”
“Private jets don’t do it for you?” His voice is laced with humour as we scale the steps up to the plane. “An Italian mansion wouldn’t be very authentic in London, now, would it?”
The interior of the jet is muted and sophisticated, a mixture of dark greys and blacks. Plush leather seats sit across from one another, and a small bar stocked with drinks sits adjacent to the front entrance. Spots and speckled stars decorate the ceiling.
Shock renders me speechless as Harry and I take two vacant seats in the middle of the cabin.
“We’re going to Italy?”
He smirks.
Taking a glass of champagne, he passes me one before taking one for himself.
When my brain kicks into motion I ask hopefully, “Do we get to see the Sistine Chapel?”
He smiles, swallows his sip, and then catches a stray droplet from the corner of his mouth with his tongue. “No time for sightseeing on the job, princess. We’ll have left there and be back home by this evening.”
“Home,” he says, as if it’s truly that simple.
Flying via private jet is nothing like the commercial flights I’m used to. Even though business class is a slight added luxury, there’s still the delay of waiting for others to board, and no matter how luxe the seats may be, you’re still sharing stale air with three hundred other passengers. But all of that’s completely forgotten here. Since it’s just me and Harry flying, we’re charging the runway within a matter of minutes.
The flight is short – just shy of two hours to Milan – but it seems to take an eternity as my eyes are like magnets to Harry’s legs, which fill the space easily. Leisurely he stretches his long limbs, appearing far too relaxed for a man in a business suit. When his hand absentmindedly rests over the front of his trousers as he scrolls through his phone, I decide it’s a distraction I can’t afford. I’m soon polishing the gun in my lap to occupy my mind.
“You’ve made sure the safety is off, right?” Harry asks tonelessly.
I lift my head, noticing his eyes are still glued to his phone.
“I’m not an amateur,” I say, still not gaining his attention. “What do you have against the gun anyway?”
He shrugs. “Knives are better.”
“Do you have to disagree with everything I say?”
“No,” he responds with a not-so-subtle smirk.
As I stroke the cloth over the gun’s magazine, I frown at the feel of something jagged in the metal. I brush my fingers over the source, discovering an imprint in the frame. Something engraved …
“Harry!” I shout in accusation.
Eyed glued to his phone screen, the corners of his lips twitch into a grin.
“When did you do this?” I ask.
The irresistible bastard has engraved a heart alongside “G + H” on my Glock!
“Just to remind you who you belong to,” he says. “Do you like it?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I exhale heavily, revisiting all the reasons this could lead to a death sentence. My gun, the very weapon that never leaves my side, is now a constant reminder of Harry …
At least he thought of the fact I’m right-handed, so the engraving should be concealed by my palm.
Rather than dwelling on the sentiment, I ask, “Who says it’s you?”
His expression stills and he grows serious, finally turning his attention to me. “What do you mean? ”
“Who says it’s you?” I press.
He draws his brows together in question.
“Doesn’t Hudson Anderson start with—”
And I’m suddenly thrown back into my seat as Harry jumps forwards, gripping the armrests on either side as his body crowds mine. His hands flex, his grip tightening and cracking the leather. The wash of stubble on his jaw and cheeks makes him look more rugged and severe, matching his curt, cold voice as he warns, “Finish that sentence. I dare you.”
“What will you do if I finish it?”
He laughs, the sound sinister and hollow. “Go on. Try it.”
“Not until you answer my question.”
His Adam’s apple bobs, and then he says, “I’d ask for something from you.”
“Ask for something from me?” I reiterate. “What could I possibly give you that you want?”
Crowding me to the point I'm forced to lift my chin, he says, “A kiss.”
I feel my cheeks blaze at the heaviness of the moment. “Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t finish that sentence then, isn’t it?”
“Very good indeed, princess.”
Summer in Italy is how I idealise retirement: warmth flushing my skin and sunburn pinkening my nose. I feel it within my grasp as we step out of the taxi, the Italian heat hitting me with intensity. I’m thankful for the Fendi maxi dress I chose this morning.
Harry’s heavy gaze is a constant reminder of my choice as his eyes run down the length of the garment. It’s white, the V-neck exposing a hint of cleavage. The length is modest, reaching my ankles, apart from my trademark slit. Yet with the intensity of his gaze, it’s as if I’m wearing the finest gown.
“Never wear white again,” he says, his voice strained.
“Why?” I ask as we approach the Italian palace, positioned on the cliffside above crystal-clear waters.
The property is utterly beautiful and looks far more exquisite than any holiday resort, with lush greenery complimenting the outside of the striking home. Waves crash against the steps several meters below us, and I picture the flash of cool spray on my skin, still distracted by it when Harry says, “It’s bad luck to be seen wearing white before you reach the altar.”
“No, it’s not,” I return, forgetting to deny the idea of marriage. “Since when has that ever been a tradition?”
Harry smirks, pressing his hand to my lower back as he responds with, “Since I made it one.”
The man we’re supposed to infiltrate is hosting a garden party for a group of elite businessmen and their partners across Europe. It’s a casual affair, yet Harry still opted for a full suit, needing to conceal our weapons. It wasn’t a smart idea for me to enter with my gun in plain sight, so Harry hid it inside his breast pocket, the length of his jacket concealing the knives sheathed in the waistband of his trousers. I was forced to trade my holster for a garter, but it’ll do the job.
The concept is simple: interrogate the man who helped plan the break-in at the Boss’s office and then catch our flight home. His boss, Paolo Ricci, is our real target, but we’re not nearly prepared for that operation yet.
It all seems easy enough, yet when we reach the security guards positioned at the front of the property – the alleged rookies – my stomach spirals with nerves. Their gazes are stern as they watch people enter, hardly seeming the negligent type. Out of instinct I step closer to Harry, and when he presses a kiss to my bare shoulder I’m filled with another sensation entirely .
“I love this,” he mumbles into my skin as we walk past the guards effortlessly. “I can have my lips all over you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
I’m programmed to deny the effects of Harry’s touch, yet tingles erupt in the pit of my stomach at the prospect of having his mouth on me. His lips continue to linger on my skin, kissing a trail from my shoulder to the side of my neck, which is exposed to the torture since I’ve pulled my hair into a large claw clip to survive the blistering heat. I don’t know whether to be grateful as goose bumps cover my skin. Harry’s soft mouth seems to catch every one of them, and my eyelashes flutter, a moan catching in my throat at the gentle caress.
“Stop,” I warn as my core intensifies with pleasure.
He chuckles, the sound low and torturous. “If we didn’t have a job to do, I’d fuck you in one of the rooms of this mansion. Would you like that, baby?”
“Harry,” I whine, my thighs slick with heat.
Pressing one final touch on my skin in the form of nipping teeth, he playfully swats my ass before leading us further inside.
My heels clatter against the tiled floor, keeping up with Harry’s long strides, as we peer into rooms for any sign of our victim. I’m blindsided by the array of plated food, the Italian delicacies causing my mouth to water. Large bifold doors give way to potted plants and the ripest of flowers. People gather on the terrace, and young children race by our feet with high-pitched giggles.
“Right there,” Harry says, turning my focus. His thumb and forefinger lightly grab my chin, tugging my face in the direction of a man with greying hair and thick, dark eyebrows. He’s dressed in casual board shorts and a crisp white linen T-shirt, clutching a beverage close to his chest and wooing his guests with his tales.
My fingers twitch, imagining how he’ll feel as my first kill using my new Glock. But before I can linger on the idea, Harry tugs at my arm, leading us in the opposite direction. Using the cover of the busy party, he approaches a door at the end of a hallway and scopes out his surroundings before picking the lock, allowing us to slip inside.
The room is dark, clear of all windows and watchful eyes. A desk sits in the centre of the room, lit by a lone bulb in the ceiling. Another door sits adjacent in the far corner, hidden in dark shadows, but Harry seems unfazed as he starts to pull open wooden drawers, searching for information.
Referencing the single filing cabinet positioned by the door, he bucks his chin and says, “Start looking through that and see what you can find.”
I frantically search through the files.
Endless nothing.
Forced to close another when there’s nothing more than a mixture of tax returns inside, I huff in frustration. Minutes tick by, and I close the second to last one, nearing defeat, but I halt at the next as I catch movement to my right.
The door opens, the action silent and heavy, and I clash gazes with a dark, intense stare. Failing to act on his discovery, the male intruder’s harsh features insinuate it’s unlikely I’ll leave this room alive.
“H-Harry …” I stutter.
“You found something?”
I brave a look over my shoulder at him, but his head is tilted down, the muscles of his back stretching as he tears through paperwork. When I turn back to the man in front of me, his head is cocked in a menacing tilt, causing a lump to form in my throat.
“You know that ex-marine we were just talking about?”
Painstaking silence fills the air, and Harry asks hesitantly, “Yes?”
“I think I just found him.”
The man steps further over the threshold of the room, forcing me to retreat a few steps with my hands raised in surrender. I backtrack slowly until something hard hits my back .
Harry.
Our backs hit, and his familiar scent provides a comforting blanket over me. I spare a look back at him, noticing another guard approaching from Harry’s side, having entered through the spare doorway. I whip my head forwards as the marine approaches further.
“And what are you doing in here, miss? You’re missing out on the party,” the guard taunts in a mocking voice, no doubt aware of my true intentions. “My word, the highest bidder will pay a pretty penny for you.”
I pull my head back, utterly appalled, and clash against Harry’s skull.
Is he talking about human trafficking?
What. The. Fuck?
My hand hovers near my gun, twitching against the vacant holster until I realise it’s empty. Sensing the movement, Harry’s hand finds mine behind my back. He takes my wrist between his fingers, warning me not to move. Slipping a dagger down the arm of his suit jacket, he places it in my hands, the coolness of metal filling my palm.
“I don’t come cheap,” I tell the guard, clasping my hand around the hilt.
He smirks, but it lacks emotion. Speaking with a thick Italian accent, he says, “I do not doubt that, miss.”
I feel about ready to act on my first ever death, but my breath catches when Harry’s thumb lingers on my skin, brushing gently across my knuckles. I don’t doubt we’ll get out of this alive, but it’s a peace offering in case we don’t.
I whisper, “If we’re about to die, I promise I’ll haunt you forever.”
“Princess, even though the opportunity to spend eternity with you is extremely tempting, we’re not dying today.”
Before I have time to deadpan a response, he releases a heavy exhale before demanding quietly, “Now.”
The guard is on me in nothing short of a second, and I tighten my grip. As his hands reach my sides, I draw my arm forwards and slice the fucker across his throat, severing his carotid artery. I lose the dagger in the mound of severed flesh, a warm gush of blood splattering across my face, forcing me to blink my vision clear.
In the split second I have to collect my thoughts I hear a grunt from Harry behind me mid-fight, alerting me that he’s alive. Thank God.
Another man of a much larger build bursts through the open door, gunning straight for me. In a panic I reach my hand back, unsheathing a dagger from the back of Harry’s trousers, and toss it forwards. The knife sails through the air, plunging into my victim right between the eyes. He drops to his knees, then onto his stomach, reaching his hand out in a silent cry for help as he gargles on blood.
Despite feeling pretty accomplished, I run my hand over my chest to make sure my heart hasn’t leapt free of my ribcage, smearing blood in my wake. The red liquid spoils my white dress, and at the sight of it smothered on me, the realisation of what happened pounds into me like a round of bullets, causing my hands to shake.
Hands grip my face and I’m tugged in the other direction, forced to meet a set of emerald eyes. They hold mine hostage and refuse to leave.
I watch them dreamily. The person’s lips are moving, the intensity of their eyes insinuating they have something important to say, but I’m lost in their beauty. They don’t have a speck of blood on them, not a fault on their white shirt, nor a hair out of place – except for that distracting lone strand.
“Gigi!” Harry demands, capturing my focus. He exhales a heavy, weighted sigh. His thumbs find my cheeks, fingers spraying across the sides of my neck. “I’m just making sure you’re still here with me … I thought I lost you there.”
Don’t lose your sanity in the madness.
Breathless, I ask, “Why couldn’t I have used my gun?”
He smiles, but concern is evident in his eyes as they dart across my face. “No one talks about harming my woman and gets away with something as simple as a bullet wound.”
My woman …
My woman.
My. Woman.
As I truly look at him, the words settling in, I see him in an utterly different light. I’ve never wanted Harry to possess me, own me, or make me forget the very essence of who I am … until this very moment.
My eyes flicker to his lips, taunting me to taste them.
But there’s still that inner turmoil in my mind screaming this is a bad decision.
But he saved you , the newly acquired voice in my head argues, overriding my brain. He saved your life.
My throat feels incredibly dry as I say, “M-my gun.”
“Right,” he says, voice catching. He pulls it from his inside pocket and passes it over to me.
Our fingers brush, and I ignore the spark of electricity as I holster the gun back on the garter around my thigh. As I turn back to him, his body stiffens, the blood draining from his face rapidly.
“Gun,” he orders.
“What?”
“Gigi, your fucking gun!”
He reaches out and clasps onto my arm, spinning me around to face him in one lightning-fast motion. My back hits his broad chest. The air is knocked out of me, leaving me with a split second to come to my senses.
A man charges at us from the entryway, and I cry out as he reaches his filthy hands out towards us. But Harry has already disarmed my gun from the holster, his arms crowding mine as we grab the pistol, aiming it at the person running right for us.
While his thumb switches off the safety, Harry’s forefinger presses over mine, and we pull the trigger together. The pressure of the gun vibrates up my arm, causing me to stir against his chest. The man drops to the floor, guttural noises spilling from his throat before his body becomes limp and silence swarms the air.
After a long, stretched-out pause Harry finally lowers our arms, bringing down the gun until the muzzle is aimed at the floor. I slip my hands from his, turning to him slowly. Flecks of blood are splattered across his skin, and his lips part with laboured breathing. There’s not a single ounce of remorse in his dark soul. I try to mirror his frame, but inside, my heart is pounding with ferocity at the tension between us.
The air fills with the forbiddenness of temptation and skin.
Harry is staring at me like he never has before, a murderous intent in his gaze as he says, “Fuck it.”
His heavy palm cups the back of my neck desperately, pulling my head forwards to crash his mouth against mine.
Our lips move together frantically, and my eyes roll from being away from him for so long. He bows his head to reach my mouth, palming my skin, and I melt into him, savouring the taste of the mint gum on his tongue. My hands find his chest, fisting the material to keep him close as his tongue crosses the threshold of my mouth, igniting warmth through me.
“I want to fucking devour you,” Harry mutters into the kiss.
He tastes of toxicity and bad decisions. I welcome the feeling all too well, rising onto my tiptoes, and pressing further into him.
“Then do it,” I whimper.
He chuckles, sinking his teeth into my bottom lip as his free hand fists my hip. “I can’t.” He pulls back from the kiss. “Not here.”
The loss of him drags a moan from my lips, but the moment quickly catches up with me, making me feel like I’ve been injected with pure adrenaline as Harry says, “I think that was the guy we were supposed to bring in for questioning.”
Tearing my gaze away from his plump lips, I turn to the man on the floor, who is indeed the man we were hoping to interrogate.
Grey hair.
Thick eyebrows.
Board shorts.
The linen shirt now stained with blood.
“Oh …”
“It’s too late now. Let’s get out of here.”