Chapter 14
Julian doesn’t speak a word to me on the drive back to the city.
And it’s a loooong drive.
He does, however, take phone calls.
The asshole also keeps turning my music down each time I up the volume. He wants me to suffer in silence.
When he parks in the garage, he leaves the Escalade and slams the door shut.
So dramatic over a girl simply sneaking out and gambling.
It’s not like I robbed the casino.
I thought red-flag men were supposed to love danger.
I pat my pocket, remembering the cash I have left from my thievery in his office. I’ll be requesting the payout from the chips he took from me.
I won them.
Sure, maybe not fair and square, but I still won.
Julian keeps his butt-hurt attitude while inputting the code and opening the house door.
I sit there, play with my hands in my lap, unsure what to do.
“Get your fucking ass in here,” he yells from the doorway. “You have three seconds, and trust me, it’d be in your best interest not to test any more of my limits tonight.”
“All right then,” I say under my breath while getting out of the Escalade.
When I’m halfway toward the doorway, he turns and walks inside.
I keep my pace slow, giving him time to cool off.
When I follow him, he’s in the living room, pouring himself a glass of bourbon from the same bottle we drank from last night. He chugs the liquor, slams the glass against the bar so hard that it shatters, and wipes the edge of his mouth.
He definitely wants to be nominated for Most Dramatic of the Night.
His eyes train on me as he snatches a glass shard, playing with it in his hand, not caring if it cuts him.
“Don’t you dare pull that shit again.” He points the shard at me. “Do you understand?”
I shift from one foot to the other.
No smart-ass comment will leave my mouth.
Julian is mad , mad and holding something he could easily slit my throat with.
“Is that understood?” Julian roars.
I cross my arms. “Don’t talk to me like you’re my father.”
So much for keeping my mouth shut .
“Trust me, I’m far from him.” He tosses the shard on the ground. His feet crunch against the glass as he steps toward me. “Unlike that bastard, I saved your ass. A little appreciation would be nice.”
“Here we go with that bullshit.” I spin on my heel and speed toward the front door. “You know what? I don’t want you saving my ass again. Let me leave, and I’ll take care of my-damn-self.”
“Where’d you learn to count cards?” he calls to my back.
I stop, peering over my shoulder. “What?”
“Where’d you learn to count cards? A privileged woman like you doesn’t run in circles that card count and steal.”
I pinch my lips together.
There’s no point in denying it.
He saw me on camera.
Julian snaps his fingers.
“My nanny,” I murmur, turning to get a better look at him.
He strolls toward the kitchen and circles the island.
Opening a drawer, he pulls out a deck of cards and motions toward a stool.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he says. “Sit your ass down.”
“A please would be nice.” I glare at him, crossing my arms again.
He gives me a stern look.
“Ugh, fine.” I dramatically sigh, throw my arms out to my sides, and stomp toward him.
He keeps his gaze pinned on me while I collapse on the stool and wait for his next move.
His wicked eyes stay on me as he stands tall and deals the cards. “I want you to play how you did at the casino.”
Counting cards with only two players is difficult. I have a ninety-ten ratio of winning with at least four people. With two, it lowers to around fifty-fifty.
When I played with Sonya, she’d set up places for imaginary players and call out their plays. Or sometimes, her nephews would join us.
My parents were gone most of the time when I was growing up and trusted her with me.
She could’ve had me trafficking drugs or stripping, and they’d never have known.
Not that Sonya would’ve ever done that.
We played cards for fun.
I shut my eyes when sadness hits me.
I miss her. I miss her so damn much.
Unlike my parents, she wouldn’t have turned her back on me. She’d be here, protecting me by any means necessary. I hate you, cancer.
Like Sonya did, Julian deals for two imaginary people.
Biting my lip, I debate whether to play dumb.
He decides our imaginary players’ calls.
He barely blinks while I say mine.
Hit me .
Hold .
I win the first round.
I lose the second purposely, and from the smirk on his face, he knows it.
I win the third.
“I’m impressed.” He collects my cards and shuffles them back into the deck.
“Did you ever think I wasn’t impressive?” I lean in closer, a flirty smile on my lips.
Flirting with Julian isn’t new.
Neither is attempting to seduce him.
Whenever I knew I’d be around him, I always dressed my best. I wanted him to want me —not see me as only his younger sister’s rich, spoiled friend, who he didn’t trust.
There’s been a shift now though.
A somewhat scary one.
Back then, I knew the chance of us ever being anything would never happen.
Now, there’s this uncertainty.
We’ll have sex until he knocks me up, but then what happens?
I gulp down air, my stomach tightening.
What if I fall in love with him?
I raise my gaze to the ceiling.
Dear God, do not let me fall in love with this man. I’ll never ask for anything ever again.
I’ve lusted over Julian for years, but I’ll never make the mistake of trusting him with my heart. I know he’ll break it with his unrighteous hands.
Julian snapping his fingers in my face breaks my silent prayer.
He holds up the cards. “You are aware card counting is illegal?”
I roll my eyes. “You, of all people, shouldn’t lecture anyone on legalities. I think my crime is lower on the severity scale than yours.” I use my hand to make a fake gun and pretend to shoot at the cabinet behind him. Then, for more artistry, I blow off the muzzle of my imaginary gun.
His never-ending stern stare remains. “This isn’t a game, Genesis.”
I lower my hand. “Trust me, I’m well aware. That’s why I wanted to win some money—to get myself on my feet so you wouldn’t have to pay as much.” I was also bored out of my mind.
“You not only stole from the casino, but you also stole money from my office. From me. ”
I pretend to study my French manicure. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I checked my pocket before I put my blazer back on.” He slams the deck on the island. “My cash was gone.”
“All right, all right,” I groan. “It’s not like I broke into your safe. I just needed a little spending— er, gambling money.”
His expression doesn’t lighten up.
“I promise, I’m usually not a thief. Can we look on the bright side? I was just investing it back into your business.”
His phone rings, interrupting us.
The man has the most active phone I’ve seen in my life.
“Yeah?” This seems to be his usual phone greeting.
No hello, how are you from him.
Just yeah .
If we have a child, I’ll be the one in charge of teaching phone etiquette.
“I’ll head that way in ten minutes,” he tells whoever’s on the other line before ending the call to make another. “How far are you away from my place?”
I grab the deck of cards as he nods and ends that call.
“Does head that way in ten minutes mean you’re leaving?” I shuffle the cards.
He nods, slipping the phone in his pocket. “And your sneaking-out, stealing ass stays here.”
“Rude.” I hold up the cards. “I thought we were having a game night.”
He shoots me a not funny stare.
“Is someone driving you there?” I ask, already feeling like I’m talking to a crappy boyfriend who lies.
“No.”
“Are you ride-sharing?”
“No.”
“Who was that on the phone?”
“Your babysitter.”
“Hard pass. Pippa has told me too many bodyguard stories for me to agree to that.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
I drop the cards on the island. “Where are you going?”
“Casino.”
“I’m coming.”
He shakes his head. “You ruined any chance of that happening again.”
“Oh my God,” I groan. “Are you going to hold that over my head forever now too?”
He snatches the top card from the deck, leans forward, and without saying a word, rips the first few buttons of my shirt until my bra shows. I gape at him as he slips the card beneath it.
His gaze deepens as he stares at my chest. “Gen, baby, as I said before, I’m holding everything over your head.” Grabbing another card, he flicks it at my face.
I shove his hand away, but he doesn’t move back.
“Speaking of head , don’t expect to ever receive it from me with that attitude.”
He smirks before speed-walking around the island, as if I challenged him. I immediately start to stand, but he reaches me too fast. He grips my shoulders and slams me back onto the stool.
My throat turns dry when he spins me around to face him.
He presses his hands into my shoulders and dips his head to my level.
I swallow, the hair on my nape standing tall when his nose brushes against mine.
His lips are so close that I feel his smirk against my mouth. “If I didn’t have to leave right fucking now , I’d spend the rest of my night proving your statement wrong.”
I hiss when he bites my lip, holding the pressure there for a second after saying his words. He doesn’t pull back until someone knocks on the door.
“Yeah,” he calls out.
Fucking yeah .
The door opens, and Emilio walks in.
Oh, Emilio.
The man I’ve hardly spoken to but has seen me orgasm.
Not by him.
By the demon glaring at me.
Emilio is dark-haired, tall, all muscle, and handsome.
Call me biased, but I still don’t find him as hot as Julian. But then again, I don’t find anyone as attractive as Julian.
When I have a type, I have a type.
It seems crazy, off-limits psychopath killer is it.
Emilio also has the broody thing going on. He doesn’t crack jokes or get in playful moods. It seems to be a trend with these men. The Mafia molds them into emotionless assholes.
“Emilio will watch you,” Julian tells me.
I spin in my chair to get a better look at Emilio and lift my hand in a teasing way.
Emilio jerks his head in my direction, completely impassive.
Julian lowers his chin to my shoulder to hiss, “He won’t touch you,” in my ear.
“But don’t make me shoot him in the goddamn arm for you attempting to charm him.
” He delves his fingers into my hair, jerking my head back.
“Now, be a good girl and go to bed. I don’t want any more trouble from you.
” He steps away and walks toward the door.
“Behave, if you know what’s good for you. ”
He pats Emilio on the chest and doesn’t say another word as he leaves.
I’ve never been alone with Emilio.
He seems as disinterested in me as my first boyfriend finding my clit when fingering me for the first time.
“Do you just let him boss you around like that?” I slide off the stool and let out a huff when my feet hit the floor. “Would he really shoot you in the arm? That doesn’t seem very friend-like.”
Emilio stalks toward the living room. “Most likely. And FYI, if that were to happen, I’d shoot you in the arm next for giving me such an inconvenience. Bullet wounds are a pain in the ass.”
Emilio isn’t fun either.
Got it.
Since I’m exhausted anyway, I shrug and walk toward the stairs. “I’m off to bed. Make yourself at home, I guess.”
He doesn’t bother telling me good night as I stomp up the stairs. I pass the bedroom I slept in last night and keep going until I reach Julian’s.
The door is locked, so I drop my bag on the floor and kneel to find my phone. I hit Julian’s name and stand as the phone rings.
“Yeah,” he answers—because of course.
“That’s such a romantic way to answer your phone,” I mutter.
He doesn’t say a word back.
My shoulders slump. “What’s your bedroom code?”
“Why would I tell you that?”
“If you want me in your bed tonight, you will.”
There’s a short moment of silence until he finally says, “Eleven twenty.”
My chest hitches.
Melissa’s birthday.
“Now that I’ve shared that with you—something I’ve never told anyone else—I expect your ass in my bed tonight,” he says, his voice sounding almost bitter, not fitting his words.
He ends the call.
I input the code, hear the switch move, and walk inside.
I inhale a deep breath and flip on the light. As I move farther into the room, I run my fingers along the made bed. I strip out of my clothes on my walk to his closet and steal one of his sweatshirts.
Much better .
I don’t bother grabbing sweats, staying in my panties, and tread into the bathroom. I open his drawers until I find a spare toothbrush. I’m too lazy to go to my room to grab my electric toothbrush and skin care. I’ll have to sacrifice my thirty-minute-before-bedtime beauty regimen tonight.
Julian’s drawers are clean and organized.
They’re all filled with bathroom essentials, nothing unusual. I expected to find a knife or an Uzi.
After brushing my teeth and using his face wash, I climb into his bed, unsure which side he sleeps on. I send him a quick text, asking him to turn up the heat, but he doesn’t reply.
The sheets smell like him—a comfort.
The room feels like him—another comfort.
Maybe I’m already feeling like this is home.