43. Alina
43
ALINA
T omas insists on accompanying me home after Casanova. “Invite me up,” he says when we reach the gym. “I’m going to spend the night.”
“What? But I thought Signor Moretti was going to assign me bodyguards. Aren’t they outside?”
“Yes,” Tomas replies. “And if an attacker makes it past them, they’ll have to deal with me.”
“Aren’t you being somewhat paranoid?”
“It’s only paranoia if you have no logical reason to believe you’re in danger,” he points out. “Given that Laurenti has already made one attempt to abduct you, I’d say that, no, I’m not being paranoid. I’m taking appropriate precautions.”
“Won’t Freccia miss you?”
He laughs shortly. “Dolcezza, I love Freccia, but I’m under no illusion about my importance to her. Agnese, Antonio’s housekeeper, has agreed to feed her. As long as my cat has a steady supply of sardines and pasta, she will not notice my absence.”
I can’t help smiling as I picture Tomas’s tiny ginger cat gorging on a plate of spaghetti. “She eats pasta?”
“She is Italian,” he responds lightly. His expression turns grim. “I’ll sleep on the floor if you’d like. But I am not going to leave you alone.”
“There’s plenty of room in my bed.” It’s weird that I’m blushing. After what we just did, spending the night together shouldn’t feel particularly intimidating, but somehow, it does.
Maybe because it’s a lot more intimate.
And letting myself be intimate with Tomas is a very bad idea.
Tomas examines my locks disapprovingly before propping a chair under the door handle. “No offense, Ali, but your locks are trash,” he says. “I’ll get someone to change these tomorrow.”
I roll my eyes. “Have you ever noticed that when people start their sentence with ‘no offense,’ they’re about to say something extremely rude?”
We get ready for bed. I usually sleep in a ratty T-shirt, but I’m too vain to let Tomas see me in that, so I change into a nightgown Rosa made me last year as a birthday present. It’s periwinkle blue, floor length with two long side slits, and a plunging neckline that shows off my cleavage. It’s subtly sexy, not overly so, and it’s the prettiest lingerie I’ve ever owned.
Heat flares in Tomas’s eyes when I come out of the bathroom. “Very nice,” he says, his voice a low growl. “Very sexy. I want to rip it off you.”
“You better not,” I retort, a thrill running through me at the blatant masculine possession in his gaze. “It was a present from Rosa.” I climb into bed, my skin tingling. It feels dangerous to share a bed with Tomas. “There’s a new toothbrush on the counter.”
“Thank you.” He goes into the bathroom. I hear the tap run, and he emerges a few minutes later, still fully clothed.
“Are you planning on sleeping in your suit?”
“No.” He takes off his jacket and lays it over the back of the couch. He starts removing his cufflinks, and I watch him, my mouth dry. I lost track of how many times I orgasmed at Casanova, but it was a lot. I should be sated, but when Tomas unbuttons his shirt, my desire comes raging back. “I usually sleep naked.” His eyes meet mine, and there’s a laughing challenge in them. “If you’re comfortable with that?”
Yes, please. I’m fully on board.
I’m opening my mouth to say that when Tomas pulls out a gun tucked in the back of his waistband. I jerk up in bed. “That’s a gun,” I squeak. “A real gun.”
He gives me a puzzled look. “Of course. If someone bursts into this room with a weapon, my jujitsu skills are hardly going to help.”
He tucks the weapon under the pillow on his side of the bed. I stare at the spot warily. “Is it safe? What if it goes off by accident?”
“The safety is on,” he replies, unbuckling his leather belt. “Have you ever fired a gun before?”
“No. Why would I? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a gym instructor, not a member of the mafia. This is so far outside my experience?—”
I stop talking as Tomas lies down next to me. The mattress sinks under his weight, and my awareness sharpens. I’m not used to sharing a bed. I try to remember the last time I spent an entire night with a man, and my memory offers nothing. This is extremely intimate. I can feel the heat radiating off his body. He’s close enough that I can reach out and touch him. Stroke those hard muscles, run my fingers over his tattoos. Follow them with my tongue. I could straddle him, and he’d wrestle me down, his weight over mine, holding me anchored in place.
Tomas mistakes my silence for disquiet. “For what it’s worth, killing people isn’t an everyday occurrence in my world either,” he says, his lips twisting in a grimace. “I’m the money guy, not the assassin. Most of the time, my life is very boring.”
“There’s an assassin?” I blurt out.
He gives me his blandest look. “I didn’t say anything about an assassin.” He turns on his side, facing me. “I’ll teach you to shoot this weekend if you’d like.”
There’s definitely an assassin, but the less I know about it, the better. I spend a minute wondering who it could be and then let it go.
Tomas wants to teach me to defend myself. My heart warms. Maybe it makes me a bad person, but it’s stopped bothering me that he killed two people last night. Without his intervention, I could have woken up in Moscow this morning, the unwilling, captive bride of a Bratva boss. He protected me last night, and he’s protecting me now.
“Thank you.” I reach out and touch his arm. “I don’t think I said that. Thank you for saving me last night.”
Something unreadable passes over his face. “You’re welcome.”
My entire body is alight with desire. Stop staring at his crotch, Ali, I scold myself, but it’s not working. He’s in my bed, and I want him to make love to me. “And yes,” I manage to say through the haze of lust drowning my brain. “I’d like to learn to shoot a gun.”
“Good,” he responds. “Now, onto more pleasant things. You look stressed, dolcezza. What would help you feel better? A hot drink? Something to eat?” His gaze slowly slides over my body. “An orgasm?”
“An orgasm?”
“It’ll help you relax.” He strokes the lace, his touch setting me on fire. His fingers are inches away from my taut, aching nipples, but he avoids them intentionally, the jerk. “Ask me nicely.”
A ripple of excitement runs through me. I like this game. “And if I don’t? Are you going to throw me out of bed?”
“Oh no,” he says with a smile that’s positively carnal. “If I throw you out of bed, Ali, it’s because I want to fuck you on the floor. No, your punishment will depend on how much of a brat you are.” He plucks my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and the rush of pleasure leaves me speechless. “I could put you over my knee and spank your ass. Or I could make you bring me your vibrator. Like this morning, I’ll tie your hands up so you can’t touch yourself, and I’ll edge you with your own toy, over and over, until you’re begging for release.”
Every nerve in my body is screaming in anticipation. “Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, please. Do all of that.”
And he does.
The next day, as promised, Tomas takes me to a gun range that Antonio owns to teach me to shoot. It’s a large, brightly lit room with a row of targets at the far end, and no one’s there except for us.
“You look nervous.”
“I am, a little,” I admit. Tomas, on the other hand, looks relaxed and confident. He’s wearing a pair of beige linen pants and a white linen shirt, and the effect is making me drool.
“It’s good to be nervous,” he replies. “Guns aren’t toys; they’re dangerous weapons. Better to be wary than complacent.” He opens the case he’s carrying and pulls out a black handgun. “This is a Beretta M9. It’s a good beginner pistol.”
“Can I hold it?”
“Not yet,” he says. “Let’s go over the basics of gun safety first. Most important: always treat every gun like it’s loaded.”
That makes sense. “Got it.”
“Never point your gun at someone unless you mean it,” he continues. He gives me a stern look. “But if someone’s threatening you, you shoot, got it? I don’t want you to feel sorry for the scum that tried abducting you.”
“I don’t know if I have what it takes to shoot someone in cold blood, Tomas.”
“It won’t be in cold blood,” he says, cupping my cheek in his palm. “It’s you or them, dolcezza. Don’t let it be you.”
When he puts it that way… “What are the rest of the rules?”
“Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.” He demonstrates the motion. “Got it?”
I nod. He walks me through the different parts of the gun, showing me how to load and unload it, and then it’s time to actually fire the gun. Tomas makes me wear protective glasses, puts earmuffs over my ears, and then positions himself behind me. His hands cup my waist. “Aim for the bullseye,” he murmurs into my ear.
A shiver rolls through me as he kisses the side of my neck. “You’re distracting me,” I accuse. “How am I expected to be able to fire if you keep doing that?”
“Real life doesn’t come with perfect conditions, dolcezza.” He slides his hands up my sides and squeezes my breasts. “Focus.”
Things take a detour after that, but eventually, we return our attention to shooting. I raise the gun, aim for the target, flip the safety off, and squeeze the trigger. The recoil takes me by surprise, but I get used to it. By the time we’re done, I’m hitting the target every single time.
We’re supposed to leave for Valencia on Thursday morning—Tomas found someone to cover his accounting class—and we’re meeting with my father on Friday night. If all goes according to plan, we’ll return to Venice on Sunday. Tomas and I discuss the details over dinner at a Thai restaurant after the gun range.
“I know a couple of reliable people who can staff the front desk,” he says when I fret about being away from the gym. “I’ll send you their resumes.”
“I’m too stressed to review resumes,” I reply, massaging my temples with my hands. “Let’s just hire them. Your recommendation is good enough for me.”
He pretends to be shocked. “You’re agreeing to do something I suggest instead of arguing about it,” he marvels. “This is a first.”
“Don’t get used to it. I’m still plotting?—”
“To buy me out.” He surveys the menu, sounding remarkably unfazed. “Yes, I know.”
Hmm. Come to think of it, something’s not right. Tomas agreed to take a smaller share of the profit because I was teaching all the classes. But now Luke’s an instructor, and I’m going to hire Luke’s friend Naima as well, so technically, I’m not holding up my end of the deal.
And Tomas has never once mentioned renegotiating the contract.
“Why haven’t you insisted that we change the profit distribution?” I demand.
“What are you talking about?”
“In the gym. If I’m hiring instructors, I shouldn’t be taking eighty percent of the profits. Why haven’t you renegotiated?” I start to put bits and pieces of information together: his quietly luxurious house, the bespoke suits, the expensive car he drives. Tomas is rich, rich enough that the profits from my gym don’t matter. “You don’t care about the money at all, do you?”
“Most people that tell you they don’t care about money are lying,” he responds, avoiding my question adeptly and pouring me some tea. “Do you know what you’d like to eat?”
I do. We order our food. The red curry is truly excellent, but I’m too distracted to enjoy it. Tomas is avoiding answering my question, and I’m left even more confused than before. If he isn’t worrying about me because of the money he’s invested in Groff’s, then why is he protecting me?
Because he cares about me?
I wish I were brave enough to ask.