Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Pfeiffer
I wake again an hour later. The clock on the wall says it’s getting close to midday, and I need to get home to my father.
But, for a moment, I lie completely still, tucked against the warm breadth of Fiero’s chest, listening to the low rhythm of his breathing and the distant hum of Manhattan far below the windows.
The rest of the world feels suspended here—safe. Which is absurd, because there’s nothing safe about Fiero Bellucci. He’s one of the deadliest men in Manhattan. If I wasn’t convinced of that when everyone in this club first told me, seeing the machete he killed my uncle with was proof enough.
And yet, despite that, my body melts against his instinctively.
Strands of distant knowledge are connecting in my mind. The familiarity that bordered those early interactions with him are beginning to make sense. Even if my brain doesn’t remember much about the high school years, my body seems to.
You don’t recognize me, do you?
The more I recall his question, the more unsettled I feel. Should I remember him? Were we friends? Were we more?
I frown slightly against his skin.
Berman High.
I try not to think about those years but his words followed me into sleep.
Snapshots of moments reared their head in my dreams. Walking down the long busy hallways, the sound of laughter amidst lockers slamming.
The smell of fries in the cafeteria. The secrets shared by girlfriends I never let get too close.
When I think really hard, other faces appear, piece by piece.
It’s painful, but I let them come. Jason Marino was mostly unforgettable, so he emerges first. He was the loudest in class, with a booming voice that ricocheted off the walls.
Brandon… I don’t remember his full name…
he was always close behind, trying to grasp a bit of the attention that Jason drew.
I remember the girls more by their place in the hierarchy than by name.
Apart from Sabrina Daly. She was the queen bee and used to be my best friend until my uncle started putting his hands on me and I shrank away from the world.
She was always a little too obsessed with how she looked and being the ring leader.
When I stepped back, a gaggle of girls filled my shoes—their names I can’t remember.
I picture the classroom, trying to recall where everyone sat, but all I picture is a sea of blurred memories.
I press my fingers into my eye sockets and try to rub them awake, then a flash of something forms in the recesses of my mind.
An image. The back of the classroom. It was where the complicated kids sat.
The ones who didn’t say much but watched and observed.
I guess no one really wanted to be at school, but there were those who came for the social climbing and the camaraderie, and then there were the ones who came because they had to.
I vaguely remember two of the boys. They were twins.
Quiet and calculating. They seemed to hate everyone and rarely spoke to anyone but each other.
Then one memory forms crystal clear—of the time they burned down the science department.
It wasn’t accidental. They were expelled after that and no one saw them again.
There was a third boy at the back. Also dark and complicated, but smaller and even quieter. That couldn’t have been Fiero.
My fingers drift over his hard body and a deep moan rumbles in his chest. There’s no way that quiet, deferential boy grew up to be this deadly dangerous and darkly charismatic man.
A dull ache starts behind my eyes and I squeeze them shut. I don’t want to think about high school. I don’t want to think about that time at all.
Fiero shifts slightly beneath me, his arm tightening unconsciously around my shoulders.
My stomach jars and I remember where I should be. I carefully untangle myself from him and slide out of bed.
I find the dress I arrived in. At some point in the might, Fiero had it cleaned and pressed. I pull it on, feeling a heat on the side of my face. When I look up, Fiero’s eyes are open, watching me.
“Are you leaving?”
“I need to check on my father.”
He pushes himself upright against the headboard.
“Take my driver.”
“I have a car.”
His gaze tracks me as I tousle my fingers through my hair trying to get rid of the tangles.
“It’s a tin can,” he huffs. “I’ve seen the number of times it takes you to get it started.”
I glare at him. “Then stop watching.”
His reply comes fast. “Never.”
I tug the dress down my thighs a little self-consciously.
“Come back tonight,” he says. I notice it isn’t a question.
I straighten my spine. “Here? Or to the club?”
“The club. I’m extending your contract.”
A corner of my mouth curls. “For how long?”
“A week.”
“Why?”
He seems to chew over the question. “I need to figure out a few things and I don’t want you out of my sight while I do it.”
Okay.
I want to ask him what he means, but I need to get back to Dad, especially now I know Callum won’t have checked on him yesterday evening as per the arrangement.
He goes to get out of bed but I hold up a hand.
“No. Don’t get up on my account. I can see myself out.”
His brows dip in the center and his voice drops. “Come here.”
I patter back across the room in my bare feet and he catches my wrist in his hand. Instinctively, I try to jerk out of his hold, but he softly tightens his fingers.
“Shhhh,” he whispers. “It’s okay. Breathe.”
He loosens his grip slightly and my pulse slows a little.
My heart is still hammering against my ribcage and I don’t know if it’s because he’s touching me with his hand, or if it’s from being in close proximity to a man who, despite having been inside me with his tongue, his dick and a lethal weapon, still makes me nervous.
He draws my arm across his body, pulling my mouth down to his. Then he kisses me deeply, using his lips, tongue and teeth, making my head spin.
When we eventually part, he looks into my swimming gaze.
“You’re sure you don’t want to take my driver?” There’s a mischievous tilt to his lips like he knows he just made me thoroughly weak with that kiss.
I shake my head and my shoulders. “I’m sure.” I arch a brow. “But nice try.”
His low laugh follows me to the door, making me pause.
Everything has changed. When I first walked into this building, it was under duress, because I had to. Only one month later and I’m returning of my own free will, to be with a man—one who makes me feel safe but may just be the most dangerous man in New York.
His lids are lowered, a sexy arch to his brow, and he licks his lips. “See you tonight then, cucciola.”
I let myself out of Fiero’s apartment and make my way down the hall to the elevator. It arrives quickly and I step inside. I check my unkempt appearance in the mirrored wall as I wait for the doors to close, turning as they do.
When they’re about an inch apart, a person appears on the other side.
He looks like a younger version of Fiero.
I’ve only seen Brando without his mask on—not Remo or Cassio.
And I know instantly this is one of them.
I go to raise my hand in a small, shaky wave, but the last thing I see before the doors seal shut is something that makes the hairs rise on the back of my neck.
It isn’t a scowl exactly, but it’s just as dark. His mouth remains motionless, all the movement in his eyes.
Which are swimming in what looks, very much, like hate.
I shake off the horrible and probably irrational sensation of feeling intensely disliked and race home to find Dad standing in the kitchen.
“Hey Dad? How are you?”
He’s staring blankly at the microwave like he’s never seen one before.
“Dad? You okay?”
He turns toward me with a puzzled look on his face.
“Oh, Fifi, thank God you’re home,” he breathes. “The electricity’s broken.”
I follow his gaze back to the microwave. The clock is flashing 12:00.
“Oh,” I say, relieved it’s nothing. “You just need to reset it.”
His shoulders sag. “Right. Right, of course.”
I pat him on the shoulder. “Shall we do something today?” I ask, brightly.
He runs a hand through what remains of his hair, looking a touch surprised at how little of it is left.
“I don’t know, love. Your mom hasn’t been well. I should probably stay here and keep an eye on her.”
All the blood drains from the tips of my ears right down to my toes and I sway on the spot. This time he doesn’t notice his mistake, he just continues to bustle about the kitchen, wiping non-existent crumbs off the surfaces.
Fear crawls slowly up my spine and though I don’t know where I find the strength, I manage to speak.
“Okay, well, we can ask the doctor about her when I take you later this week.”
“Okay love.” He pats my arm before walking out of the kitchen, leaving me to grip the counters until my knuckles turn white.