Chapter Eighteen
AVA
H e doesn’t trust me? He doesn’t trust me ?
I’m a federal prison officer crammed into an art supply closet with a criminal practically begging him to have sex with me. I’m risking everything, my career, my reputation, and that still isn’t enough for him. Who the heck does he think he is?
“And just how am I supposed to prove myself to you?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest. The post-orgasm bliss was fading fast as he puts me on the back foot, desperate to please him.
He tilts his head, a smile creeping at the corners of his mouth, and I resist the urge to either punch his smug face or just throw myself at him. It’s like my baser instincts take over when he’s near me and I have to stop myself from throwing caution to the wind. Sanity takes a backseat and clearly, I needed to work on that.
“Hmmmmm, you could bring me something from outside .” He taps his lips as he leans against the shelves opposite me.
“You want me to smuggle something in for you?” Alarm bells are ringing so loudly in my ears, vibrating through my entire body so that I feel it all the way down to my toes. I told myself I was all in, but the doubts creep in like tendrils of smoke, weaving their way into my thoughts until my mind is a hazy mess.
I’m already compromising myself by being in this closet with him. And no matter how much I tell myself it’s to get dirt on him, to learn more about him, I know deep down it’s because I can’t resist the gravitational pull between us.
Like he can see my second guessing, he closes the gap between us, brushing his lips softly against mine. Let me in , he seems to say. Trust me.
He deepens the kiss, and I feel myself melt into him. It’s never felt like this with anyone else, not Chad, and not any of the relationships I had before him. This is an all-consuming fire, and I know I’m going to be left as nothing more than a pile of ash and yet, I can’t stop it. It’s almost like we’re made from the same thing, and we’re trying to meld back together in the blaze.
If I had to do this, then I would. Earning his trust meant he’d let me inside his walls, and I’d get a glimpse of what makes him a ruthless savage. It’s not rational, and I can’t even explain it properly, but it’s like a compulsion. I need to do this. I need to see the point where monster and man coexist, and what that means for me. If there's space for me somewhere in the tangled web of Elijah Creed.
There’s a small cough, and a male voice calls, “Officer Bishop?”
“Yes, Officer Fox?” I lean back through the door to find him standing there with concern written all over his face. There’s a pink tinge to his cheeks as watches me cautiously.
He frowns as his gaze lands on my neck. “Is everything okay in there?”
I offer him a small smile, feeling Creed's fingers moving up my spine. “Yes, we’re just looking for a palette, but the inmate seems to have found it.”
After a few moments, he nods and returns to his place at the front of the room. Foxx had been less flirty recently, but he still watched me like a hawk.
Turning back to the man staring at me with a wolfish grin, like some neanderthal who’s staked his claim on a mammoth, I roll my eyes.
“There’s a diner called SixTen downtown in Newtown. Go in and ask for Rosie.” He kisses the tip of my nose as he squeezes past me. “If she’s not there, she’ll be in the Eat Me diner in Port Ellesmere.”
“If you’re sending me out for your lunch order, I am going to be seriously pissed,” I warn, as he strokes my cheek.
He surprises me by throwing his head back and laughing. Creed looks almost beautiful when he laughs, his ink flexing and moving with his body as his face relaxes. It’s not a typical beauty, it’s more raw than that. It’s like looking out at jagged mountain ranges, seeing the danger, with the deep ravines and wild animals, and still appreciating the breathlessness of it all.
“She’ll have something for you. Whatever you do, don’t look inside, just bring it to me.” His face is serious now as he tucks a strand of hair back behind my ear. Honesty is a strange value for someone in the mafia to have, but Elijah is a paradox wrapped in sin. “Can you do that?”
I nod without even thinking. Reaching behind him, I grab the supplies he stashed there earlier and thrust them at his chest. It would be suspicious if he left the closet without the items he’d come in here for.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” Creed promises with a wink as he leaves alone to consider what I’ve just agreed to. How the heck was I going to smuggle whatever it was into prison?
Taking a few moments to calm my racing heart and straighten out my clothes, I realize I can’t find my underwear anywhere. Where the hell were they? After getting down on my knees to look under the shelves, I finally gave up. With a sigh, I re-entered the classroom and walk around, checking on the other inmates’ progress.
Elijah doesn’t even look at me, focused intently on his painting with such concentration that I almost don’t want him to notice me. Watching him lose himself in whatever it is he’s working on unlocks something in me.
It isn’t until he moves to wipe his forehead that I notice something black wrapped around his wrist. His dark gaze locks with mine, and he smirks. That fucker.
L aying in bed later that evening, I try to process the rabbit hole I’ve gone down. What was it about Elijah Creed? Why was I willing to throw away everything for him? Lust? It must be something more than that. I can’t be that shallow…can I?
Okay, so he gave me the best orgasm I’ve had in a long time, but I’m not an idiot. He was sinking his claws into me, luring me with pleasure. How he took what he wanted, biting and marking me while driving me wild. That wasn't like anything I’d ever experienced before. He’d been staking his claim on me, letting me know who was the boss, but he was sorely mistaken if he thought I was going to be a passive player in this game.
Why did everyone try to push me into that role? First my father, then my brother, and now Creed? No. It wasn’t going to work like that.
I’d been forced to keep my mouth shut tonight at Thursday night dinner. Andrew had graced us with his presence, but he barely glanced my way all night and my father was in a foul mood once again. Keeping a close eye on the clock, I’d spent most of the night wishing time would move faster. I wanted to be anywhere else, while my father chastised me for drinking too much at the charity auction and made snide comments about how I’d been seen ‘cavorting’ out by the pool. Taking his harsh words, I’d simply nodded and bitten my tongue until it was time to leave. I wasn’t going to keep tasting blood and holding back my words.
My phone lights up, letting me know I’ve got a message. Another of my paintings had sold for an obscene price. Since the night of the charity auction, my pieces were being snapped up by silly socialites trying to jump on the next best thing.
The email from Camille, the gallery curator, says that this buyer had already purchased two of my canvases and instructed Camille to let them know when anything new comes in. It was strange to think there was a demand for my art right now. My mother should have been here to witness this.
On the off chance, I try calling Chad, but it rings once and goes dead. It had been the same when I tried this morning, which means he really was ghosting me. He must have listened to my voicemail if he had now blocked my number. I’d sent his three sad little boxes over via courier yesterday, and security had signed for them, so they were no longer my problem. There was still a strange hollowness in my chest when I thought about him, about how everything ended. It was so strange, and easier than I expected the end of our relationship to be. Turning the lights out, I try to sleep and stop picking at the scab of my failed relationship.
After work the next day, it takes me a while to find the diner, as it’s tucked away down a side street. SixTen is like walking in some strange 1950s fever dream. The staff are wearing swing dresses or shirts with bow ties, and the decor is like something from a movie set. Red pleather booths line one wall, while the counter has retro stools. The black and white tile floor contrasts with the fire engine red walls, decorated with pictures of famous actors and actresses of the era. One wall is covered completely in vinyl records. I recognize some names, but not many, which makes me think they’re authentic.
Finishing my shift, I’d changed out of my uniform into a pair of jeans, converse and a black jumper. Something comfortable and unlikely to get me singled out. If I thought it would make me look less conspicuous, I might have even added a hat and some sun glasses…except, it was dark. And wearing a hat indoors was strange.
Walking up to the counter with courage I don’t really feel, I ask the man behind the counter for Rosie. What I don’t expect is for Rosie to be a familiar beautiful, buxom blonde with big blue eyes and a wide smile.
Was this a trick? What was her relationship with Creed?
“Bishop!” she cries as she throws back the counter and pulls me into a hug. The scent of sugar and cherries cling to her, as if she’s been elbow deep in a pie.
“I told you I’d see you soon,” she teases, standing back with her hands firmly on her hips. She’s wearing a little red dress, with a white frilly apron and a heart-shaped pocket. Red six-inch heels complete the look. There’s no way she stood behind a bakery counter all day in those shoes.
“Ro? I thought…I thought that stood for Rosalyn?” After the auction, I’d searched online for Rosalyn and the Lutwidge Trust, learning that Rosalyn Gambino and her husband, lawyer and billionaire Julian Asaro, were on the board of trustees.
They were a picture-perfect couple, owning businesses in Newtown, Port Ellesmere and were planning to expand into Silvercrest and East Point. They donated to charities across the city and had even recently given a donation to Ogmore Grange for new furniture.
“Oh, it does. The Family calls me Rosie and my friends call me Ro.” She laughs, “And others call me the Queen of Hearts, but that’s another story.”
“I’m here to pick something up for...a friend of ours” I whisper, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly self-conscious of the dullness of my brown hair.
She snorts, “If you’re just his friend then I’m a pinecone, girl.”
I frown as she pulls me into a booth. “Did you know who I was? At the auction?”
“Of course I did.” She taps her red nails against the table before waving over a waitress and asking them to bring out two coffees and a slice of cake. “Jay told me not to approach you, he thought I’d scare you off.”
A teenager wearing a shirt and bowtie comes over, balancing a tray carefully. They’re wearing long false eyelashes and a bold red lipstick.
Grinning up at the server as they place my coffee in front of me, Rosie says, “Thank you, Nyx. I’m loving that shade on you today!”
“Cato helped me choose it,” a soft masculine voice replies, as Nyx pouts their lips a little before walking away.
When she catches me staring, she offers a small shrug. “My staff are always welcome to express themselves. It’s something my husband and I feel strongly about.”
I find myself nodding, because I’d read about how Rosie was a big advocate for authenticity on the website for the auction.
“Back to the auction. Creed thinks he can keep secrets, and use Cato to help him? No. Not happening.” She flashes me an unimpressed look as she flicks her blonde hair back over her shoulder. “He may be Jay’s ‘Left Hand’, but I’m the wife and nothing gets past me.”
The pieces were slotting into place, and I felt like kicking myself. Creed was the Left Hand of The Family, the mafia organization in Newtown. Rosie’s husband Jay was also none other than Julian Asaro. Which meant…Julian Asaro was the head of the mafia? The celebrity philanthropist with the gorgeous wife went around selling drugs, dealing firearms and killing people? It didn’t make sense.
“Oh, sweetie pie,” she pushes the slice of decadent chocolate cake towards me with a fork. “Are you only just realizing how deep in the trenches you are?”
Pushing my fork into the moist cake, I play with it for a moment before lifting a bite to my lips. It tastes incredible, the chocolate rich and sweet. What was I signing up for here? What was I hoping to achieve?
Rosie sits back and pulls out a small dagger with a ruby glinting in the handle as she twists it between her fingers. She looks speculative for a moment before tilting her head with a soft sigh. “Are we going to have a problem? I thought I’d made a new friend.”
Straightening in my seat, I offer her a small smile. This world may not be mine, but I wasn’t a pushover. “Don’t threaten me, Ro. I’m here because Creed asked me to come. My only allegiance is to myself. I don’t care what you do, or who you work for. It’s none of my business.”
And it was true.
By deciding to let Creed in, I had to wrap my head around the fact that I was no longer on the right side of the law. The skeletons in his closet weren’t something I could ignore, but I could avoid getting caught in the middle. I would keep my mouth shut and just focus on whatever this was developing between us. My father was on one side of my life, and Creed on the other, and I would have to exist in the space between until I knew how Creed really felt about me.
“Oh, I knew I liked you.” Ro laughs, spinning her blade like it’s a toy. “Creed doesn’t keep women around. He doesn’t let just anyone work with him, which means you’re different from the others.”
“He needs me.” I offer weakly as she makes me face the fact that I’m a convenience. He needs a prison officer to smuggle something in for him, and I’m an obvious choice.
“Honey, he’s probably already running that little shithole of a prison—that’s what he does. He’s only in there because he wants to be.” She rolls her pretty blue eyes. “He doesn’t need you for that. No. He wants you. There’s a difference.”
She gives me this strange secret smile as she finally pockets her weapon and takes a sip of her coffee.
“I don’t understand what you’re implying.”
“That’s because you’re in denial. Burn the world, remember?” Making a tutting noise, I see the smile she’s trying to hide behind her cup.
We sit together, drinking our coffee, not saying anything for a while. People come and go, and wonder if they know a mafia queen runs this little diner? Rosie doesn’t seem to hide who she is, unafraid of embracing the darkness with a smile and a killer wardrobe.
“Take these, give them to him.” Her hands dip inside her apron and she hands me three small yellow balls, the kind you get inside chocolate eggs that usually hide a tiny toy. “And Ava, tell him to stop sneaking around behind my back with Cato, or I’ll be forced to make another addition to the KC and he won’t like it.”
What the hell was inside them that was so important? And what the fuck was the KC?
“I’ll be seeing you around, Ava Bishop.” Getting to her feet, Ro strokes my cheek with an excited gleam in her eyes. “I can’t wait to see how this plays out.”
She laughs as sashays away, disappearing back into the kitchen with a wave.
The entire evening had to be one of the strangest things that’s happened to me recently, and I can’t say I hated it.
There was something about coming here, the risk of getting caught, the secrecy, that had my body on edge, riding an adrenaline wave I didn’t want to come down from. There’s also something about Rosie Gambino that seemed to pull me in. Shoving the three balls into my pocket, I leave, as if the whole thing had never happened.