25. Suspicions Arise
Chapter 25
Suspicions Arise
Antonella
Serial Killer ||
Mafia Man ||||
FBI Agent |||
Is a ceo
I drove myself to work for the first time today. Easy-peasy.
But now, I’m waiting for Giordano to come home, with lingering thoughts of the previous night in my mind.
No police, he said.
My thumb hesitates over the call button. Would he know anything about what happened back there? But I can’t seem to pry him for more information.
Are the two of them FBI agents together? Enemies?
I press the green button. My stomach bubbles reach my throat, threatening to pour out.
One ring. He answers immediately, “Hello?” his thick Irish accent bellowing through my speaker.
“You—” I take a deep breath. “You said to call this number,” my voice shakes with fear, mainly nervousness. Talking to another man on the phone makes me feel… icky, like I shouldn’t be doing it, even though I’m not technically in a relationship. Per my own request.
But I don’t owe him a thing, especially when he’s openly withholding the truth about himself from me.
The guilt overwhelms me, nevertheless.
“Ah, beautiful. I was wondering when you’d call. It took you a while.” He chuckles.
“I have a question,” I state flatly. I’m in no mood for pleasantries.
“I may have an answer.”
“Did you, or did you not, have any involvement in a shooting at a restaurant yesterday evening?”
He hesitates. Got you . “I did.”
“You… did?” I blink, shocked at his easy admission. “Why?”
“I don’t have to tell you.”
“Oddio. You men and your fucking secrets.” I groan, glancing up at the typical fluorescent office light on the ceiling. The obnoxious, bright, headache-inducing white lights. “You’re the son of Aisling O’Duinn, yes?” I ask him—a rhetorical question.
To catch him in lies. Cami already confirmed earlier Cillian’s the son of Aisling O’Duinn. I’m sitting here, putting two and two together. Like one smart cookie.
Mmm cookies.
“Yes,” he answers.
“Cillian,” I state his name.
“You know my name?”
“You shouldn’t have been stupido and signed your email with the letter C .” I scoff, spinning around on my swivel chair.
His laugh increases in volume, sounding like a villain in a movie. “Bold of you to call the head of the Irish Mob stupid , beautiful.”
My heart practically drops into my asshole. Fucking great. I have to keep my cool. Good thing no one can see my sweating palms. “I didn’t know you were the head of the Irish Mob. Why would you tell me such sensitive information?”
“Do with it what you will. I have connections. No one would believe you?—”
I hum, ignoring his threat. “We’ve had interactions, no? Chances . What’s your motive?”
“I can’t tell you, beautiful.”
“A man of many words.” My top lip curls up in a snarl. “Yet so little has been said. You really shouldn’t be going around telling people such sensitive information.”
“My motives are my own. Tell Marzano we’ll see each other soon.” The line goes dead before I can respond.
“Fuck!” I groan in frustration, throwing my phone down on the my desk.
“Is everything okay?” Cami pops up over the top of her cubicle with a concerned expression on her face.
Not sure why she’s acting as if she hasn’t been listening in on my conversation in the first place. I fake a grin. “Peachy.”
“You—” She says as we’re interrupted by a furious Mr. O’Duinn.
“Girls, enough chit-chat. Get back to work. Antonella?” He shoots me a lethal glare.
“Yes?” I fake my grin even more than before, despite the fact I want to gouge out my own eyeballs. I’m so fucked.
“I need you to get details on this company for me. Word on the street is this is a front for the Italian Mafia.” He slides me a piece of paper. Of course he wants me to cover this story.
Of course he does.
I nod, pursing my lips as I take the paper from him. “Simple enough.” I briefly scan the paper.
Marzanetworks Inc.
“I’ll get right on it.” I gulp. As if things couldn’t get any worse.
“Give me the results I want. You’ll be promoted.”
“Sure thing.”
Mr. O’Duinn leaves without another word, leaving me with another internal debate:
A. Sell out Giordano for a promotion.
B. Keep everything to myself because snitches get stitches. Feed ‘em to the fishes.
There’s only one clear answer here.
I blink, staring at my computer with a screen full of accusations for Vito Marzano. And, of course, the funeral over a year ago. Someone who has zero connection to Marzanetworks Inc.
His website is all legitimate tech company bullshit. There’s nothing here.
No story.
“Connections. Make connections, Toni,” I whisper to myself. My glare hardens on the screen.
Cillian O’Duinn’s my boss’ son, and the head of the Irish Mob. And he and Giordano hate each other for some reason.
I pull up the text thread.
We need to talk.
Giordano
Yes, we do.
“Cami? Can I speak with you for a moment?” Aisling says behind me at Cami’s cubicle. I shouldn’t be eavesdropping—but I can’t help myself.
I raise a brow, curiosa .
“Yes, Sir.” Cami responds quickly. So formal with him.
“Petrovi? needs your assistance. Line one,” his tone of voice is harsh.
“P-Petrovi??” she stutters. Who is he? Must be someone important.
“Yes, don’t disappoint him.” No forgiveness if she messes up, I guess. I grimace, happy not to be the one taking that call.
Sorry, Cami.
Mr. O’Duinn passes by my cubicle without so much as another glance. The strong scent of his cologne smacks my nose, filling the air with an overbearing scent. Too many sprays.
“Don Petrovi?,” Cami says quietly. Her volume is lower on this call than it normally is. Interesting. Don? He’s a boss guy? Oh, oh . “Right, of course, Sir?—”
My brows furrow as I pretend to click some buttons on the computer, type a few things on the keyboard into an internet search.
What does the word…
I tap my chin, thinking of a word related to what I’m supposed to be researching. Ah, got it. I type in ‘ What does the phrase cement shoes mean?’
Huh. Weighing down a body with concrete—dead or alive—before throwing them in the water to dispose of them so they sink to the bottom.
My FBI agent is going to have a field day with these searches I have to do. Unless it’s Giordano who’s my FBI agent. Well, he’s been having a boring time until now.
I gasp, my hands flying up to my mouth. I forgot I was supposed to be eavesdropping on Cami’s conversation. I got sidetracked.
“Thank you, Sir. Absolutely, I’ll get right on it. Thank you for your time,” she whispers.
Merda—I missed it.
“Antonella, it’ s time we had a talk.” Giordano says with the entire look of despair, flat lips, furrowed brows—the classic break-it-off line.
“I have something to tell you, too,” I admit. Though, I’m curious. Is he going to explain everything that happened last night—with the attempted shooting. Or maybe he wants to break everything off with me. Everything’s becoming a complicated mess.
“Please, let me go first. I need to tell yo—” His sentence gets cut off as I set the last remaining plates onto the table.
The doorbell rings.
He walks over to the front door, opening it. I stand, keeping my eyes on a short, older woman walking inside the foyer at a leisurely pace.
If I had to guess, she’s his mother. Perfect timing— not . I’m not ready to meet his family. What’s she doing here? Did he invite her here without telling me? No, he wouldn’t do that. He would’ve at least said something. Right? I was only aware of it being the two of us tonight. Though, I suppose the more the merrier. Kidding —I’m internally freaking out.
He’s about to tell me something important. Either break off our little friends with benefits thing, or tell me the truth about what he is—something I didn’t have on my tally sheet.
A vampire.
Kidding. Though, it’d explain the copious amounts of blood I’ve seen on him.
In all seriousness, leaning more toward Mafia man since what kind of serial killer would have a similar sort of shoot out? None I know. Wait, I don’t know any serial killers.
Wait—I don’t know that I don’t know any serial killers.
Fuck. Me.
I gasp. Then I whisper to myself, “ Cousin Pina killed her husband and best friend.” Of course that was after she found out they had a baby together. Her best friend of over two decades. They both lied about who the father had been—right to her face—the entire time.
But it’s only two people, you have to kill three to be considered a serial killer, right? “Right…” I shift my attention outside of my own mind.
“Momma! I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” He beams as she walks up to us. She pulls him in for a hug, coming up to the middle of his chest. She’s shorter than I am. “Wonderful to see you, as always. This is?—”
Merda.
I’m not meet-the-parent looks worthy. My hair isn’t in the best condition after spending all afternoon in the kitchen, and surely I’ve got pasta sauce splatter somewhere on my clothes. I should’ve taken him up on his, cooking naked with only an apron on, offer earlier.
I hesitantly set the last plate down on the table and step beside him while mustering up the most Oscar-worthy smile.
“Is this the woman you’ve been telling me about? Quello che hai detto che avresti sposato ?” Her face slowly lights up as she examines me.
Jesus Christ .
He told his mother he wants to…
I break into an obnoxious fit of coughing, choking on all of the air in my lungs. My wide eyes dart between the two of them. My entire face heats to roughly a thousand degrees.
“Uuuuuh…” I gulp, words stuck in my throat in a big lump as I give them both a crooked, toothy grin. Waves of uneasiness churn in my stomach—threatening to come up.
Giordano looks completely mortified as well. He must’ve left out the tiny little detail how I speak Italian, too. “Momma… She speaks Italian,” he whispers in her ear.
Why is he whispering? Not like it’s a secret. Maria knows, too. But her presence is often scarce. I wish I could be her at the moment.
Poof .
Awe transforms her face, eyes gleaming with hope as she lets go of her son—practically flinging him out of the way—instead, she pulls me in for a hug. A bear hug. Squeezing me tight. I can’t breathe. “Even better. I’m Lucia. Everyone calls me Momma. My, my. Sei bellissima.”
I ease into her hug for a second, a comforting aura. She releases me from the embrace. She’s sweet, comforting—from the two seconds I’ve talked to her. With the smile lines around her mouth, I can tell she’s lived a happy life—for the most part.
“Thank you…” I run my fingers through my hair, giving him a nod of approval. “I’ll be right back.” Leaving to get a third plate for Lucia, it’d be rude to not invite her to eat with us. Right?
We all sit at the dining room table. Giordano on one end of the table, Lucia on the right, and I—opposite of him—as far away as I can be.
Lucia says, “The Bistecca alla Fiorentina— squisito .”
“Thank you.” I smile. My heart fills to the brim with warmth from the compliment. My shoulders slump down as I lean back against the chair, zoning out of their conversation.
He has something to talk to me about, and if it isn’t ending our arrangement, it must be related to the shooting.
Why wouldn’t it be? We both have been acting like it didn’t happen. This doesn’t help my anxiety at all. The doom feeling.
Doooooooooooooom.
“You got a keeper. Don’t let her go easily.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.” His dark stare, hard and locked on mine, is enough to snap me out of my racing thoughts.
This only solidifies the not-breaking-up, slash, not-not-even-together-to-break-up, deal.
He isn’t kicking me out of the house.
I’m not going anywhere.
I relax my shoulders further as my stomach stops swirling about like it’s going to turn outside in. Inside out? One way or the other. In fact, I’m not even sure why these thoughts keep floating about my headspace— at all .
Statazit, brain .
I stop chewing my steak while stealing glances of him out of my peripheral. I attempt to keep my giggle to myself while lowering my gaze back down to my half-filled plate of food.
We’re friends.
That’s it.
Amici … with a few benefits. “Benefits” seems like I’m downplaying it. Best sex of my life . Best treatment of my life. Best house of my life. Best fucking everything.
Who am I still trying to fool? Myself? It’s not working.
“What brought you to Chicago, Antonella?” Lucia asks, breaking the silence.
“My career.” I focus on her, this time. “I work at The Estate Times.”
And I hate it . Not the job specifically, but the people I work for .
“And you like it?” Lucia places her fork down on her plate, leaning in closer to me. By the expression on her face, she can already see my truth. I shake my head. “Capisco.” Her lips flatten into a thin line.
“Antonella, why didn’t you say anything?” Giordano raises a brow and slides the open bottle of wine toward me.
My entire face contorts into a grimace as I reach for the half-full bottle, filling my glass damn near to the brim. I can’t control my facial expressions. “Why would I? You were so helpful by getting me this job. I didn’t even have to interview for it. I’ll endu?—”
“Do not say you’ll endure it.” His eyes glaze over with excitement. “Quit and stay home. I’ll take care of you.”
“Giordano, really ?” Lucia laughs. “Sì, sì. We’re all well aware how much you love her and want to take care of her. You’ve never talked so much in your life—especially about someone else. If she wants to work, let her work. ”
I press the cold rim of the glass up to my lips, pretending to take a sip, oh-so nonchalant . I raise both of my brows and stare intensely into the glass of red wine. I’m more of a white wine type of girl. This one’s a little bitter and slightly too dry for my liking.
Kinda like my attitude towards the news station.
“Wait, you didn’t interview?” he asks with immense confusion.
I shrug. “No, I was hired not long after submitting the résumé. No formal interview was necessary, I guess.” I tap my chin. “Your connections must be impeccable.”
However, at the moment not working is more enticing. I do enjoy writing, but not what Mr. O’Duinn wants me to. Which reminds me… “I suppose I would be fine not working… eventually .”
His smirk only intensifies as he stares at me from across the table. “Eventually as in?”
I wink at him. “As in, one day in the far… far distant future.”
There’s a certain glint or sparkle in his eyes. He’s up to no good. Plotting. This friends with benefits thing is not going to last much longer between us if he keeps this up. But that’s what he’s wanted all along.
Isn’t it?
“Lucia?” I flick my gaze back over to her.
“Sì?”
“How do you feel about grandchildren?” I keep the same, fuck around and find out, expression on my face, planning on messing with him.
Hard .
Giordano spits out his wine and coughs, choking on the liquid which coincidentally slides down the wrong pipe. He shoots me a glare which loudly says— I will kill you myself if you don’t change this topic, immediately.
Her face lights up, clapping her hands together. “I have been begging my son for years to find a wife and give me the little ones.”
“Hopefully sooner rather than later, no? ”
“Well, Giulietta isn’t going to give me one any time soon, and I’m not getting any younger.” She chuckles, taking a sip of wine.
“What better time than the present, no?” I swirl the wine around in my glass by the stem.
I finish putting the rest of the left overs into the container.
He comes up behind me, so close, his hot breath hits the back of my neck, causing goosebumps to rise and the small hairs to stand. His tone is absolutely serious as he says, “you’re beginning to show your true colors.”
A nervous laugh bubbles in my chest as I push down on the container’s lid. “What do you mean?”
“Easing into my life—what’s your motive?”
I turn quickly, confused. “I have no motive.”
“ Bugiarda ,” he whispers into my ear. His words send shivers down my spine.
I clear my throat, choosing to not reply as I brush past him. What the fuck is his deal? “Buonanotte, Lucia. Lovely meeting you.” I hug her as she stands in the doorway—holding the container of leftovers. Hopefully, she isn’t only accepting it only to be nice.
“Don’t be a stranger, Antonella. You make yourself a part of this family—especially if little Giordano here isn’t behaving.” She pats his cheek roughly, giving me a wink.
He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Have a safe trip back home.”
“Love you, my son.” She waves as he shuts the door behind her, walking to the car with her chauffeur.
“Is there something you need to talk to me about? Or did your mother lay it all out there for you? She’s lovely, by the way.” I cross my arms over my chest, pivoting on my heels to face him. And, I still need to tell him about my little tiff with Cillian.
Prepare to face the wrath .
I’ll dig my own grave tonight.
He laughs while taking my arm in his. We walk up the stairs together. He pats the back of my hand. “Another time, amore. It’s time for dessert.” He sweeps me up into his arms, hooking one underneath my knees and supporting my back with the other, once we reach the top of the stairs. I squeal as he carries me into my bedroom this time.
“The hell were you on about with my true colors? And motivation?” I bang on his back with my fists.
“Your grandchild comment. I’d knock you up right this minute if you only said the word.”
“Threat! I have the IUD,” I remind him.
“I’ll take it out.”
“ Threat !” My eyes fly wide open with shock. A nervous laugh slips between my lips as I shake my head. I’m only messing with him. “ Definitely not.”
“Shame,” he whispers, caressing my cheek. “I’d love to cum deep inside of you, claim you, and keep you as mine forever.” He gently presses his lips against my forehead. Oh, my God.
New kink unlocked :
Breeding.