Chapter 6 Florence
FLORENCE
Ifollow Lorenzo into a sleek black sedan for the second time in as many days. This time, however, I have Sprinkles to rescue me if necessary. As if reading my mind, the cutest little flat-faced Persian cat that ever existed purrs from his comfy spot in the travel bag I have for him.
Lorenzo has my small duffel bag I hastily packed with several outfits and the essentials. Everything happened so fast, from peeking out of my window and seeing Lorenzo sleeping in his car to arguing with him about the documents… and then there was the almost kiss. Or maybe I’m just making that up.
Not that any of that matters right now. I’m still not completely convinced that Lorenzo isn’t just protecting me as an extension of protecting the files.
Then again, he could have easily overpowered me and stolen the documents already or even snuck in last night and rummaged through my apartment until he found them.
Right now, however, I don’t really care. As long as Sprinkles and I are safe.
Lorenzo opens the passenger side door for me and I slip inside the vehicle. He tries buckling my seatbelt again, but Sprinkles hisses at him. The tall, ripped, gun-toting man recoils and holds his hands up in surrender. “Spiteful little thing,” he mutters.
I can't hide my grin. Knowing he's intimidated by my eight-pound fluffy white cat makes me feel even safer. My boys, fighting over who can protect me the best.
Not that Lorenzo is mine or anything. I just…
I just want the fantasy to last a little longer.
Yesterday, he was my fake boyfriend, swooping in to ward off the creep in the alley.
Today, he’s whisking me away to a safe house.
If it weren’t for the stupid case file, our meet-cute could be in a movie.
The sexy, mysterious, and possibly dangerous Lorenzo circles around the parking lot of my apartment building, then does a few trips around the block before heading toward the freeway. We ride in silence aside from the occasional mew from Sprinkles.
I’m still processing everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.
I knew I had discovered something big when I found the discrepancies between the print and digital files, but this?
Dirty cops, money laundering, Mary Hanson using her accounting firm to cover everything up?
I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t stumble upon it myself.
My head is spinning as I wonder how many cases I’ve handled with falsified numbers. Am I liable for the fallout of everything? Would I go to prison? Would the Las Vegas Police Department take me out to the middle of the Mojave desert and leave me for dead?
I look out the window, hoping to distract myself.
Lorenzo takes the next exit off the freeway, then turns left, heading back toward my apartment.
Did I miss something here? He takes another left, followed by a complete U-turn.
The car weaves through traffic, Lorenzo seemingly taking random side streets and then popping back onto the main strip before circling around the block.
I’m about to ask what he’s doing, but I’m not sure I want to know the details. He must sense my question, because Lorenzo murmurs, “We were being tailed but I shook him off. I needed to make sure we didn’t have more company.”
My stomach turns to lead and I squeeze my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. I feel like I’m going to be sick. Sprinkles rubs up against me from the inside of his carrier that I have resting in my lap.
I close my eyes and try taking a deep breath, fighting off the panic attack threatening to consume me from the inside out.
A warm hand covers one of my balled-up fists, squeezing gently and keeping a firm hold on my shaking hand. I peek one eye open, looking down at Lorenzo’s hand and following the calming motion of his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to.
Lorenzo’s actions speak for themselves. This man is comforting me, which has nothing to do with getting the files.
It’s only for my benefit. As terrible as the timing is, I can’t help but fall for him just a little bit in this moment.
Even Sprinkles allows the hand-holding without so much as a single hiss of protest.
Finally, after what feels like hours of driving, Lorenzo pulls the car into a small, nondescript Adobe-style house in the middle of nowhere with miles and miles of desert and tumbleweeds.
He said the safe house was on the outskirts of town, but this feels like a completely different planet than the streets of Vegas.
Once inside, I see the house isn’t all that much bigger than my studio apartment. It has a larger kitchen area, but no separate rooms other than the bathroom. Unlike my apartment, this place has a bed. Singular. As in… Lorenzo and I would have to share it.
Heat flashes through my body, making me blush. I shake off whatever inappropriate scenario I was about to play in my mind and focus back on Sprinkles.
“I’ll get the litter box and food and water bowls set up in the bathroom,” I tell Lorenzo. He’s staring at the singular bed in the corner of the room, apparently coming to the same conclusion I just did.
“Yes,” he suddenly says, blinking a few times as if clearing his mind. “Good. I’ll see what they stocked us up with for food. You should eat. It’s been a long day already.”
I nod and we part ways, each off to do our tasks.
As soon as I let Sprinkles out of his carrier, the fluff ball begins sniffing everything and prancing around like he already owns the place.
The adorable little king finds a laundry basket sitting right outside the bathroom with freshly folded towels inside.
I smile and shake my head when the cat jumps inside, circling a few times before curling up in a little ball and tucking his nose under his paw. At least one of us appears to have no worries in the world.
By the time I get back to the kitchen, Lorenzo has a peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut into quarters on a plate for me, along with barbeque chips and a stack of Oreo cookies. When I look over at him, he has remnants of his own sandwich and cookies sprinkled on his black suit.
“Thanks for lunch,” I say, not sure how to break the awkwardness of the situation.
Lorenzo looks up from the message he was sending on his phone, nodding once in acknowledgment.
“More like dinner, I guess,” I say more to myself when I see the clock on the microwave.
Nearly six in the evening. I guess we really did drive around for hours.
I eat half of my sandwich and two Oreos before I can’t stand the silence any longer.
I have more questions, dammit, and I deserve answers.
If Lorenzo thought it was important enough to hide me away in this remote location, I deserve to know his role in this whole mess.
I’m especially curious as to why he was so against releasing the damning information to the media.
“Who do you work for?” I ask, not for the first time. Back at my apartment, he never got a chance to answer.
Startled by my abrupt question, Lorenzo straightens up in his chair and then runs a hand through his thick brown locks. I've noticed he does that when he's trying to think of an excuse. I'm not in the mood for excuses; I need answers.
“The truth,” I clarify before he can come up with a vague, unsatisfying response.
“It’s complicated,” he starts, getting up from his seat and pacing around the small living area.
“Uncomplicate it,” I reply, standing up as well. Lorenzo may be nearly a foot taller than me, but I won’t let him think he has the upper hand here. I cross my arms over my chest and hold my head up high, not backing down.
I can practically see the thoughts racing in his mind as he tries to settle on something to appease us both.
Lorenzo turns the full power of his deep, dark gaze on me.
He takes a deep breath, the sharp look in his eyes giving way to something more vulnerable.
He’s asked me to trust him a dozen times by now, but he’s trying to figure out if he can trust me.
“I work for the mafia,” he says, not breaking eye contact.
The mafia? What the actual fuck…?
“What?” I blurt out, feeling like I’ve been sucker punched.
“The Capparellis, to be more specific. I’m their top enforcer.”
I open and close my mouth a few times and then tilt my head to the side. I have no reason to doubt his answer, I just... I don't know how I feel about it all.
“Say something,” Lorenzo finally blurts out. “Are you afraid of me?”
Everything in me softens toward this man. He fought with himself over what to tell me about his profession, and now that he’s admitted the truth, all he really wants to know is if he makes me uncomfortable.
I shake my head no and uncross my arms, moving closer to where Lorenzo has been wearing a path in the hardwood floor.
He stills his pacing, watching me approach him.
I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to do until my hand reaches out for his.
Our fingers weave together and he pulls me against his body, letting me feel his solid chest and abs against my soft curves.
The hundreds of questions I need answers to suddenly fade away, leaving just me and Lorenzo alone in a remote location. Our hearts race together as our breathing grows shallower with each inhale.
The fire from this morning’s almost-kiss rushes to the surface, our eyes locked on each other while our breaths mingle. “I’m not scared,” I whisper, letting him know I’m not afraid of him or what’s happening between us.
“Good girl,” he hums, his voice deep and making my stomach flutter with his dark tone.
I tip my head up and lift myself up on my tiptoes, swaying forward and hoping like hell I’m not about to make a fool of myself. Our lips touch, softly at first, like we don’t know if we should.