19. Fallon #2
Sheesh, I didn’t realize how big this guy was until now. In the daylight. And what does he mean, detail?
“What?” I ask, keeping my gaze narrowed.
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Luciano: He is your personal security detail for the time being. Angelo is the best. You’ll be able to choose your security, but you need someone on you immediately.
Fallon: You didn’t mention I’d have to have someone stalking me.
Luciano: It’s not stalking, baby. It’s protection. The only one obsessed with you is me. Angelo is there to keep you safe. Only.
Fallon: He sticks out like a sore thumb, and what do you mean he’s the best? I beat him up.
I smirk up at Angelo, who hasn’t said anything yet. He probably knows I’m talking to Luciano already.
Luciano: You bit him. You didn’t beat him up.
Which I think we still need to talk about you putting yourself in dangerous situations like that.
Angelo could have hurt you a million different ways if he’d truly wanted to.
The only reason he didn’t is because you’re a woman, and women are precious to us.
My heart swells, and I let out a slow exhale. What is it with these Italian men? They all seem so different from anyone I’ve ever come across in my life. Not that I’ve ever come across any mafia men before.
At least, I don’t think I have.
Tilting my head up at Angelo, I arch an eyebrow. “So, he sent you to babysit me?”
The corners of the man’s lips twitch, and he flicks his eyes down to mine. “If he says you need to be babysat. Can’t say I disagree.”
I roll my eyes and sigh. “Whatever. Just come and stand in the salon instead of acting like some creep, hiding out in a park. I’m surprised the police haven’t been called on you. You look suspicious as hell.”
Angelo smirks but says nothing as he follows me, a slight distance away, through the park. I’m going to have to have a serious talk with Luciano about this. I don’t need someone following me around all day. I’ve made it this far in life on my own; I think I can continue to manage.
As my last client leaves, Luciano steps into the salon, and every set of eyes inside turn to look at him. Not that I blame them. He’s gorgeous in a classic way, the kind of features that women have found handsome for centuries.
But his eyes are fixed on me as he makes his way to where I’m finishing sweeping up around my station.
He steps in close, his hand sliding into my hair at the base of my neck.
When he kisses me, it’s quick and gentle, but it feels like a claim in front of all these other women.
Butterflies erupt in my belly when I look up at him.
“Hey, princess. I want to take you home tonight and cook for you,” he says.
His invitation feels like a big step. Just this morning, I told him having me stay at his house was too much.
But right now, only ten hours later, I want to go with him more than anything.
Being away from him has felt like torture today.
It’s a scary feeling because I’ve never been dependent on anyone in my life, but I want to be near Luciano as much as possible.
“Okay.” Because, apparently, I’m diving in headfirst with Luciano Ricci.
I quickly put all my supplies away and grab my purse, blushing when Luciano takes my hand and leads me out of the salon. When we step outside, there’s a black SUV running and waiting for us at the curb.
“My car is parked a block away. I can follow you.” I stop on the sidewalk, ready to head that way.
Luciano’s eyes darken. He comes over to me, nudging me toward the open door. “Angelo will return it to your apartment. Give me the keys.”
Even though my mouth drops open, I dig through my purse and hand them over. “Does everyone just do what you say?”
He smiles at me as he lifts me into the seat and then proceeds to buckle me in. “Yeah, baby girl. And it would be advisable for you to do the same.”
Then he kisses me gently, his clean scent mixed with the smell of a cigar in the car.
My entire body reacts, like a magnet to him.
When we part, he smiles, and it’s something I’ve realized Luciano doesn’t do very often, yet when one of them is directed toward me, it feels extra special. He doesn’t just give them to anyone.
“You’re really bossy,” I quip when he gets into the driver’s seat.
“You call it bossy; I call it trying to make your life easier,” he replies, reaching over the center console to take my hand in his larger one.
I stare down at the tattoos inked on his knuckles, dark and moody designs that probably mean something to him. Yet with those dangerous hands, he touches me so gently sometimes.
“I don’t want a bodyguard following me around everywhere. It’s creepy.”
The air in the car thickens as Luciano side-eyes me for a second before turning his attention to the road.
“That’s nonnegotiable, princess.”
This man thinks he can just say whatever he wants and I’m going to jump to his bidding.
“You will be able to choose your own bodyguard, eventually, but right now we have all the women within this organization on watch because of the situation with the Sicilians. You’re in this family now, princess.”
A swell of emotion spreads through my chest and creeps into my throat. He’s being cautious and trying to keep me safe. For a reason. Not just to be difficult.
“Nobody knows about us,” I tell him.
Luciano shrugs. “There are eyes on us everywhere, baby girl. The first time I was seen with you in the streets, someone could have seen. You’re my weakness, and our enemies would use that to their advantage if they were stupid enough. And they might be.”
“Angelo hates me.”
The corners of his lips curl up, and I realize I just sounded like a pouting brat, but I don’t care.
“He doesn’t,” he says firmly. “It’s not his job to like you, princess. It’s his job to protect you so I don’t have to worry whenever I’m away.”
“You use him to spy on me, too?” I ask, narrowing my gaze at him.
“Not spy. But keep an eye on you to make sure you stay out of trouble. Considering I found you taking a baseball bat to my car, I think it’s fair.” A smug smile spreads over his lips, and I resist the urge to smack him. Barely.
“You know, you could probably be committed, right? Like you’re actually not right in the head.” I say it with sass, but I’m fighting the urge to smile because this man is ridiculous. And I think I love it.
“I’m not going to control your life, baby. If you want to take a bat to another car, go right ahead, but Angelo is going to step in and stop you before you do something unsafe like trying to fucking climb on top of it.”
Ugh.
One moment he says the most arrogant thing, and the next he says stuff like that. Things that are completely unhinged, but also perfect.
When I don’t say anything, he pulls my left arm away from my chest and brings my fingers to his lips, kissing them softly.
“Just give it a chance. My only intention is your safety.”
I look over at him and sigh, then glance ahead as we come up to a gated driveway. Men stand on either side of it, looking into the car before pressing a code to open the wrought-iron gates.
“Do you have guards there all the time?”
“Yes, baby. I told you, we take our safety very seriously.”
The sun is setting on the horizon as we crest a small hill, and the house comes into view.
My mouth falls open as I stare at it. Old, rustic, and I’m guessing Italian-built based on all the unique touches of character.
Wrought iron sconces make the stucco siding illuminate a soft golden color.
The property is large, with a stone wall lining it and trees planted throughout.
It feels like a whole different world here.
“This is the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen.” I’m breathless as I stare at it.
“Thank you. It’s been passed down in my family for generations. My great-great-grandfather built it when he came here from Italy.”
I reach for the door handle, but Luciano stops me. “New rule. No opening your own door when I’m around. Wait for me.”
As he rounds the front of the SUV, my gaze moves with him, my jaw slack. Luciano might be dangerous, but he’s also a gentleman.
Warmth greets us when we enter the house.
My eyes dart everywhere, taking in all the beauty that feels a little like what I’d imagine Italy to be like.
Everything is clean and modern, but it still has an old feel to it as we walk through a wide hallway.
Then we enter a kitchen that looks like it could be on a cooking show.
“This is the kitchen of my dreams,” I say without thinking.
He smiles and pulls out a chair from under one of the bars of the double island. “Sit. Do you want some wine?”
When I nod, he pulls down two stemmed glasses and then starts rolling up his sleeves like a damn porn star. Good lord, that is sexy.
“You’re staring, princess,” he says with amusement.
I giggle quietly and roll my eyes, then smile at him as he slides my glass to me.
“Thank you.”
Luciano spends the next hour chopping, slicing, sautéing, and moving through his kitchen like a pro. My mouth is watering by the time he sets a plate in front of me. When I see what it is, I swallow thickly.
Chicken Parmesan.
My favorite.
A few days ago, Joshua was pissed that I hadn’t cooked it for him on time. And tonight, Luciano made it for me, without even knowing.
“This looks amazing. And it smells even better.” I use my fork and cut a bite of chicken, then twirl some noodles before taking a bite.
If food orgasms were a thing, I think I might be having one because this is ten times better than anything I’ve ever made.