Chapter 14 #2
Maybe I’ll call Sofia and work out my frustration with her.
We’ve never been serious, but her brother’s a solid and trusted part of the crew.
She and I have hooked up in the past, and we have a standing arrangement that’s mutually beneficial.
She doesn’t want to be married off, and I can’t settle down, but together, we can get our rocks off.
But thinking about Sofia while Isla is standing nearby in my kitchen unsettles me even more than I was to begin with. I dump in the shrimp and send hot olive oil splashing onto my hand. It burns like hell, but I just clench my jaw and keep fucking stirring.
“Didn’t that hurt?”
I cast a glance in Isla’s direction. “I’ve had far worse.”
“Like what?”
“I’ve been punched, kicked, stabbed, and shot. Almost got hit by a car once. You name it, I’ve pretty much experienced it.”
“Alessio, oh my God.”
She’s the only one who calls me by my real name. I liked the way it sounded when she moaned it. I like the way it sounds now too.
I shrug, averting my gaze to keep from looking at her, beautiful and appalled, standing barefoot in my kitchen as if it’s where she belongs. “It’s not a big deal. Comes with the territory.”
“You say that like it’s nothing.”
“That’s because it is nothing to me. I was born into this life. I’ll leave it when I die. That’s the way it goes.”
My pan is screaming hot, and the shrimp are already done. The timer on my phone starts dinging, and I realize the pasta is too, so I pull it off the burner.
“What if you don’t want to be in the life? Doesn’t anyone ever leave?” Isla asks softly.
I cut a glance in her direction as I start draining the pasta. “In a body bag.”
She stops asking me questions after that, and I finish making dinner.
Isla
“What can I do to help clean up?” I ask Alessio, carrying my empty plate toward the kitchen.
He’s an excellent cook, which I find somehow surprising. Dinner was delicious, even if we did eat mostly in silence, Cid curled up nearby like a chaperone. Being alone with Alessio, in his private space, has left me with a strange feeling I can’t shake.
His apartment isn’t as huge as Priest and Luna’s penthouse, but it’s still large and sumptuous by anyone else’s standards.
Like their place, he has a showstopping view of the city, only his apartment overlooks the river.
I couldn’t stop admiring it before the sun went down, and now that it’s dark, the city coming to life with lights, the river is equally majestic.
“Do you do dishes?” he asks over his shoulder.
I try not to notice the way his ass is perfectly delineated in his black slacks. He may be a mobster, but Alessio dresses like a billionaire businessman. Everything about him is put together and bespoke, with an old-world elegance few men can pull off.
“With great reluctance,” I tell him honestly.
I hate dishes, and I hate cooking. Basically, I think all kitchens are evil. I’ve been living off deliveries from nearby restaurants since arriving in the city. Mostly because I didn’t want to set Luna and Priest’s kitchen on fire.
“Same,” Alessio says, moving to the sink. “We can split the work. I’ll rinse and you load.”
“Deal.”
We settle into a comfortable routine, both of us gathering dirty pots and dishes and utensils, him rinsing and leaving them in the other side of the double sink for me to retrieve and load into the dishwasher.
I can’t stop thinking about everything he told me tonight as I slide plates into their parallel grooves.
The terrifying Russian mobster who was following me earlier, the repercussions for Alessio, the danger he faces each day, the fact that he can’t get out of this life even if he wants to…
It seems unfair.
Yes, on paper, he’s got a life most others would kill for. Power, money, and control of a massive empire with his brothers. Beyond that, he’s so handsome, it hurts to look at him. I’m sure that all he has to do is snap his fingers and a dozen gorgeous women come running to jump into his bed.
The thought of him in another woman’s bed makes my stomach twist, but I don’t know why.
I have no claim on Alessio. All we did was have a one-night stand, which never would have happened had we each known who the other was.
We may as well live on two different planets, and if there’s anything that today proved to me beyond a doubt, it’s that I don’t belong in the deadly world of crime he inhabits.
I grab some utensils from him, trying not to notice how sexy his hands are. His ink is intricate. Skulls, roses, a cross, and other symbols all interwoven together. I want to ask what they all mean, but I shouldn’t care. The more I learn about him, the deeper I’ll get.
I lodge the utensils in their basket and straighten, realizing the sink is empty. “Is that it?”
“Yeah.” He washes his hands methodically, drawing my attention back to them.
I remember how they felt on my body, so gentle and knowing, capable and strong.
“What are my rules while I’m trapped here tomorrow?” I ask, desperately trying to distract myself.
He finishes rinsing and wipes his hands dry on a plush black towel that’s hanging from a brass holder. The towel is monogrammed. AVA.
“There’s only one rule you need to remember here, and that’s stay the fuck inside, where you belong,” he growls.
There’s that heartless, ruthless Mafia consigliere again, coming back out to play, reminding me of all the reasons jumping back into bed with him is not just wrong but impossible.
No matter how tempting it is, especially now that we’re sleeping in the same apartment, nothing but a hallway and two doors between us.
“Trust me, the last thing I want to do is get kidnapped by some psycho Russian mobster.” I move to the sink and wash my hands now. “I’ll be staying in until it’s time to go home.”
Wherever home ends up being. I have no ties to Iowa any longer. Just my things in a storage cube, but that will be easily rectified when I have it shipped to my next address.
“And no going in my bedroom, even though I know you’ll find that one difficult.”
I turn off the water and dry my hands on the towel too. “Ha-ha,” I deadpan. “What, no torture chamber that I need to keep out of?”
He holds my gaze, looking into my soul, and what I see in his eyes is terrifying. “Not here.”
A chill sweeps over me. He’s not joking about this, but I was.
Get it together, Isla. This guy is not at all who you thought he was. He’s a monster.
A monster I can’t help but want.
I swallow hard. “Okay, so no torture chamber here. Noted.” I hang the towel back up. “I think I’ll head to bed with Cid. My e-reader is calling. Mind if I use the shower before I do?”
I’m trying to be a polite guest. I’ve never spent the night in the apartment of a virtual stranger I happen to have hooked up with before, and I have no idea how to navigate this. It’s awkward as hell.
“Be my guest,” he says, unsmiling.
The look he gives me is enough to set me aflame. My ovaries are about to explode, because they’re clearly not as discerning as the rest of me.
“Thanks for dinner,” I chirp in a voice that’s annoyingly high. “Have a great night.”
“You too, Jane.”
The final taunt is difficult to ignore, but somehow I do. It’s been a hot minute since he called me that, so baby steps, I guess.
I’m wincing at myself as I stalk down the hall to the guest bathroom he showed me when we first arrived.
I leave the door to my room cracked for Cid, because he’s been curling up with me and keeping me company every night.
And by keeping me company, I mean he’s been hogging the king-size and even occasionally making himself at home on my head.
Everything is stocked and ready for me in the bathroom, the small travel bag where I keep my face products, shower gel, toothbrush, and shampoo waiting on the counter.
I take a deep breath, lock the door, and tell myself that I can do this.
I can stay in the same space as Alessio and not give in to his smoldering mobster sex god ways.
He’s an evil man. A man who’s every bit as bad as the Russian he’s trying to protect me from.
I can’t lose sight of what and who he really is.
I quickly slip out of my clothes, take down my hair, and turn on the shower.
It’s been a long-ass day with a whole lot of unwelcome, terrifying revelations.
The second I’m closing the glass shower door and the steamy water hits me, I realize how tired I am.
I close my eyes, letting the water run over my scalp and down my back, easing some of the tension between my shoulders that I didn’t realize I was still carrying.
I stay that way for a while, trying to ground myself and relax. When I finally open my eyes, I see it. A large spider with long, hideous legs on the wall of the shower, moving toward me.
Before I can stop myself, I scream.
It’s loud. Blood-curdling. A scream of pure terror, because I’m afraid of spiders. I have been for my whole life, and that will never change.
“Isla?” I hear Alessio’s muffled, worried voice on the other side of the door as I stand there petrified, water spraying on me, the spider and I engaged in a standoff.
I hear him jiggling the door handle.
“I’m okay—” I start to say, but my words are swallowed by the violent cracking of the door as Alessio apparently breaks it down.
I barely have enough time to cover myself with one arm and a hand before he’s wrenching open the shower door, the look on his face enough to send me cowering in fear.
“What the fuck is going on?” he demands.
“A spider,” I say lamely, nodding my head to the arachnid on the opposite end of the shower because both hands are currently busy shielding my naked body.
Even though he’s already seen it.
Licked and kissed almost every inch of it.
“Jesus,” he snaps, sounding disgusted. “I thought something was actually wrong.”
“Something is actually wrong. I’m showering with a spider.”
“I’ll kill it.” He turns around.