Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Valentina
I’m not sure what I expected Deuce to be, but this Southern gentleman with a beautiful rambling house and actual friends is not it.
Granted, I only knew Deuce as a kid. Last I saw him he was bleeding outside my bedroom, and even though I’d harbored a secret crush on him for years which made that night of sex the height of exhilarating, I always saw him as the spoiled playboy type.
He and Bettina would fight constantly when we were growing up, but she always gave him whatever he wanted.
Unlike me, who knew she was adopted and therefore better follow Bettina’s orders to a tee or get kicked out of the tribe, or worse.
This was a crime family after all. My circumstances forced me to walk a tightrope, performing constantly for continued inclusion.
Deuce pissed on the tightrope with a lazy smirk, knowing he’d be forgiven. We were not the same.
“Girlfriend?” The blond man with the bright yellow polo shirt looks like his eyes might pop out of his head.
“Fuck yeah,” the dark-haired pregnant woman by his side says. She reacts first, thrusting out her hand toward me. “I’m Betsy. I like your outfit, Landry.”
With my former line of work, I had to be an excellent judge of character—it was pretty much the difference between life or death—and this woman seems genuine. “Thanks, Betsy. The red was a little bright but I was going into battle.”
Betsy shrugs. “I get it. The women around here go into battle with ruffles and lace and florals, but I prefer black. All black.”
I nod. “I like black too. Easy to get blood stains out of.”
Betsy’s eyebrows pull together in a frown, but she barks out a laugh. “Not one of my reasons for wearing it, but I see your point.”
Deuce squeezes the shit out of my waist in warning. I flick my ponytail over my shoulder, knowing it whips him in the face. He sputters and the sound makes me happy.
“I’m staying here in Heaven for a bit. Any places I should check out?”
“Wait a second,” the blond man pipes up, turning mostly to Deuce. “Since when do you have a girlfriend?”
“Well, Val-Landry and I have been talking for awhile. I knew her back in New York when we were kids. We decided she should come stay with me for a bit while we get to know each other again. See if we’re compatible, you know?”
Other than the mix-up on my name, that almost sounded believable. His friend must not think so because his mouth flops open and closed like a fish for a few seconds.
It takes all of my willpower to do it, but I lean my head on Deuce’s shoulder like a smitten girlfriend. “I hate to meet y’all and run, but I really need to unpack and take a shower. Travel really takes it out of ya.”
I threw in a little Southern slang in there, ignoring the way Deuce nearly chokes on his own tongue. He releases my waist and I immediately shuffle sideways an inch or two to get some much-needed space away from him.
Betsy rubs her belly, turning back toward the door with a sympathetic smile. “I don’t like socializing either. I think we’ll get along famously, Landry.”
I’m not so sure about that. She seems pretty chill, which I like, but friendships aren’t something I’ve fostered over the years as the head of a crime family.
People kissed my ass because they didn’t want me to kill them or their families.
Trust doesn’t come easily and friendships built on genuine affection are foreign to me.
Betsy’s husband stays put to hold his hand out to finally shake mine, which I do. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome. I was just a little shocked, is all. Besides falling for the best friend a guy could ever have, I think you’ll fall in love with Heaven too. We’re glad you’re here.”
I blink at this effusive praise of both Deuce and this Podunk town.
Huh. That’s weird. Silas really likes Deuce.
I just never saw Deuce as best friend material.
He was like me, raised in a world where backstabbers don’t really garner loyal friends, and friendships could be used as leverage against you.
“Um, thanks. I, uh, hope your baby has a small head.”
Everyone looks at me like I’ve lost it. I mean, doesn’t a pregnant woman want a small-headed baby? It’s gotta go through the fucking exit. Small heads seem like what one would wish for. Not that I would know. I’ve never wanted one of those little squirming crying things.
Deuce shoots me a look I can’t interpret and walks his friends to the door.
They stay a few more minutes chatting while I hover by the stairs, wondering if I should head up to my room or wait Deuce out.
When the door finally clicks and Deuce walks back, he swipes a hand over his face, looking as exhausted as I feel.
“Okay, we need to get you dressed as soon as possible. More people might stop by and we need to…” He trails off, waving his hand up and down in front of me. “…fix this.”
“Excuse me?” I snap, instantly reaching for the knife I keep strapped to my leg below the pants.
Deuce puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping me. “You don’t look like you fit in here. If we’re to keep your identity a secret, we need you to dress the part.”
I straighten, leaving the knife sheathed for now. “Why would people be stopping by?”
Deuce lifts a shoulder and lets it drop. “This is the South, baby. People drop in for visits all the time.”
I grimace. “That sounds terrible. And don’t call me baby.”
Deuce smirks and I have to admit—in my head only, of course—that he’s gorgeous when he does that. He’s got this model quality about him. Like he stepped off a Paris runway to visit this small town and lost his way back.
“Everyone has a nickname here, so yours might as well be baby.”
“Absolutely not.” I’m seriously thinking of grabbing for the knife again.
Deuce holds up his hands in peace. A fancy gold watch winks from below his sleeve.
“Fine. Not baby. But you’ll definitely get called honey, so prepare yourself.
” A single eyebrow lifts. “You can’t reach for your knife every time someone calls you honey or you’ll terrorize this whole town before the day is over. ”
I scowl. “I hate it here.”
“I know. Heaven doesn’t want you here either,” he snaps back just as quickly. He drops his hands. “Okay, how about you go get unpacked and get that shower. When you’re decent, I’ll see if anything you’ve brought is usable. We can go shopping tomorrow for more clothing.”
I have no intention of letting him rifle through my clothing with his filthy hands.
Okay, they aren’t filthy. In fact, they’re quite pristine.
Maybe the nicest man hands I’ve seen, though to be fair, most of the man hands I’ve seen are wearing gloves so their prints won’t be traceable.
Deuce’s hands have strong sinewy muscles, clipped nails, and one faint scar on his left thumb.
Like he isn’t afraid to work with his hands, but he also cleans them up afterward.
Deuce spins away from me as I head upstairs to the guest room and that’s all that matters.
I need time away from his spicy cologne and annoying smirk.
Today certainly did not go like I thought.
A long hot everything-shower does little to ease my stress. Between the mess I left behind in New York, the favor I’ll owe Bettina for handling the things I should be dealing with and can’t, and the foreseeable future staying with Deuce, I have a lot on my mind.
Which is why I’m surprised when I wake up in a strange room several hours later. I blink, taking in my pajamas, a satin set of shorts and tank top in a deep maroon. Damn, that was one hell of a nap. I sit on the edge of the four-poster bed and try to get my bearings.
I haven’t been sleeping well. At first, I chalked it up to the stress of my job.
Then when things got dicey and I transferred the role to my replacement, I blamed it on a keyed-up nervous system that didn’t know how to rest. Now I’m starting to wonder if this is just how I am.
It takes forever to fall asleep because my brain is racing, and then once I do fall asleep, I wake up at two in the morning almost like clockwork.
I lie there for what feels like hours before I fall back asleep, leading to an alarm waking me up groggy a few hours later.
Naps are usually few and far between, but I guess the quiet of being out of the city worked a miracle.
My stomach growls. I slide off the floral quilt that looks like a grandma somewhere in time made it by hand and get to my bare feet.
A quick look at the burner phone Bettina gave me tells me it’s almost six in the evening.
Fucking hell. I slept the afternoon away.
No wonder I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten all day.
I creep to the door and listen with my ear pressed against the ornate wood before pulling it open.
I hear a clock ticking somewhere in the house, but otherwise, it’s silent.
So silent it’s a little creepy. Where’s the road noise?
Horns honking? People cursing each other out?
I tiptoe to the top of the stairs, still not hearing Deuce. Maybe he left. Hopefully he left.
Slowly, so as not to make any sound, I descend the stairs.
This house really is beautiful. The ornate molding on the stairs, along with the banister and the plush carpet on the foot tread make for a regal set of stairs.
The rich color of the wallpaper makes the whole area look warm and regal.
Very different from the stark opulence of my place in New York.
Just as I creep to the kitchen and think I might be able to find a snack without running into he-who-shall-not-be-named, the front door clicks open.
I flatten myself against the wall and reach for my knife, only to silently curse when I realize I took it off for my shower and left it upstairs.
That’s okay. I can fight with my hands if need be.
A man’s singing voice blares into the silence, comically off-key as he keeps bellowing. The volume gets louder.
“Parked in a holler…”
I push off the wall and slap a hand on Deuce’s sweaty mouth as he comes around the corner. He flails wildly with a loud yelp, effectively getting my hand off his face, but with way more drama than necessary. He rips headphones off his ears and gapes at me.
“Jesus, Valentina. You damn near killed me.”
I fold my arms across my chest and realize I should have put on a bra. Or clothes rather than flimsy pajamas.
Because Deuce is barely wearing clothes and we can’t have both of us half naked in the same room. It’s a new rule I just made up.
“You almost killed me with that awful singing,” I snap, refusing to acknowledge the intel my eyeballs are giving me.
My eyes are taking in a sweaty naked chest narrowing to a trim waist and the deep crevices of a six-pack huffing and puffing air above a pair of running shorts.
My brain, on the other hand, is coming up with reasons I should be annoyed with this man, that stupid attractive physique being one of them.
He smirks at me, shaking his head slowly. A single lock of jet black hair has fallen across his sweaty forehead. It should be a chink in his armor, a flaw that makes him less attractive.
Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.
“You really need to work on the art of a putdown.”
“I think I do that just fine.”
Deuce wipes a bead of sweat from his temple with the back of his wrist. “No, you definitely get your meaning across, but Southern women do it with a smile.”
I scowl harder. “Why should I smile when I’m insulting you?”
“Because it keeps you looking like a pretty little thing while cutting a man down to size.” He holds his hands up and skirts around me into the kitchen. “But hey, I’m not telling you what to do. I’m just saying if you want to fit in around here…”
I trail after him, more intent on food than this ridiculous suggestion. “Give me an example.”
He pulls a pre-made salad out of the refrigerator and two plates from the cabinet to the left of the sink. “My girl Mary London has some incredible ones.” He puts a hand to his hip and uses this weird high-pitched voice. “It’s amazing how confident you are with so little to back it up.”
I screw up my face. “That was really creepy. Please don’t do that again.”
Deuce rolls his eyes at me and gets busy making what I’m hoping is dinner. I snatch a sliced carrot off the salad while he heats up a glass container in the microwave. “Also, I thought Maggie was your girl.”
He spins toward me. “Huh?”
I wave the carrot, chewing and talking at the same time because I don’t care about impressing Deuce St. Legare. “You said my girl Maggie earlier. And now you just said my girl Mary London. Which one is your girl?”
Deuce cracks up as he plates the salad and dumps warm chicken on top. There’s a smell of lemon vinaigrette on everything, making my stomach rumble louder.
“It’s a phrase, Valentina.” He bats his eyes at me. “You’re my only girl.”
“Ew.” My heart flutters in revulsion.
He hands me a plate and fork. “See? We need to work on those insults.”
I take my plate to the island and pull out a barstool with my foot. “Why, when I can just wave my knife in their face instead?”
Deuce sighs dramatically and sits next to me. The scent of cologne, vinaigrette, and man sweat hits me. It smells much nicer than one would think. I ignore it and decide to mouth breathe every time I’m in Deuce’s presence.
“You’re in Heaven, Mississippi, now, Landry. Try to fit in, huh?”
I roll my eyes and shove a huge bite into my mouth.
Fit in?
Absolutely not. I’ll be long gone before I need to do any such thing.