Chapter 5
Samantha
Under the bright noon sun, I drive one of Sandro’s golf carts across the island to East Davis Boulevard, park and walk into Island Brew. An iced coffee will be my indulgence for the day.
This place is adorable with its white brick walls, oversized wicker basket lights and giant vine plants hanging from the ceiling. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans and pastries is what heaven smells like, I’m sure of it.
Stepping up to the birch and pink painted bar, I smile at the twenty-something guy, who turns red as a tomato.
I pretend not to notice as I order a small vanilla iced coffee.
Then find a seat in the back corner and pull out my burner phone.
There’s only one person who has the number.
The woman protecting the love of my life.
After two rings, Celia picks up. “Buon pomeriggio, Miss Sam.”
My shoulders fall in relief as I quickly analyze her voice. There’s always that second of uncertainty before I hear her tone that I wonder if today will be the day he finds us.
“Hi. How is she today?” I glance around at the dozen or so people scattered around the coffee shop. No one is paying me any attention.
I can hear the smile in her voice as she reassures me. “Just fine, Mama. She is eating lunch right now. Pasta, peas and chicken. You would like to say hi?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s a question because hearing my voice interferes with her peace. She gets fussy and uncooperative. She misses me. And damn, I miss her, too. “Yes,” I whisper, because I also don’t want her to forget me.
Celia puts the call on speaker, and I hear Rona singing Itsy Bitsy Spider in her sweet little voice. “Say hi to Mama,” Celia instructs her.
“Mama!” Rona squeals.
And I choke out a, “Hi, baby.” The iced coffee cup blurs and my face grows hot. Doing this in a public place is not my smartest idea, but the air conditioning lured me in. I’m still not used to the hot, humid air.
I squeeze my eyes shut as she squeals. “Hi, Mama!”
With my eyes closed, I can picture her big, light brown eyes sparkling, that smile that takes up her whole face, two sprigs of dark ponytails on top of her head.
“I miss you, Rona. Mommy misses you so so much. Can you catch this kiss I’m sending you?
” I make a kiss kiss sound into the phone as salty tears roll into my mouth.
As I snatch some napkins from the holder, I hear the smack of her little bowed lips against the phone speaker and have to hold back a sob. “Mama has to go, but I’ll see you soon. I love you, baby.”
“No go, Mama.” Her voice is rising, desperate. “No go!”
It cracks me open and the grief spills out in the form of snot and tears. I press the napkins against my face as Celia takes control of the phone again. Glancing around, I notice I’ve attracted a few people’s attention.
“Thank you,” I whisper to her. It’s not just gratitude for her putting Rona on the phone and we both know it. She’s our guardian angel, who saved us from Diablo himself.
I’ve been on the call too long already. I have to go.
“Don’t worry, Miss Sam,” Celia whispers. “This is not forever.”
I can do nothing but nod, but she can’t see me. The lump in my throat is the only thing preventing the sob from rising. I disconnect the call. Six months feels like forever. That’s how long Celia has kept my two-year-old in hiding for me. A quarter of my daughter’s life.
I appreciate what Sandro’s father Giovi LaRocca did for me. Helping me escape New York by giving me an under-the-table job with his son here in Tampa. But I also know that going to him for help has left a trail that Michael will eventually follow.
I need to keep running. I need to get further away.
And for that, I need more money. The money Sandro pays me would be plenty, if I wasn’t giving most of it to Celia for a safe place for her and Rona to live.
Celia risked her life to help us, it was the least I could do, but it only leaves me with enough for a crappy one-bedroom apartment in a dangerous part of the city.
There was no alternative. I can’t keep Rona with me, can’t even risk going to visit her.
He’ll be looking for me, and when he finds me, I won’t lead him to our daughter.
I won’t let him have both of us again. Motherhood was forced on me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I will die to protect my child.
I suck down the rest of my iced coffee. It sours in my stomach as my emotions morph from grief to anger.
No, he won’t ever see our daughter again if I can help it.
I’ll do everything in my power to keep that promise to her.
I have to find a way to make more money.
A lot of it and fast. His reach is too far and his resources too many. I can feel time running out for us.
I stop by Flemings Steakhouse and use the credit card Mac gave me to pick up his lunch. By the time I return and park the cart in the garage, Killian is exiting the elevator.
His eyes sweep the garage and immediately lock on me. With one hand shoved in his black cargo pants, his other twirling car keys, he moves toward me with the grace of a panther, wide shoulders and muscles rippling under a black T-shirt.
I have sunglasses on, so I allow myself the indulgence of staring. My brain starts cataloging the beauty and power in his form. I’ve always considered the human body a work of art, but this man takes the human body to museum quality.
Bulging front delts and well-defined triceps stretch his T-shirt sleeves even at rest. A leather bracelet wraps around his wrist, the veins in his hands prominent beneath colorful tattoos, his knuckles raw.
By the time I move my eyes back to his broad chest, he’s standing in front of me.
All six-three of him, smelling like leather and sun-warmed wood. Earthy. Masculine. Intoxicating.
I raise my chin and even with my dark tinted sunglasses, his eyes are stunning.
Green sea-glass lit by the harsh mid-day sun behind me.
A silver bar piercing in his eyebrow also winks in the sunlight, and his short, cropped hair is bleached white, dark roots showing.
His square jaw is covered in a shadow of the same dark scruff.
He’s the kind of shadows and light my self-destructive side wants to play with, get lost in… be destroyed by.
It's been a long time since I’ve paid attention to a man, and I’d gladly drown in the oblivion that everything about him promises. If circumstances were different. If I was sticking around. If he actually liked me.
He doesn’t trust me, and he doesn’t like that I’m the one in charge of his father’s healing. I’m not sure what I did to offend him, but I also have this urge to poke the tiger. Maybe it’s the residual emotion floating around my brain, the rage, the helplessness.
I pop a hand on my hip. “Can I help you with something, Mr. Donnelly?”
His jaw ticks and I swear I hear a low grumble climb up his throat. “Mr. Donnelly is me Da. It’s Killian.”
Holy hell.
His deep voice, that gritty Dublin lilt.
I fight the urge to drop to my knees as a shiver runs through my body.
What the hell is wrong with me? Instead, I shift my weight and fold my arms. It doesn’t escape me that his gaze falls to my breasts, now resting on my forearms. But just as quickly it flits back up, a touch of irritation tightening his jaw.
Oh, he didn’t want to be caught staring. Or maybe he’s irritated with himself that he noticed me at all. Interesting.
Something about that feels like a surge of power. I pull my shoulders back so my chest pushes forward and let my lips twitch with a smile.
When his eyes drop to my mouth, my smile stretches. He may hate me, but he’s attracted to me. Yeah, I like the way this feels. It feels better than being helpless. Better than being prey, waiting in my hole for the cat to find me and rip me to shreds.
I don’t want to analyze why every other man I’ve been around makes me feel like I have to fold in on myself, be on guard, but he makes me feel bold. And reckless.
Stop it, Sam.
Maybe I have a death wish, because I know this man is dangerous.
He takes a single step back, hesitant and out of character. Rubbing the silver St. Michael’s medallion between his tatted fingers, he cocks his head. “Da seems to be sleepin’ a lot. You sure you’re not overdosin’ him on the pain meds?”
I freeze. What did he just say?
A flare of shock and anger has me yanking off my sunglasses so I can look him in the eyes. He can hate me all he wants, but questioning my integrity is crossing the line. “I’m following his surgeon’s instructions. If you have a problem, you should take it up with him.”
Is that it? Does he have a problem with me being a female doctor? I mean, the mob isn’t exactly a feminist organization, so I wouldn’t be shocked. But his distrust seems more personal.
I reach into the golf cart and snatch up the take-out bag. My heart is thumping, my lungs constricted and I have no idea why his words felt like a kick to the gut. “If there’s nothing else, I’m going to bring Mr. Donnelly his lunch.”
His nostrils flare and his eyes narrow. “Get on with it then.”
He’s mad? What the hell?
That is not a normal reaction. I can’t stop a scoff from climbing up my throat as I throw him a mock salute and leave. My jaw is beginning to ache from clenching it by the time I exit the elevator and reach Mac’s door. I pause to take a breath and calm down.
Don’t let the prick get to you. He doesn’t know anything about you so whatever his problem is, it’s his. It has nothing to do with you.
Mac is resting, but his eyes flutter open as I walk in. “Goin’ a bit stir crazy here, love.”
Shoving aside murderous thoughts about his son, I grab the wheelchair and push it to his bed. “Let’s get some fresh air then. You want to have your lunch on the roof terrace today?”
“Any whiskey up there?” He chuckles, sitting up and scooting to the edge of the bed while wrapping a protective arm around his ribs.
My lips twitch in amusement. “Depends on how good your imagination is.”
He holds the lunch bag in his lap as I push him into the elevator, and we rise to the top level.
The roof terrace is one of my favorite parts of this property. The elevator door opens. My breath hitches and my shoulders relax as I take in the view.
The 2,000-square-foot terrace is covered in astroturf with a large seating area surrounding a gas fire pit.
There’s also a bar, three additional seating areas and a putting green.
But beyond the glass wall at the edge of the roof is the most brilliant blue expanse of water, sunlight sparkling on the surface like millions of tiny diamonds, and blueish-purple skies stuffed with towers of white thunderheads.
It’s one of the things I will miss most about Florida.
My chest unclenches as I lock Mac’s wheels and take the lunch bag from him. “Let’s walk from here.” I let him lean on my arm to stand. It’s only fifty feet to the seating area, but he’s still trembling and sweaty by the time we reach it.
There’s a scowl on his face as he sits and accepts the water bottle I offer him.
“It’s going to take time, Mac,” I say gently.
His throat bobs as he takes a deep drink, then stares out at the Tampa city skyline beyond the Bay waters. “At my age, time is not a given.”
I scoff as I unpack his Greek salad with grilled chicken. “You’re in Florida, which means you’ve got another twenty years before you’re considered old.”
He finally cracks a smile, his eyes reflecting the blue of the sky. “That so?”
“It’s the rule.” I hand him the plastic bowl then pick up a second water bottle and lean back in the firm cushion.
I pull my sunglasses from where I’d shoved them in my hair and slip them on, then sigh.
“What a beautiful day.” I don’t do this enough.
Stop and actually notice my surroundings beyond scanning for threats.
I do just that as I stroke the pink beaded bracelet on my wrist.
Rona and I made matching ones when we arrived in Florida. I can still see her tiny fingers patiently stringing them on the wire, her tongue poking out in concentration. It’s our physical connection to each other.
I feel his attention shift to me. “You got a fella, Doc?”
I get whiplash from the change of subject and almost choke on the sip of water I’d just taken. I turn to look at him. Even though his smile is gentle, there’s a serious glint in his eye.
“Why, Mac Donnelly, are you hitting on me?” I tease.
He barks out a laugh. “God no. One woman tellin’ me what to do is enough for me.” He takes a bite of the chicken and stares at the sky thoughtfully as he chews.
I wait, wondering where he’s going with this.
“He doesn’t hate you, ya know.” His voice is so soft, if the breeze hadn’t carried it to me, I would’ve missed it.
I go still. I want to ask who, to play dumb. But I can’t. I know he’s talking about Killian, and I won’t insult him. “Could have fooled me,” I say instead. I hear the bitterness in my own voice and am shocked. Why do I care?
He sighs. “It’s his story to tell. But… there is a story there, Doc.”
I turn to look at him, glad that my eyes are hidden behind the sunglasses because I feel tears prickling at the corners. I clear my throat. “I’m sure it’s none of my business.” He’s made that clear.
“Maybe one day it will be.” He shakes his head slightly and adds under his breath, “for his sake.”
I bite the inside of my cheek and turn my gaze back to the view. “So, he’s staying in Tampa then?”
“Aye. He’s always had this vision of a high-class gentlemen’s club on a yacht. Allesandro’s lettin’ him have at it.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “He showed me some photos of it today. It’s actually brilliant.”
A surge of adrenaline hits my heart. “A gentleman’s club? Like strippers?”
He eyes me curiously as he stabs his salad. “Dancers, aye.” He must think I’m judging his son because he continues trying to explain. “It’s not one of those seedy, sticky places mind you. High class. The lasses will be well paid and well protected.”
Well paid.
Hope rises like a sudden breeze. I put myself through medical school pole dancing at The Showroom, a mafia-owned strip club in New York. It’s how I knew Sandro’s father. This could be the answer to my prayers.
Then I remember it’s Killian I’ll have to ask for a job and my smile disappears.