Chapter 18
LEO
Emilia Russo is a pain in the ass.
But unfortunately, she’s my pain in the ass. Which is why my irritation over her constant disobedience dissolves into thin air.
And it’s quickly replaced with anger, seeing her eyes sweep over her trashed studio apartment. The place was a shit hole to begin with, but seeing the pain she’s trying hard to hide is enough to make me want to buy the entire building just to remodel her place and put proper security in.
Then again, I wouldn’t have a good reason to sleep next to her again.
I wasn’t planning on putting her in my bed last night, but then I had her body curled in my arms and I didn’t want to let go.
She would be pissed if she knew that when I woke up in the morning, her head found its way to my chest. I spent entirely way too long counting each freckle dotted across her perfect nose.
I’ve never felt more peace than I did this morning waking up next to her. And that feeling alone makes me want to chain her to my bed.
“I guess I’ll be sleeping on Keith’s couch for the foreseeable future,” Mia groans.
“No,” I say, taking a step and feeling glass crunch under my shoe. “You’ll be staying with me. If you weren’t with me last night, who knows what would’ve happened.”
Mia curses under her breath, moving deeper into the space filled with her now broken things. “Please don’t say it like that.”
I smile, shaking my head.
“Do you really want to risk putting your friend in harm’s way?” I ask, kicking aside some of the stuffing leaking from the torn-apart couch. Judging by the state of Mia’s disheveled apartment, it looks like our suspect was looking for something, but I know better.
This is a message for me.
Mia lets go with an exhausted exhale. “Please don’t hold this against me, but you’re right.”
“We both know I’d never miss an opportunity to hold something against you, Cara Mia.”
She rolls her eyes, and for a second there’s a smile popping up between her vexation. “I know you act like this big macho businessman, but deep down you’re just a pervy prepubescent teen.”
“You have no idea,” I whisper lowly, leaning in close enough for my words to shimmer down her neck. The goosebumps trailing down her spine cause blood to rush to my crotch.
She shakes her head and steps forward, attempting to put more space between us. “If I can’t stay with Keith, I can stay with my bro—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” I snap, cutting her off. I creep forward and back her into the corner of the wall.
“If Caruso and his men are watching, they’ll know something is up if you contact your brother. You’re staying with me and that’s the end of this discussion.”
Her eyes light up, ready to fight, but then we hear a loud crash come from around the corner.
I spin around, grabbing the gun I stashed under my coat this morning and point it toward the commotion. Mia does the same, not cowering behind me even for a second.
“Relax, Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” a familiar voice announces, keeping both of his hands raised in the air.
“Hello, Michael,” I say, sliding my gun back into my pants. Mia lowers her weapon too—albeit with more hesitation. “What are you doing here?”
“While you two were playing house, I did some recon, and it was Caruso’s men.
I tracked down one of the guys and got some answers,” he says, throwing a bloodied handkerchief onto the floor.
“The weird part is he wasn’t one of Enzo’s typical enforcers.
I keep tabs on all of them, and this guy was scraping the bottom of the barrel. ”
“Did you ask him about the bug they planted in my phone?” I ask, watching as Mia bravely leans down and opens the fabric, but I already know what it is.
“Great,” Mia says, pushing the severed finger away. “Now if I call this in, they’re going to find blood in my apartment. I’m assuming you weren’t dumb enough to let him escape?”
Michael doesn’t answer her. He just curls his lips into what looks like a normal smile to the average person, but it reminds me of a cat that gets excited to present its owner with a fresh kill.
“I asked, but he didn’t know anything. Again—bottom of the barrel.”
“Right,” I say, turning back to Mia. “How are you so calm about all of this?” I ask, folding my arms. The question has been weighing on me since we stepped into her trashed apartment, and she just stared blankly at all her destroyed things.
I know she is a cop and I’m sure she’s seen her fair share of shit on the streets, but this is different. Instead of protecting others, she is becoming the target.
She shrugs, walking over to a room with a bare mattress and her comforter torn to shreds. “My life has been calm for way too long. I was overdue for some chaos.”
I peer over my shoulder for Michael, but at some point he disappeared along with the severed finger. I shake my head and follow Mia into her bedroom.
“Aren’t you worried Enzo knows who you are now?”
“Nope,” she says casually, leaning down and knocking against the hardwood floor until she hears a light echo. “I never kept any personal items from my old life laying around. I didn’t want to risk anyone finding out who I really was, especially when I moved back to New York.”
I nod, thinking back to a few nights ago when I broke into her place. There was hardly anything other than some rogue junk mail piled on the kitchen island addressed to her new name.
Mia’s knuckles tap against the floor again. Hollow.
“There you are,” she murmurs.
I crouch beside her as she slides her finger beneath the edge of the plank and pries it up with ease to reveal a narrow space. Inside is a slim metal box.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Everything connecting me to my old life,” she says nonchalantly, pulling the box out and standing up. “Okay, this is everything I need. I have some clothes and other items I keep at the precinct that I’ll pick up later.”
Mia attempts to walk out of the room with the box tucked under her arm, but I step in front of her, blocking her way. “You’re not going anywhere until you show me what’s in that box.”
She squares her shoulders and holds her head high. “It’s none of your business.”
I grab her waist and pull her in close, loving the sound of her breath hitching.
“Everything about you is my business whether you like it or not.”
I brace for impact when she doesn’t react. I expect her to knee me in the groin as hard as she can. It’s the smart thing to do.
Instead, she studies my face like I’m the mystery that needs to be solved between the two of us. And maybe I am, but she’s not dumb enough to go down that rabbit hole.
“This arrangement between us is temporary,” she says quietly.
“You can’t expect me to open up after your bullshit ruse of wanting to protect me.
I know once I no longer have any use to you, you’ll leave me alone, and that’s what I want.
Don’t mistake my actions for compliance.
I’m just trying to make the best out of a fucked-up situation. ”
“Just show me, Emilia,” I say, trying to make my voice soft.
I don’t let her see how each verbal jab makes my chest feel like it’s ready to burst open. I’ve never wanted to change someone’s mind so badly. I’ve always understood that people don’t change and I was fine with that.
Until her.
Relief pools in the shallow end of her eyes as she slowly steps out of my hold and walks over to the desolate mattress.
“Whatever,” she sighs, flipping the metal latches open, “but you’re going to be underwhelmed.”
I doubt that.
The hinges squeak softly as she lifts the lid. I step closer to get a better look.
I’m expecting cash, a burner phone, or maybe even a hidden weapon. But there’s none of that.
It’s exactly what she said it was. Pieces of her life she stowed away and never meant to share with someone like me.
A cruel and bitter taste fills my mouth looking at the stack of photographs, an old, tarnished silver watch, and a vintage lighter that looks like it’s older than both of our ages combined.
She carefully picks up the first photo, her fingers clinging to the thin paper like it might disintegrate.
My eyes snag on a middle-aged couple sitting on a couch surrounded by two very somber-looking children and one little girl who is the only one in the photo smiling even though she’s missing a front tooth.
I lean closer despite myself, gently nudging her shoulder.
“See,” she says with a small tremble in her voice. “I told you it’s nothing special. Just some family photos and a few items my mom and dad left me.”
“Is that your mother?” I ask.
“Yes,” Mia says, licking her bottom lip.
“This was taken a few months before she got sick. I was still young, so I don’t remember her.
Sometimes it makes me sad, and then other times I think it was a blessing.
I remember everything about my dad, and I still have these moments when the grief consumes me. ”
“I was only ten when my parents died,” I say, not thinking. “I lost the only family I had at a very young age, and for a long time I thought it defined me. But you can’t control how grief will make you feel. Only what you do with it.”
She looks up from the photo and locks eyes with me. She doesn’t blink or shy away. Instead, she holds my gaze with that familiar look that says she’s dying to know more. It’s the same look she gets every time she talks about Vince’s murder.
And then Mia pushes a breath out of her lungs, letting go of whatever she was holding in. “I really wish you hadn’t told me that.”
“Why?” I ask, tilting my head thoughtfully.
She blinks slowly, the edge inside her dulling. “Because it’s very inconvenient for the whole ‘I hate you’ thing I have going.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “You’ll survive. I promise,” I suggest, sliding my hands into my pockets to keep from touching her again. “Regardless, you’ll find a new excuse to hate me.”
It’s the truth, even though I don’t want it to be.
But in the end, hate is an easier emotion to understand. Hate motivates me more than love ever has.
“Right,” she says, offering a smile before turning back to her box of trinkets and snapping it shut.
Dissatisfaction echoes inside me. I wanted her to pull out more pictures and show me the life that forced her into hiding.
I want to know more.
Not to use against her.
Just to know her.
Fuck. I’m in trouble.
Mia pushes past me as I grapple with the issue that’s been weighing on my mind ever since I met her. And now, looking around at the result of spending one night on my arm, I know it’s only going to get more complicated.
A smart man would cut her loose.
Dante is already fulfilling his end of the bargain. I can pay for her to stay at a nice hotel with security and focus on taking Enzo down for good.
But every instinct inside my body revolts against the idea.
I guess I’m not a smart man
And I don’t care.