Chapter 5
MARLENA
Istick it out for two hours until my brain feels like it’s on fire.
Frankie has no focus whatsoever. He keeps bringing up random subjects as if we’re two kids hanging out instead of a tutor and a student working on an assignment.
I play his game and then gently bring him around to the case at hand.
But by the time we complete the assignment, I’m ready for a large glass of wine.
“So, same time tomorrow?” Frankie asks as I stand up.
“Sure,” I agree. I have a fleeting wish that I could earn my four thousand dollars some other way, but it looks like I’m stuck. Frankie needs a lot of help, and that’s what he’s paying me for. “But next time, you really need to focus,” I say.
“You got it, teach,” Frankie replies with his signature smile.
I have to admit that I like him. He’s goofy, and all the wealth surrounding him clearly hasn’t gone to his head.
I’m still nervous about being in this place, and I can’t wait to get back into my car.
The sooner I can get past those iron gates, the better.
I feel like a fugitive or a spy. My job is to get in and out of the family complex without being seen.
I shake my head, laughing quietly at myself.
“What’s so funny?” Frankie asks, showing me to the door.
“Nothing,” I reply. “It’s just this house is overwhelming.”
“You haven’t met my dad,” he quips.
I’m not going to touch that remark with a ten-foot pole.
In fact, I don’t want to meet his father.
The more tutoring sessions I can get away with in private, the better.
I have a feeling Frankie’s dad is nothing like his son.
How could he be? He built this entire fortune from the ground up, or at least that’s what I would like to think, which probably means he’s ruthless.
If he isn’t mob-connected, then I’m guessing he’s equally dangerous in his own right.
But none of that matters now, because I’m almost home-free. I let Frankie walk me to the door, and when we step outside, I can breathe the sweet air of freedom. Just then, a squat man with a unibrow barges out the door behind us.
“Miss,” he says.
I turn around, my heart sinking.
“Will you come back inside?” unibrow asks.
I look at Frankie for help, but he just shrugs. The same muscular guy who was guarding the door hours ago is still there. I look at him, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. It seems like I’m stuck.
“What’s this all about?” I ask politely, trying not to betray how nervous I am.
“Frankie’s father would like to meet you,” unibrow explains. I get the distinct impression that ‘Frankie’s father’ is not how he usually refers to the man in question.
“Well, I really have to go,” I insist.
“It will only take a minute,” the man promises.
I take one last look at the sun and the sky before climbing the steps and walking back inside. The door closes behind me with a sense of finality. I’m trapped, and there’s no way out except through the lion’s den.
I tell myself I’m being ridiculous. He’s just a friendly old oil baron or a tech wizard. Not a mafia don. Dear Lord, please don’t let him be a mafia don.
I follow unibrow through the foyer and past the dining room.
This is a part of the house that I haven’t seen yet.
Frankie doesn’t accompany us, probably returning to his suite upstairs.
I’m all alone now, and definitely scared.
There’s no use denying it anymore. I know what organized crime looks like, and this is it.
Unibrow stops at a thick door at the end of the hallway and knocks.
“Come in,” someone calls.
We step inside, where I come face-to-face with Frankie’s dad.
And he’s nothing like I expected. He’s trim and muscular beneath an expensive-looking suit.
He’s not wearing a tie, and the lapels of his button-down hang open to reveal a solid chest. There’s no excess of hair or anything else that might be off-putting.
His jaw is clean-shaven and the dark, curly locks atop his head are not too short, but not too long.
He clearly takes care of himself in more ways than one.
I’m astonished by how good-looking he is, and I can’t help but stare.
I catch a little bit of reciprocation from him.
His eyes widen just slightly, and suddenly I’m more aware of the fact I’m wearing an old pair of jeans and scuffed tennis shoes.
In this type of situation, I would be more at home in an evening gown.
I’m not sure why I want to impress this man so much, but I’m embarrassed to find myself so underdressed.
“Marlena, right?” the masculine vision asks me, holding out his hand.
I surge forward to grasp it, eager to find out if he feels just as solid as he looks.
Bingo. His hand is warm and soft, with just enough callus to tell me he hasn’t always worked behind a desk.
I picture him just a little bit younger, hanging out on a construction site.
He’s wearing a yellow hard hat and nothing else.
I blush, pulling my hand back. What in the world has come over me?
I shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts about a man two decades older than me.
But damn, I bet those two decades were packed with all kinds of exploits that would curl my toes if I let them.
I scold myself internally. Down, girl. This is your pupil’s father, not a billionaire of the month pin-up.
“I’m Francisco,” he says. “I understand you’ve been tutoring my son.”
“Yes,” I manage. Oh boy. This is awkward. I thought Frankie was cute, but his father is on another level entirely. Suddenly, I’m not worried about walking out of this room alive. I’m worried about maintaining my dignity.
“So, how did it go?” he asks, offering me a seat.
I glance over at Unibrow, who is making no move to leave the room. It looks like I’m not going to get a chance to jump over the desk and pull Francisco into my arms. Just as well. I would only embarrass myself if we were left alone.
I sit down, remembering to smile. “It’s going well. He’s a little bit distracted.”
Francisco snorts, telling me that this is something he’s noticed in his son before. I try to be turned off by the noise, but I can’t quite manage it. He’s just so stunning that I roll with the conversation.
“Tell me about yourself,” Francisco demands, sitting opposite me.
I have to struggle to remember my story. There’s so much I don’t want to say. I don’t want to give away my real last name or my father’s mafia connections. I don’t want to explain how I went underground and developed a whole new life for myself after my father was killed.
Instead, I talk about school. “I took the LSATs, but I decided not to go into law.”
“Why not?” he asks.
“Well, I’d really like to be a teacher,” I reply.
“Sounds like you’re perfect for the job,” he says, studying me carefully.
Our eyes meet and hold. He’s stern, but I can see that there’s something soft beneath all the bluster. I try not to broadcast my interest, but he must be aware of how hard I’m struggling to breathe.
“To be honest, I had a bad job interview,” I share, wondering why I’m painting myself in such a bad light. “That’s how Frankie and I met. I was running away from this horrible man who only wanted to hire me so he could look up my skirt.”
“Anyone I know?” Francisco asks casually.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “I don’t know who you know.”
“So, did Frankie take care of this man?” Francisco wonders.
I laugh. This guy is definitely mob-connected, but I’m not sure I care anymore. “No, he didn’t. I met your son on the street afterward. But he offered me a way to make ends meet until I can find a real position.”
“So you’re looking for other employment?” Francisco digs for more dirt.
“Yes,” I answer quickly, then at the look on his face, I contradict myself. “No. I mean. Um, I’m just trying to pay my rent.”
“Well,” Francisco says, still holding my gaze. “I appreciate what you’re doing for my son. He’s got his heart set on becoming a lawyer, and he needs all the help he can get.”
“He’s a good kid,” I respond, acutely aware that Frankie isn’t that much younger than me.
“Sometimes,” Francisco allows.
“I should go,” I announce, getting to my feet. I’m hot under the collar, and I’m afraid I’ll do something rash if I stay. It doesn’t look like he’s going to kill me, so I figure I’m free to leave.
“No one leaves until I say they can.” Francisco locks eyes with me, and I feel a lightning bolt of anger sizzle through the air between us.
I gulp, returning to my seat. But then both Francisco and his men laugh, and I realize that they’re putting me on.
All the anxiety that’s built up in my gut over the past few hours quivers.
It’s not a friendly laugh, and they know that I’m scared.
But at the same time, there’s an equal amount of desire to balance out the fear, so I let myself play along.
Francisco looks pleased that I’m sharing in the joke, and waves toward the door. “Go on, get outta here.”
I give him a cold glare, letting him know that I’m no kind of delicate flower. I might be outgunned, but I’ve got his number. He considers that and drops the tough guy act. We come to an understanding with no words, and I walk out of the room with my head held high.
Unibrow follows me to the door, but as soon as I step out into the late afternoon, I’m on my own.
I’m relieved to see my car is waiting for me right where I left it.
It’s my ticket out of this luxurious prison with its attractive warden and all his goons.
I’m fighting a thousand conflicting emotions and trying to let none of them show as I fold myself into the driver’s seat.
When the iron gates finally open and I coast out onto the street, I’m relieved in more ways than one. I survived my first tutoring session.
I sigh, sliding the car into third gear.
What in the world was I thinking? I replay the scene in Francisco’s office repeatedly.
Did I let on that I was getting hot under the collar?
Did he see the desire radiating off me? I hope not.
Because if I’m going to earn my rent for next month, I need this job.
I tell myself it’s just until I can find a more permanent position. I’ll keep looking for secretarial work until I can find a place with no mafia connections. Hopefully, it won’t be long.
I cruise back to my part of town, thinking about Francisco and his gorgeous bedroom eyes.