12. Chapter 12
Naomi rushed through her morning routine, pulling her hair into a ponytail while she popped a frozen waffle into the toaster oven.
It was whole wheat and she’d eat it with peanut butter so…
somewhat healthy? While the waffle warmed up, she hurried back to her “bedroom” and grabbed her jeans, tugging them on while she worked out her plan for the day with the boys.
What had Tony said to them that day at the playground?
She hadn’t heard what he’d said, but the effect had been immediate and dramatic.
Overnight, the boys had turned into polite, attentive little gentlemen.
She’d even been able to bring them back from chaos after the morning spent with their father at his office.
Oh, they weren’t perfect—no child was—but they were so much better lately. Calmer. Softer. And both boys were working so hard at their lessons. Jacob was going to ace his entrance exams next month and she was so proud of him!
She already knew what Mr. Peterson had filled their heads with during his time with them: mocking, belittling words.
The kind of laughter that broke you down instead of lifting you up.
The boys had probably watched him do it to his staff at the office, had absorbed every cruel smirk and callous chuckle.
But what had Tony said?
And then she thought of their mother.
The poor woman constantly drove across town just to sit on a bench, hoping for a glimpse of her sons. Naomi’s chest squeezed. That’s love, she thought wistfully. Love so desperate it endured humiliation and heartbreak just for a stolen moment of nearness.
The apartment buzzer startled her, its harsh buzz cutting through the quiet.
Naomi ignored it. She never answered her door in this neighborhood.
The risk wasn’t worth it. She double-checked her tote bag instead, mentally ticking off the lesson plans she’d worked on the previous night, then grabbed her now-toasted waffle.
Three more years, she thought as she smeared peanut butter over the top of her waffle.
That was how long she had left of scrimping and saving, funneling every penny into paying off her student loans.
Until then, she’d keep living here, in this tiny studio apartment with peeling paint and broken locks.
She’d already lost her car to that creep of a mechanic.
Now she relied on the bus system to get everywhere.
It wasn’t ideal, but it was her current reality.
Still, she reminded herself, this neighborhood had given her something too.
She loved tutoring the local kids, helping them decode fractions or stumble through reading comprehension.
It wasn’t the classroom she’d once dreamed of, but it scratched the itch.
She’d wanted to teach, but a master’s degree meant more debt for barely any increase in pay.
Nannying and part time tutoring filled that void in her soul and let her be part of children’s lives in a way that mattered.
She slung her bag over her shoulder and reached for her keys—only to pause. A sharp knock rattled her door.
Naomi froze, her pulse spiking. The buzzer was one thing. But now… knocking? In this neighborhood, knocking rarely meant anything good. She glanced toward the window, considering slipping out the back stairs instead.
Then came a voice. Low, polite. “Ms. Cross, I have a delivery from Mr. Mancini.”
Her breath hitched. “Tony…?”
Before she could think better of it, she opened the door.
A man in a dark jacket stood there, casual but not sloppy. Definitely one of Tony’s men. He held something up. A key.
Her car key.
Naomi’s heart stopped. She recognized the shape instantly, could trace every nick in the metal by memory.
The key she thought she’d never see again after that disgusting mechanic had demanded over three thousand dollars.
She’d walked away, defeated. There had been no way she could justify paying that kind of ransom for an ancient, broken down car.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, staring at the key as though it might vanish.
The man shrugged. “Don’t have details, ma’am. I was just told to deliver the car. It’s parked out front.” He hesitated, then added, “Full tank of gas.”
And just like that, he pressed the key into her hand, turned, and walked away.
With a huff of confusion, Naomi pushed the door to her apartment closed, staring down at the key. It was ridiculous—utterly confusing—and before she could make sense of what had just happened, her phone pinged. Her morning alarm: time to leave for the bus stop.
Right. The bus. That was her reality.
Shoving the car key into her pocket, she grabbed her backpack, then stepped back out into the hallway and locked the door with her apartment keys before heading down the hall.
She hummed softly under her breath to calm herself, taking the familiar concrete stairs two at a time—because of course the elevator was out.
Again. It hadn’t worked the entire time she’d lived here, and even if it had, sharing one elevator with every tenant in the building was worse than hiking down three flights.
She pushed through the glass doors into the morning light, ready to head for the bus stop. And stopped dead.
Parked directly in front of her building was a gleaming, cherry-red Toyota.
Naomi blinked, frowned, and whispered, “No way.” She shook her head, inching forward with wary steps. “Impossible.”
Her little car didn’t look like that. Hers was faded and pockmarked with rust, the kind of car you apologized for when friends saw it. This one shimmered as if it had just rolled off the showroom floor.
Heart pounding, Naomi fumbled for the key and slid it into the lock. She wasn’t even sure it would fit—yet it turned smoothly. Of course it did. Her car was so old it needed a key, not one of those sleek fobs. The original lock fob had died years ago, and she’d never bothered to replace it.
But this… this was her car. She recognized the small imperfections even though most of them were gone now. The ding on the glove compartment, now smoothed as though someone had buffed it out. The tear in the vinyl seat had been repaired neatly, almost invisibly. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
She didn’t get in right away. She just stood there, staring at it. This car was so clean, so new. She didn’t have money for car washes, let alone detailing. Everything she earned went to rent and student loans. Finally, she slid into the driver’s seat, awed by the changes.
Her hand trembled as she slid the key into the ignition. She held her breath, twisting the key.
The engine roared to life immediately, smooth as silk. No rattles, no clicks, no death-rattle wheeze. It purred.
Naomi sagged back against the seat, head spinning with disbelief. “How…?”
And then, as if conjured by her thoughts, a certain dark-eyed, muscular behemoth filled her mind.
Tony.
She swallowed hard, gripping the steering wheel. The car wasn’t just repaired. It was transformed. And she loved it. Heaven help her, she did. The temptation to drive aimlessly around the city, just to enjoy the feeling of the wheel in her hands and the freedom of going anywhere, was overwhelming.
Freedom. A commute that usually took over an hour by bus and train—cut down to twenty minutes behind the wheel. She glanced at her phone. She actually had extra time. For once in her life, she wasn’t scrambling.
Then her relief faltered. “No. I can’t do this,” she whispered fiercely.
She couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept this. Not from him. A cup of coffee was one thing. But this was too much. A gift like this came with strings, and she refused to be tangled in Tony Mancini’s strings.
Her phone was in her hand before she realized it. She scrolled to his number and hit call.
He answered on the first ring. “Naomi, are you okay?”
Her throat tightened at the sound of his voice, deep and steady, wrapping around her like warm velvet. She almost forgot why she’d called. “Yes,” she managed finally. “I’m fine. But… what did you do to my car?”
“The guy at the mechanic’s shop where you dropped it off didn’t fix it. Not really.”
She heard faint movement on his end—the scrape of a chair, the click of a closing door—before silence fell.
“So… why does it look like this?” she demanded, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper even though no one was around. She hunched her shoulders, phone pressed tight to her ear. “It looks like a brand new car!”
“Good,” he said simply. “I had some of my men look it over and fix it up properly.”
“But… how?” Her voice pitched higher, panic breaking through. “I walked past that shop last night. My car was still sitting behind the chain link fence. It looked awful!”
“I know a guy,” Tony replied, casual, as though that was all the explanation required. “There should be a security system installed too. Stop by after work and I’ll show you how to use it.”
Her knees went weak. She gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Um… I can’t pay for this. Any of this. And I definitely can’t afford a security system.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Naomi.” His tone was firm. Final. “I’ll see you after six tonight.”
The line went dead before she could protest.
Naomi lowered the phone slowly, staring at the blank screen. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Should she laugh? Cry? Throw her phone? His audacity was unbelievable. He just—what? Snapped his fingers and rebuilt her car overnight? Installed a security system without even asking?
Her lip trembled even as she bit it hard.
Should she even keep it? She’d sworn never to owe anyone anything—especially not a man. Especially not this man, who was equal parts dangerous and magnetic.
She should refuse it. March the keys straight back to him.
And yet, when she glanced at the glowing time on her phone, her chest clenched. Extra minutes. Extra freedom.
Her hand caressed the wheel, stroking the now-smooth vinyl, torn between pride and relief, irritation and gratitude.