Detroit Mafia Box Set Books 1-3 (Detroit Mafia Romance)

by Tami Lund

  He wrapped his hands around his dick and deliberately turned his head to look at her. “Are you going to stand there and watch me piss?”

  Pursing her lips, she stormed away, furious at him for being so obtuse, for acting so weird after the way they’d connected last night. Or, at least, that’s what it felt like to her.

  But then again, he’d told her he was a wham, bam, thank you ma’am kind of guy, so really, did she have any reason to be upset?

  She hurried and dressed; he stepped out of the bathroom, still naked, and she lifted her hand. “Don’t come with me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I don’t need your help anymore.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Fine. I don’t want your help. I’ll figure out the rest on my own. I don’t want to be around you right now.”

  “Lola, I drove you here. Let me at least drop you off.”

  She grabbed the dog’s leash. “We’ll walk. It’s not that far.”

  He let her go, which sucked. She’d honestly hoped he’d stop her, tell her…well, anything, really, that might give her hope that last night had not been a one-night stand.

  But he didn’t.

  He let her go.

  7

  You Can’t Handle The Truth

  Lola was fully aware that she left a bunch of stuff at Samuele’s place, but she’d been too hurt and angry to think clearly this morning. Besides, she could get along without most of it, at least until she calmed down and wasn’t so blinded by her own emotions.

  Except for the dog food. Damn it, she needed to feed her poor puppy.

  Although she could just run up to the store and grab a new bag. Probably a better idea than heading back over to Samuele’s place for another beating to her abused heart.

  Yet when she left the house later that afternoon—after showering and dressing in a cute little sundress—with the dog on his leash, happily trotting along next to her, she wasn’t heading in the direction of the pet store.

  Nope. She ended up on Samuele’s front porch.

  He opened the door and looked her up and down without saying a word. He’d dressed in a basic T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts, and his face was drawn, haggard. Like he’d aged ten years since this morning.

  “I need my stuff.”

  He still didn’t say anything, simply moved to the side so she could step inside. Tippy greeted him with his usual enthusiasm, and Lola bit her lip while she watched Samuele crouch and rub the pup’s ears.

  He stood and nodded. “It’s all in the bedroom.”

  She glanced around at the living area. Didn’t see a single thing that belonged to her. Like he’d already erased her from his life. “You collected everything for me?”

  He nodded again. “Figured it would be easier on you.”

  Yeah, right. Quicker to get rid of her, more likely. Wow, this guy was turning out to be as much of a jerk as some of her exes. Apparently, she hadn’t gotten any better at picking them out.

  Turning away from Samuele, she started toward the bedroom, but he grabbed her wrist, halting her, and for a split second, she imagined he was about to pull her into his arms and apologize and swear he didn’t want things to end this way. In fact, he didn’t want them to end at all.

  Instead, he moved in front of her and lifted the dog up off the floor. “Don’t want a repeat of the day we met,” he muttered, and if she weren’t so determined not to let the guy know he was breaking her heart, she probably would have burst out crying. But she didn’t.

  She wouldn’t. He wasn’t worth crying over.

  She strode into the bedroom with him on her heels, and sure enough, there was a box resting on the dresser. A quick peek inside showed her that he’d managed to track down every minuscule item she’d left at his place over the course of the last two weeks. Including her tampons and an unopened bottle of wine. She supposed that would come in handy later tonight.

  Also, wow, she sure had made herself at home here, hadn’t she? She could practically move in with only the contents of this box.

  A shadow moved past the window, and, suddenly, Samuele was pushing her down onto the floor next to the bed. “What the heck?” she demanded, batting away the hand trying to press her face into the carpet.

  “Someone’s in the backyard,” Samuele said, peering over the top of the bed, intently staring at the window. “Stay here. Don’t leave this room until I come back. And if I don’t…”

  “What do you mean, if you don’t?”

  He slid his hand underneath the mattress and pulled out the gun she’d discovered this morning. “Do you know how to use this?”

  “Yes.”

  “No shit?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Does that surprise you because I’m a girl?”

  “No. I know a lot of women who are far better marksmen than I am. It surprises me because it’s you.”

  “Yeah, well, when you date a guy who slaps you around and basically becomes a stalker after you break up, you take lessons real quick.”

  “Enzo.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m going to kill that motherfucker.”

  “Okay, wow, that’s a bit over the top. Especially since I haven’t seen or heard from him in at least a year.”

  “It would take me a lot longer than a year to get over you.”

  “Stop saying things like that.”

  He pressed the gun into her hand. “If anyone other than me walks into this room, use it. Do not hesitate, Lola. And then go into the bathroom, in the linen closet. Behind the towels, there’s a false wall. Tap the bottom left corner and it should slide open. Take all the bills and get the hell out of town. As far away as you can get. Create a new identity for yourself. Ditch your phone and your credit cards. Start over. And most importantly, figure out a way to be happy.”

  With those crazy-ass instructions, he shoved the dog into her arms, cupped the back of her head, dropped a quick kiss onto her lips, and then slipped out of the room.

  What. The. Hell.

  She glanced at the bathroom. Did he seriously have a secret compartment stuffed with cash? Why? Who the hell kept a gun under their bed and cash hidden in their bathroom?

  And why was he this freaked out about somebody potentially wandering around in his backyard?

  Tippy wiggled and then leaped out of her arms, and a moment later, he zipped through the doorway into the hall. Even though Samuele told her not to, Lola stood and hurried after him. Hey, she took the gun with her. Apparently, Samuele’s paranoia was rubbing off on her.

  Tippy ran all the way through the living room to the sliding glass doors, and was standing on his back feet, scratching at the glass and barking up a storm. He’d never carried on like that before.

  “Tippy, come here,” Lola stage-whispered, even though she knew damn well the dog wasn’t going to listen to her. Something outside had caught his attention, and he would not be distracted.

  She’d think it was a rabbit or some other animal if Samuele hadn’t acted so strangely when he left her hiding in the bedroom a few minutes ago.

  There was movement outside on the deck, and she immediately pressed her back against the wall in the hallway, but quickly leaned forward to peek out into the living room again.

  A hand was gesturing at Tippy, through the glass, but it didn’t belong to Samuele. And then she saw it—a gun. Whoever was out there was holding a weapon, and they were pointing it at her dog!

  Another body flew into view; Samuele. He crashed into the guy with the gun and sent them both tumbling, and Lola rushed into the living room, shoved the dog out of the way, and threw open the sliding glass door.

  Two guys were wrestling in the grass. They’d already flattened an entire bed of flowers, apparently rolling through them when Samuele charged at the guy with the gun.

  The other man took a swing, caught Samuele in the chin, then moved to avoid a rebuttal.

  It was the guy they’d run into at the club. Samuele had said
his name, although he’d not introduced them. Oh yeah—

  “Vito!”

  Both men turned at the sound of her voice, but Vito recovered the quickest, flipping Samuele onto his stomach and twisting one of his arms behind his back, rendering him immobile.

  “Get the fuck out of here, Lola,” Samuele practically snarled.

  Vito slammed the butt of the gun into his cheek and pressed the muzzle to his temple.

  Do not hesitate, Lola.

  She lifted the gun, aimed, flipped off the safety, and pulled the trigger, anticipating the kick.

  Tippy let out a howl and crawled between her feet.

  Vito, with a small hole in his head right above his ear, turned her way, his mouth open, clear surprise in his eyes, and then he slowly listed sideways until he collapsed into the grass.

  Samuele glanced up at her, then at Vito. Samuele scrambled to his knees, felt the body for a pulse, and tugged the gun out of Vito’s lax grasp. Finally, Samuele pulled the guy’s wallet and his keys out of his pants.

  Then he stood and hurried over to Lola, gently extracting the gun from her hand and flicking the safety back on. “Jesus, you just saved my life.”

  She didn’t say anything. What was there to say? She’d had no choice.

  “Come on, let’s get inside.”

  He herded her through the door as calmly as if she hadn’t just shot a man, pushing Tippy into her arms. “Hold him.”

  He guided her back to the bedroom and gently pushed her into a sitting position on the bed. She watched as he stepped into the walk-in closet and came out again with a black duffle bag in his hand. It looked like it was already packed with clothes.

  “Why are you so prepared?” she asked, watching as he went into the bathroom and opened the linen closet, the door blocking him from her view for a few moments. “And what are you prepared for?”

  When he returned to the bedroom, the duffle bag looked stuffed to capacity; she presumed he’d done exactly what he’d instructed her to do. And if that was all cash…holy shit.

  “You aren’t answering my questions.”

  “I know. That’s because we don’t have a lot of time. Take the dog and that box of your stuff and go into the garage. Wait in my truck. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Lola, I will explain everything, but first, I need to fix this situation.”

  “What situation?”

  He waved at the bedroom door. “There is a dead man lying in the middle of my backyard.”

  “So why are we not calling the police?”

  “Because that’s not how people like me and our buddy Vito out there do things. Now go get in the truck.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know you don’t. And I wish I didn’t have to enlighten you, but I will, I promise. And then you can decide your next steps. Okay? But first, I need to buy us some time.”

  “How?”

  “Go, Lola.”

  Samuele pulled his phone out of his pocket and then swore. “We’re running out of time. Get in the goddamn truck, Lola. Now.”

  He gave her a little nudge, and her feet finally started moving, shuffling through his house to the door in the kitchen that led to his attached garage. She opened it and glanced over her shoulder.

  Samuele had covered Vito’s body with a blanket and was dragging it into the house.

  A dead body. Bringing it inside. And refusing to call the cops. And he was acting like he’d been planning for this day for a very long time.

  Did she even want Samuele to enlighten her?

  After dragging Vito’s piece of shit dead ass into the living room, Samuele headed out to the shed and grabbed both full gas cans and a pair of leather work gloves.

  First, he absolutely soaked Vito’s body. They’d probably still be able to ID it eventually, but hopefully this would buy a little time. He wanted the authorities to believe the body was his, not Vito’s, for as long as possible. He’d already taken Vito’s wallet and keys. And the cash. Motherfucker deserved no less.

  The worst part about this whole setup? It wasn’t about the business. This had nothing to do with Gino or whoever the mob boss suspected had rolled on him. That’s what Samuele had thought at first, when he spotted Vito skulking around in the backyard like he was trying to break in.

  It made sense that Gino suspected him of being the mole since he’d put off committing to moving onto his payroll.

  But that wasn’t it. Not by a long shot.

  Vito had become obsessed with Lola. That’s why he was in Samuele’s backyard. Gino’s warning that Vito would try to steal her from him had come true, only Vito wasn’t the sort to attempt to take some other guy’s girl the old-fashioned way—wooing her or impressing her. Nope, he’d planned to kidnap her.

  Motherfucker.

  Samuele supposed there was some small satisfaction in the fact that Lola had been the one to put a bullet in his brain.

  Holy fuck, she shot him. Didn’t even hesitate. He was impressed, of course, but more than that, he was convinced the woman loved him. She wouldn’t have been so succinct, so calm, so determined, if she didn’t.

  The real question, now, was, what would she do about it?

  Because he was about to unload some shit onto her, proving what he’d been warning her about all along.

  He was exactly the kind of guy she should not be with.

  8

  Wecome To Crazy Town – And It’s On Fire

  As they pulled out of the driveway and Samuele shifted the truck into gear, Lola twisted in her seat to look out the back window. “Your condo is on fire.”

  At least she didn’t sound hysterical, although that could very well be because she was in shock.

  He drove around the block, pulled up behind a silver Maserati, and shifted into park. “That’s Vito’s car. I’m going to drive it over to your house. Follow me. You need to grab whatever bare necessities you need when we get there. I have plenty of money, so clothes we can buy later. Just take enough for a couple days. No electronics. They’re traceable. Including your phone. We’ll get new ones as soon as we’re settled. Do you understand me?”

  “Not really. I mean, I do, but I don’t understand why.”

  He cupped her cheek, hated that she flinched. She wasn’t ready to admit it, but her mind was putting it all together. It didn’t like the answers it was coming up with, which was why she was trying so hard to stay in denial.

  Fuck, he wished he could let her stay there forever.

  “We gotta get out of here. Follow me to your place.”

  He hopped out of the truck and she slid over, adjusting the seat so she could reach the pedals. He wanted to hug her, to hold her to him and promise he’d never let anyone harm her ever again. He wanted to promise her he’d take care of her forever.

  But he doubted she’d let him.

  Five minutes later, they were at her house and she was inside, packing whatever she thought was necessary. He gave her space, letting the dog wander around outside, while he replaced the plates on his truck with the one from his duffle bag. As soon as he felt safe enough, he’d get rid of it and buy something else, registered to his new identity; in the meantime, these plates weren’t connected to him in any way, shape, or form.

  He checked his phone. He was going to wipe it clean and ditch it soon; he had a burner in his bag, but for now, he was able to see that Gino had called four different times already. Did the boss know that Vito had come to Samuele’s house? Or was he calling about the meeting that was supposed to happen tonight?

  Lola appeared on the crumbling side porch with what looked like a giant beach bag slung over her shoulder. She’d changed into a T-shirt and yoga pants and tennis shoes. Smart woman. That dress was sexy as hell, and he hoped she had it in the bag, but she’d definitely be more comfortable for a long car ride in her current getup.

  “We’ll leave your car here,” he explained. “It’s likely no one will notice yo
u’re missing until it’s been long enough that they won’t connect our disappearing acts.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Sorry, but there’s no sugarcoating anymore. If it helps, I would be heartbroken if you went missing.”

  Why did he admit shit like that when he planned to send her on her way just as soon as it was safe to do so?

  “Next stop,” he said, holding the truck door for her and dropping the dog onto her lap, “the airport.”

  “We’re flying somewhere? That doesn’t seem very safe if we’re trying to hide.”

  “It’s not unless we already have new IDs, which I do but you don’t. We’re going to park Vito’s car there. It will cause confusion and again, buy us time.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  She wasn’t asking questions anymore, which concerned him, but he couldn’t worry about that now. They needed to ditch Vito’s ride, wipe down every surface he’d touched, and then plan their next steps.

  Thirty minutes later, Lola made the loop around the airport, like he’d instructed. He was standing on the side of the road so she slowed, he hopped into the truck, and she took off again, all without having to pay for parking, which he explained would have left a trail.

  “Get on I94 West,” he instructed. When she did, he leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

  “Where are we going?” she finally asked after a long bout of silence.

  “That depends. Where do you want to go?”

  Lola gripped the steering wheel and concentrated on not screaming. It was hard. Because screaming was so cathartic. She’d done it a lot in the last few months, since her brother died and left her not only with no money but with a pile of debt she realistically couldn’t pay off even with the sale of the house.

  Crazy enough, all that debt that wasn’t even hers wasn’t the worst of her worries at the moment.

  “What do you mean, where do I want to go? Like, I can just say Hawaii and we’re off to a new life?”

  The pieces were slowly coming together, and she did not like what this puzzle was starting to look like. The vagueness about his work life. The escape plan. Always carrying a gun. Overreacting about someone being in his backyard.