by Jen Davis
WORTH THE RISK:
PART THREE
_________________________________________________
JEN DAVIS
Copyright © 2019 Jen Davis.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without written permission from the author, except for short quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Tony knows a girl like Callie only comes around once in a lifetime. Still, he’d rather live without her than drag her into his dark, bloody world. He left her behind to keep her safe.
He never expected her to follow him home.
Callie wants more than one perfect night with Tony, and she won’t let him go without a fight. But she doesn’t know her Prince Charming is a hitman, and she’s risking more than her heart to go after him.
She’s risking her life.
Are you caught up with Tony and Callie’s story?
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Part Two is available now in the anthology Love in the Lowcountry: A Winter Holiday Collection.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
A Look Inside BRICK
Other Romances by Jen Davis
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
Just an inch to the right and the reflection from the street light wouldn’t have glinted off the knife. Without that tiny flash, Tony wouldn’t have swiveled on his heel, wouldn’t have intercepted the downward swing of his attacker’s arm. Wouldn’t have survived long enough to put this asshole in the ground.
A heartbeat after his left forearm snapped up in a block, his right fist hammered into his assailant’s windpipe. The man gasped for air through the thick, black fabric of his mask, and his knife arm fell. Tony grabbed it, tugged, then slammed the guy’s back into the chest-high dumpster about three feet away.
The impact rattled the industrial metal, and the propped-open lid toppled forward with an echoing crash.
Tony didn’t let up. He rammed the back of the man’s hand against the rusted steel, over and over, pulverizing the tiny bones with the repeated impact, until the weapon clattered onto the pavement.
The guy fought back, kicking out with his steel-toed boots. He threw his head forward, slamming into Tony just below the hairline.
The strike scrambled Tony’s brain like an egg…for a second. No more playing around.
“Who sent you?” he hissed, wrapping his hand around his opponent’s neck in an iron grip.
His only answer was a shake of the head, an anemic attempt at a knee to the balls.
“Last chance.” He paused.
Nothing.
He squeezed tighter, and the man pawed weakly at his hold then folded, a limp weight in the clasp of Tony’s hand. He held on long enough to be sure the job was done before releasing his burden to the ground.
One day. He’d been back in New York one fucking day after his trip to Charleston, and someone had already tried to kill him. “Let’s see who you are,” he muttered and dropped to one knee. The chill from the slushy remains of yesterday’s snow soaked through his pantleg.
He ripped the mask off the dead man, revealing pale white skin and a head full of dirty blond hair. Too much to hope for that he’d recognize the face.
A quick pat-down produced no wallet.
“For fuck’s sake.” Maybe his boss would recognize the guy.
Tony snapped a quick picture for Agosto with his phone, then fired off a text to his cousin, requesting a disposal. He toyed with the idea of hiding the body in the dumpster, but he shot it down as quickly as it occurred to him. One, because his cousin would be pissed if he had to dig out.
And two? Because it reminded him too much of his trip to South Carolina. Barely forty-eight hours had passed since he’d dumped Pete’s body amid the garbage right across the street from a high society wedding. Right across the street from Callie, the woman Pete had been there to kill. The woman who’d plagued Tony’s thoughts nonstop since the night he’d met her two weeks ago.
Smart, beautiful, and soft everywhere he was hard, she belonged in the sparkling world where he’d left her. Even memories of her didn’t belong in a dirty alley seeped with death.
He settled on dragging the body behind the dumpster instead. His long legs covered the two blocks to Casa di Vino in less than five minutes.
A few feet beyond the threshold, his stomach dropped at the familiar motion of a dark-haired Italian man, looking down, wiping the bar with a towel. How many nights had he walked in here to see Pete making the same circular swipes over the wood?
But Pete was dead.
Tony shook his head and advanced into the otherwise empty room. Even with his light footsteps, the other man’s gaze flew up instantly. Not Pete—Agosto.
“Pete’s girl is in the wind.” His boss pulled a lowball glass from beneath the bar and set it on the surface. They hadn’t spoken since Tony’s night in Charleston, but Tony had texted him about Pete’s fate before he’d boarded the plane.
Tony shuffled to his favorite barstool as his boss poured the Wild Turkey, then left the bottle. “Why the fuck would she go to the cops about Bobby in the first place?” He sipped his whiskey. “I get why Pete tried to cover for her—and even why he tried to pin it on Callie—he loved Lilah. But she had to know she was signing her own death warrant when she turned you in for murder.”
Agosto sighed and produced a wine glass. “You never know what people are going to do when they see behind the curtain. Sometimes, the ones you think will lose their shit over what we do, find a way to live with it. Sometimes, the people you think you can trust hang you out to dry. It’s why I have rules for all of you about keeping your mouths shut. Fuck who you want. Fall in love if you can’t help it, but family business stays in the family.”
He poured himself a Cabernet. “I know you didn’t want to kill him.”
True, but killing Pete had been the only way to keep Callie alive.
Agosto rounded the bar to sit on the adjacent stool. “This Callie woman. Tell me about her.”
Tony gulped his whiskey. “She came here a couple of weeks ago for a bachelorette party. We talked a bit.” He didn’t mention the way they’d shared their dreams. Or how deeply she’d affected him. Or the kiss he’d felt all the way down to his toes. “Apparently, the bride got sick and threw up on her, which is why she hightailed it out of here—not because she saw you kill Bobby. She doesn’t have a clue about any of this.” He gestured vaguely around the bar.
“Pete saw the two of you and thought she’d be an ideal patsy for Lilah playing informant. All old news,” Agosto said mildly. “I’m asking what happened in Charleston.”
Only the best and worst night of his entire life. “I tracked her down to her brother’s wedding. I found out she was innocent, killed Pete, and got out clean.” Discovered romance on a carriage ride, danced, made love.
Left her asleep with a note on the pillow.
“Simple as that?” Agosto raised a dubious brow.
“One and done, sir.” The sooner he could make himself forget about Callie, the safer she would be. “I didn’t hit a snag until I got home.” He fished his phone from his pocket and pulled up the photo of the man he’d left in the alley. “You recognize him?”
The suspicious look on his face clearing instantly with a glimpse of the body, Ag
osto tugged the device from Tony’s hand and peered at the screen intently. “He looks familiar, but I can’t place him. I take it he came at you tonight?”
“On my way here. I’ve already got a pick-up on the way.” Tony took his phone when Agosto offered it back.
“Forward it to me.” The boss swirled the wine in his glass. “I’ll put his face in front of the family.” He took a sip, then set the drink on the bar as he stood. “Stay here and finish your drink. You can lock up on your way out. I’ve got to find a new bartender if I am going to get this place running again.”
The words churned in Tony’s head long after Agosto closed the front door behind him. Pete had been the bartender here for years, a fellow soldier in the organization long before that.
He’d miss the man’s easy smile and familiar stories about the old days—those years he’d spent as a soldier, like Tony. It was funny how Pete had considered stabbing, garroting, and strangling people to be good times, especially when it had nearly gotten him killed. Of course, the hit he took to the leg—the one that benched him and gave him a permanent limp—led him to the bar and to Lilah. The love of his life and ultimately, the cause of his death.
Tony would forever associate this place with Pete.
His gaze darted to the pool table along the side wall, the one where Callie had conned him into thinking she couldn’t play. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel her curves pressed against him, smell her flowery perfume.
God, it was like she was here.
“Tony?”
His eyes flew open with the voice he’d never expected to hear again. He spun on the stool. Blinked. “Callie?”
She stood inches away, fucking resplendent in her curve-hugging jeans, green cable-knit sweater, and knee-high boots. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her brown eyes, blazing.
He jumped to his feet, reached out his hand, then dropped it. “What are you doing here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” She stepped into his space, disrupting all the air around him. “I’m here because I’m not ready to let you go yet.”
CHAPTER TWO
Callie struggled to keep her body loose and relaxed, while her spine fought desperately to lock-up like a robot in dire need of oil. Generally, she considered herself a confident woman, but she’d never tested her mettle so far as to fly across country to throw herself at a man.
She smiled, shooting for coy, though daring or bold would do—anything but the frozen anxiety demanding she turn immediately and run. “Cat got your tongue?”
Tony gaped.
“I know you didn’t exactly invite me here, but I didn’t really invite you to my brother’s wedding either.” She forced her hurried words to slow. “But I had an amazing time with you.”
His eyes softened, and she took a chance, resting her hands on his broad shoulders. The man was all hard angles and solid muscle. She could cut a freaking diamond on his jawline.
“The wedding, the carriage…the hotel room. I don’t want it to be over.” Her palm slid up to cup his cheek. “It doesn’t have to be over.”
He licked his lips, an invitation if she ever saw one.
She lifted to her toes, and thank goodness, he met her halfway. Finally, she was kissing him again, the two long days she’d spent without him dissolving like smoke on the horizon. The bristles of his five o’clock shadow tingled against her skin, and he tasted like the whiskey he’d been drinking the night they’d met.
All too soon, he pulled away, taking his towering strength and comforting heat with him. The passion in his eyes dimming into something too close to regret.
“I can’t believe I found you here.” She lifted his glass from the table and took a fortifying gulp. It burned her throat. “I thought I’d have to ask around, do some detective work.”
“Callie,” he rasped. “You shouldn’t have come back.”
She stumbled, the gentle rebuke belting into her chest like a physical blow. Palming the bar with her left hand, she straightened to her full height. “Don’t pretend like what happened between us didn’t mean something to you, too.”
He rubbed at his chest. “Of course, it meant something. It was…everything.”
“Yeah?” she asked softly. “Is that why I woke up with cold sheets and a note about how I’ll stay in your heart? Because a lesser woman might wonder if maybe it wasn’t as good for you as it was for me.”
As it was, she’d second guessed herself the entire flight here. For God’s sake, they’d only spent two nights with each other. The first, she’d bailed on him. The second, he’d bailed on her.
But he’d come all that way to find her. It had to mean something.
He covered her hand with his. “Good doesn’t even scratch the surface. It’s never been like that for me with anyone.” He folded his fingers around hers. “You have no idea how much I wanted to stay.”
“Then why didn’t you?” The stupid note he’d left her burned a hole in her back pocket. You deserve a better life than I can give you, it had said. And something about how there were things she didn’t know about him. “Oh my God. You were trying to let me down easy. I’m an idiot.”
He tugged her into his arms, and her body melted against him, the comfort overriding her misgivings. “No, you’re not.” His breath rustled her hair. “What you are is way out of my league.”
She tried to pull back, but he only gave her a few inches, just enough room to see his face.
He stared at her soberly. “Maybe I did it all wrong. Leaving you a note seemed like the right thing at the time, but it was only because I was too much of a coward to say goodbye to your face.”
Releasing her completely, he dropped down to the stool where he’d been sitting when she walked in. “I didn’t want to leave you. Hell, I’d stay with you forever if I could, but I have obligations here.”
Which made total sense. As much talking as they’d done, as close as she let herself feel to him, she’d never even asked what he did for a living or if he had family who he needed to take care of.
She stepped into the space between his knees and closed her eyes as he ran his fingertips over her cheek. “Forever, huh? You might change your tune if you ever try to steal a bite off my plate. I’ve been known to stab someone’s hand with my fork.”
He chuckled low. “Then, I’d need to be sure to cook you for you all the time. Keep you filled up on all of your favorites.”
“Mmm. Even chicken carbonara?”
“With guanciale.” He winked. “Only cheaters use bacon.”
“Okay.” She cocked her head. “Well, you might rethink forever if you catch the way I look after a night of too many Cosmos. You kind of lucked out that I didn’t have the chance to invite you back to my room the night we met. It didn’t end pretty.”
He squeezed his knees against the outside of her thighs. “Save your breath. You’re perfect.”
There. There was the feeling she’d chased all the way up the eastern seaboard. “I’m not perfect, Tony. But the two of us? Together? I think we’re pretty close.”
“You don’t know me.” His smiling face shuttered.
“What’s your favorite food?”
He shook his head. “That’s not—”
“What is your favorite food?” she pressed.
“Spaghetti.” He frowned.
She ignored his reluctance to be the topic of conversation. “I can work with pasta. Your favorite movie?”
“Die Hard, and yes, it is a Christmas movie.”
“Your idea of a perfect date?”
The ghost of a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Pretty girl, blue dress, drinks, dancing.”
She undid the top button of his shirt, and his Adam’s apple bobbed at the brush of her knuckles. The way he sucked in a breath was almost imperceptible, but in the empty stillness of the room, she couldn’t miss it. “Is the girl in the blue dress wearing any panties?” The question came out low and throaty without her even trying.
Fire flashed in his eyes. His gaze flickered to her mouth for a moment, the only warning before he claimed another kiss.
If the first one was a welcome, this was a siege. His tongue plunged inside her, and every part of her body instantly softened.
She met his unspoken demands eagerly, matching him stroke for stroke. Already, she was picturing him back in her hotel room, stripping her down, and covering her with his impressive body.
His hand clutched the back of her neck with the perfect amount of force. He held her firmly, supporting her against the onslaught of the kiss, the calluses on his fingers gently scraping beneath her hair.
She moaned as his other hand abandoned her waist and clenched her ass.
He pulled her impossibly tighter, then wrenched his mouth away, letting her go. With a growl, he grabbed the whiskey and drank straight from the bottle.
What the fuck? “Tony.” Even she could hear the edge in her voice. “You’re giving me whiplash.”
She no longer questioned whether he wanted her. The evidence was unmistakable thanks to the tent in his pants. His body was screaming yes, but obviously something else was making him say no. “Are you—” She steeled herself. “Are you married?”
The bottle smacked against the bar as his gaze locked with hers. “No!”
He blew out a breath. “No,” he repeated gently. “I tried to explain in the note. There are people in my life who aren’t safe to be around. I’m not safe to be around. I left for your own good.”
His phone buzzed, and he grimaced as he checked the display and reached for his drink.
This time when he lifted the whiskey, she jerked it from his hand. “My own good? Bullshit.” She tossed the near-empty bottle behind the bar, and it landed with a satisfying crack. “Who do you think you are? Batman?”
“No.” The woman’s voice behind her made ice crawl up Callie’s spine. “Not Batman—a hitman.”
