by Tami Lund
He lifted one shoulder, let it casually drop back into place. “The kind of bond you two have is hard to beat.”
“Um, okay.” Yes, she’d bonded with his sister, but she hadn’t realized he’d even noticed. Or cared.
He scratched at the stubble on his jaw. What did it feel like? Soft? Rough? Sexy?
Sexy? She needed to excuse herself to find Nina and Luca and convince them it was time to go.
“Julia wants you to come to our house.”
She didn’t immediately say anything, so he continued, “My parents had just redecorated her bedroom before…” He cleared his throat. “She wants you to see it.”
Hillary glanced around, searching for Nina and Luca. “I can’t possibly—”
“I think Luca’s sister convinced him and Nina to go back to their parents’ house for a few hours. You have time.”
He sounded like he genuinely wanted her to go. Which was weird. The guy didn’t even like her.
But then she glanced at Julia, her eyes red-rimmed from crying over her loss, yet she was laughing, already learning how to live with her newfound companion, grief.
A couple years ago, Hillary had taken a job in a city about an hour from where she lived, working as a criminologist with the local police force. She spent her days analyzing crimes, offering up suggestions that might help prevent the same transgressions in the future. Admirable, sure, but her goal was to work more closely with victims, to help them overcome the trauma they’d suffered as a result of those crimes.
Victims, such as those who were adversely affected by the actions of the local mafia.
Maybe she could use this little side trip to help Julia. No one could bring back her parents, but if Hillary could help her adjust, help her work through her grief; even if it made a minuscule difference, it was something.
Hillary glanced at the short hallway leading to the restrooms. “Is it safe?”
Marco’s lips quirked for a moment, as if what she said was funny. He wouldn’t find it so funny if she told him what she overheard.
“No one will harm you,” he said. “I wouldn’t let anyone near enough, although it’s a moot point because you have no connection here that anyone else is aware of. Come on, let’s grab Julia and get out of here.”
He didn’t wait for her assent; he strode toward the table where his sister was still holding court with her cousins, leaned over, and whispered in her ear. Julia immediately jumped out of her seat and hugged him, and Hillary knew she’d made the right choice.
Well, Marco had made an assumption on her behalf, but still, she was glad.
Julia rushed up and wrapped her arms around Hillary’s waist, and for a moment, Hillary wished she never had to let her go. If she could take Julia home with her, she would.
She couldn’t, of course. While slipping out of town undetected did seem to be a habit of this group, Julia’s roots were here. Her family, her life. And now that they knew there was a threat out there, they would protect her with their lives. She didn’t need to be stolen away for her own protection, like Nina had when she was a child.
Maybe this time, though, she and Julia could stay in touch after Hillary left. She knew Marco and Luca talked periodically, and it was obvious Marco and Leo stayed in touch. Otherwise, how would Leo and Shannon have known about Marco’s parents’ deaths all the way from a small town in England?
“Stay here,” Marco commanded. “I’ll go tell Luca what’s going on.”
Hillary wasn’t a fan of bossy men, and she ought to tell him so. She was perfectly capable of walking across the room and informing Nina and Luca for herself that she was going off with Marco. She really should, truth be told. She couldn’t imagine what in the world he was telling them and what her sister would think of her decision. Nina was fully aware of the animosity between Hillary and Marco.
Nina glanced up and looked…confused. Hillary was surprised by her own actions as well.
And then Luca and Marco embraced, hugging for long seconds. Marco turned, presumably to head back toward Hillary and Julia, but Nina grabbed his arm and pulled him into her arms. Attempting to console him, no doubt. Hillary herself had felt the urge to give the man a hug when they’d first arrived, and Marco definitely did not give off “hug me” vibes under normal circumstances.
She should have taken the liberty when she had the chance.
“Okay, let’s go,” Marco said when he returned. He herded them toward the kitchen instead of the main restaurant entrance. Hillary assumed he’d parked out back.
Four men, all with dark hair and dark expressions and dressed in impeccable dark suits, greeted them at the door and escorted them to Marco’s truck. One of them tossed something into the bed, and Hillary’s heart instantly kicked into high gear as fear sliced through her.
But these were the good guys, even if they were, technically, bad guys.
Once they reached the vehicle and were ensconced inside, the suits separated, two climbing into one car while the two remaining headed to another, and then Marco was driving away, sandwiched between the other vehicles.
Julia, who sat in the extended cab, chatted away, presumably unaware of their escort. Or maybe this was normal for her. Hill had no idea, and she couldn’t bring herself to ask. Julia and Marco had just buried their parents; Hillary did not want to ask about the security detail or whatever it this was and remind them of what they’d lost.
Absently, she rested her arm on the center console and then jerked it away when Marco’s arm brushed against hers.
She knew damn well he’d noticed her abrupt action, but he didn’t say a word or even glance at her out of the corner of his eye as he drove down suburban Detroit streets. She had no earthly idea where they were, but she hoped it wasn’t anywhere near where Nina’s biological father had once lived.
It didn’t seem like it, to be honest. Gino Sarvilli had lived in a monstrosity of a mansion tucked into a neighborhood teeming with ridiculously huge houses, and the abodes they were currently driving past looked pretty darn normal to her.
And then Marco turned into a driveway next to an olive-green, two-story house with brick-colored accents. There was a smallish front porch with a swing hanging from the roof and an American flag waving in the slight breeze. The leaves of a maple tree next to the house was just starting to turn orange. A huge oak tree shaded nearly the entire front yard. Bright red and pink impatiens lined the porch and spilled out of a barrel tipped onto its side.
He drove around to the back and parked in front of a detached garage. There were windows in the garage door, and she could see a single vehicle parked inside. One of his parents’ cars, no doubt.
The other one was at the bottom of a lake, according to what she’d overheard at the restaurant.
The truck stopped, and Marco turned off the engine and pulled the keys out of the ignition. Julia scrambled out of the backseat, while Marco sat there, staring at the garage.
“You okay?” Hillary finally asked when he didn’t move for long moments.
“What do you think?” he practically snarled before climbing out of the truck and slamming the door.
Why had she come here again?
Oh yes, Julia.
She had to keep reminding herself.
Chapter Four
Holy shit, was he really going through with this?
Was he truly planning to talk Hillary into helping his cause?
Aunt Dee had told him to find a good girl, and he didn’t think there was anyone more good than Hillary Karney. Her dad was a small-town cop, for Christ’s sake.
Mental note: figure out a way to ensure she didn’t call her father while she was here.
Marco didn’t have any friends who remotely qualified as “good girls.” Hell, did he even have any female friends? Jo, the manager at his parents’ restaurant, probably vaguely qualified, but she had a little bit of a dangerous edge to her, plus, that would be weird if they pretended to be together. What would he say to the rest of the staff?<
br />
Julia adored Hillary, and it was obvious Hillary held affections for her too.
Having Hillary live with them until he secured custody would be good for Julia. She needed someone around who would know how to handle her grief, and that someone sure as hell wasn’t him. He couldn’t even manage his own, preferring instead to drown it in Irish whiskey.
Speaking of which, he needed a drink.
As he climbed out of the truck, his gaze swept the area, searching for anything out of place. The grass would need to be mowed soon, especially if it rained in the next few days. The leaves were starting to fall from the trees; again, if it rained hard enough, the branches would be nearly bare soon.
The deck needed to be power washed and stained; he was supposed to help Dad do that next weekend. Guess he was on his own now. Or maybe one of these bodyguards Frankie had stationed in the rental house across the street could help. Was yardwork part of their job description? He had no idea; he’d never had need for protection by the mob.
Oh, he knew that someone had always kept an eye on him throughout his life because of his uncle and late grandfather’s mob associations; it just hadn’t been overt. His parents had wanted nothing to do with Frankie and Grandpa’s illegal dealings, and the Bianchi family had respected that. There had never been any ill will or anyone pushing them to live their lives differently.
Ironic that, despite the fact that Mom and Dad had never done anything illicit, his father’s family’s bone-deep hatred of the mafia ultimately drove a wedge between everyone.
He would never tell Aunt Patricia and Grandmother they were right to their faces, but Marco could admit to himself that unless he spirited Julia away like Luca and Nina and Shannon and Leo had done, their lives would never truly be mob-free. His parents’ deaths had proven that.
“Are you coming?”
He blinked rapidly, focusing on Hillary and Julia, who both stood on the deck, waiting for him unlock the house.
Right. He needed to let Julia show Hillary her room, and then he needed to figure out how to convince Hillary that she wasn’t heading home anytime soon.
He really needed that drink.
He pushed the door open, and Julia darted into a small mudroom-slash-laundry room that opened into a bright, airy kitchen with whitewashed cupboards, stainless steel appliances, and exposed brick walls. Hillary glanced over her shoulder at him and then followed his sister into the house at a much more sedate pace.
He crowded her, stepping into the doorway behind her, their bodies nearly touching, until she realized how close he was and jumped away like he’d nudged her with an electric cattle prod.
Her obvious distrust of him and her fear of being too close was a neon sign. Convincing her she had to stay until he gained custody of his sister was going to be no easy feat. Bonus that he also had to talk her into pretending they were a couple.
Shouldering past her, he stepped through a doorway into the dining room with a dark, wooden table and padded chairs and taupe walls. Snagging a lowball glass, he opened the small freezer under the wet bar, dumped a handful of cubes into the glass, and topped it with amber liquid from the half-full Jamison bottle.
“Would you like something to drink?” Julia asked as she joined him in the dining room.
“I would love a glass of water,” Hillary said politely from where she stood in the middle of the airy kitchen.
“We have other stuff,” Julia said. She pointed in Marco’s direction. “There’s a bar in the dining room. Mom and Dad have—had parties a lot. There’s lots of, you know, beer and wine and stuff.”
Marco glanced over his shoulder. “There are a couple bottles of red open over here. Merlot. Cab.” He picked one up and read the label. “This one is a red blend.” She’d been drinking chardonnay at the luncheon and rosé in Mexico, so she very well might not like red.
She cleared her throat and twisted her fingers together without moving any closer. The woman was so nervous she was beginning to make him jumpy.
“Yes. Red blend would be lovely,” she finally replied.
“I’ll get it,” Julia said, rushing toward bar.
He held the bottle over his head. “I don’t think so. Since when did you start playing bartender?”
She shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Dad let me pour their wine sometimes. When it was nice outside, we’d all sit on the front porch and enjoy a before-dinner drink.”
“They let you drink wine?” Marco demanded. Yeah, his parents had let him drink wine before he turned twenty-one, but it had been at special occasions—Christmas, New Year’s, that sort of thing. And he’d been way older than twelve.
Julia rolled her eyes. “Of course not. I drank lemonade.”
Marco’s heart slowed back to a more normal rhythm as he waved the bottle at her. “No more bartending, do you understand? At least not until everything’s settled.”
“Everything?” Hillary asked.
Marco ignored her question and focused on pouring her a glass of wine while Julia headed to the fridge to get her lemonade.
“Come on,” Julia said, offering Hillary her hand. “I’ll give you the tour.”
Marco trailed along behind them while Julia showed off the wide front entry with sleek, wooden floors, and pointed out where they usually put the Christmas tree because it was a floor-to-ceiling bay window and looked so pretty from the street.
Mom always rolled out this huge rug she kept stored up in the attic so that they had something soft to sit on while they tore open their presents. When the holidays were over, she tucked it away again because she said those wood floors were far too beautiful to hide.
Christmas was three months away. Would they still be here then? Would this custody battle be settled by then?
Would Hillary still be around? More importantly, would she still hate him?
Julia led them up the wide staircase to the second level, where there were three bedrooms: his parents’, hers, and a third, which used to be his until he moved out. It was now a home office-slash-exercise room.
Julia peered at him over her shoulder. “Are you going to sleep in Mom and Dad’s room?”
Marco glanced at the closed door at the end of the hall. His parents had been healthy, active adults. His mom had been only fifty-one, for fuck’s sake, his dad fifty-four. No one, least of all them, had thought they’d die anytime soon.
When he and Aunt Dee and Uncle Frankie went to the funeral home, the director had suggested they check to see if his parents had written any instructions regarding how to handle their burials. Marco had found the paperwork proclaiming itself as their last will and testament in a fireproof box in the basement.
Since they’d been picking out clothes to bury them in at the time—not a fun task, for the record—he’d taken the box upstairs to their bedroom and placed it on the dresser.
His vision had blurred and he hated crying at all, let alone in front of anyone. He’d fled the room and hadn’t entered it again since.
Realizing too much time had passed without an answer to Julia’s question, he very deliberately took a drink.
“I’ll probably just crash on the couch for now,” he finally said.
Julia nodded. “Or you could sleep in the bonus room.”
Marco covered a snort by taking another drink. If only he could sleep in the bonus room. That was where he intended for Hillary to stay.
“The bonus room?” Hillary parroted.
“Yep. Let me show you.” Julia snagged her hand and guided her to another staircase that led to the third level and another bedroom that was perfect for guests, whether they wanted to be here or not.
There was a queen bed, a dresser, a rocking chair, and even a full bathroom up there. The ceiling slanted with the roof line, so Marco, who was well over six feet tall, would have to duck to get into the bed or else risk banging his head if he were ever invited to share it.
Which was absolutely insane of him to even think about.
“Wouldn’t you rat
her sleep up here?” Julia asked him.
He stared at the bed as he stood in the middle of the room and sipped at his whiskey. He could almost clearly see Hillary laid out on that taupe-colored comforter, her bright red hair spread like a halo around her head, her tits tipped with rosy, hardened nipples, begging for his touch. He imagined her soft belly with the slightest roundness to it, and hips that flared out, perfect for grabbing, and then…
He cleared his throat and forced his gaze away from the bed. “Actually, I had another idea for this room.”
“What idea?” Julia asked.
“Another long-term guest.”
“Who?”
It was now or never. Or maybe not. They’d bypassed Julia’s freshly redecorated bedroom and headed straight up here. He could delay a little longer.
“Wait,” Julia said, her eyes widened, her face lighting up. “What did Bennie throw into the bed of your truck, Marco?”
Hillary’s overnight bag. After Marco let Nina and Luca know Hillary was going to stay with him to help take care of Julia—and maybe he’d lied and said it was her idea so they’d go along with it—Bennie had grabbed her bag from their rental and tossed it into Marco’s truck.
Considering she’d only expected to be on the road for a night or two, there probably wasn’t much in it, but it would get her through until he got online and ordered her more clothes. Or better yet, if she wasn’t too pissed at him, she could do it herself. He’d let her use his credit card—frankly, he’d rather she made her own decisions about something so personal as clothing choices.
“I think it’s a great idea,” Julia announced, flinging her arms around Hillary’s waist.
Hillary stood there, not hugging his sister back, her brow furrowed as she clearly was trying to work out what was going on.
“What’s a great idea?” Hillary finally asked.
“You,” Julia said. “Staying here with me. With us.”
“Me…what?”
The poor woman looked so stricken, Marco felt a twinge of guilt cut through his chest, but he shoved it back into that box he reserved for pretty much all emotion except for anger. The anger was keeping him sane these days. Or at least allowed him to be functional.
