by Tami Lund
He was still tall, still lean, although there was a thick shadow of stubble on his face and his shirt was in desperate need of an iron.
The look in his eye was calculated, murderous, apathetic.
She’d become morbidly fascinated by psychopathy after Nina’s biological father had held a gun to her head when she was a child.
Once Hillary had begun working on her master’s degree, had focused her studies on analyzing the criminal mind, she’d concluded that the man would have shot her if her own father had not shot him first. Gino Sarvilli would have killed a child and not missed a lick of sleep over his actions.
That realization had spurred her to go into criminology, to help catch killers before they harmed anyone else.
It was easy when she was removed from the situation, when it didn’t affect her life, to be objective, to discuss a person’s ability to kill without remorse.
It was an entirely different sensation when she was standing toe to toe with Davit Grigoryan.
The man had kidnapped Nina and planned to sell her to the highest bidder. He had kept Shannon Williams prisoner, forced her to work as a stripper so he could use her to attempt to take down one of his enemies.
He was the man Marco believed killed his parents.
And Hillary was all alone with him.
How had he found her? How did he even know to approach her?
Wait, maybe he didn’t. Maybe this was a coincidence. Maybe he was truly simply being polite to a stranger.
Yeah, right. Not with that look in his eye.
She swallowed and stepped back, out of his reach. He could, of course, lunge at her, but hopefully there was enough distance between them that she could flee if he made any sudden moves.
“What are you doing all alone in big, bad, scary Detroit?” Davit’s voice wasn’t smooth, like she’d initially thought, but oily. Dark. Foreboding.
“Technically, we’re in Birmingham,” Hillary pointed out, surprising herself with her bravado.
He curled his lip, clearly not impressed with her correction. “Look, bitch, I will mess you up.”
“I don’t even know you.”
“You know of me, though.”
“H-how do you know that?”
He gazed out toward the street, and Hillary followed his line of vision…to Marco’s truck.
“Yeah,” he said, turning back to face her, “I know who you are. Or at least who you associate with.”
Hillary didn’t respond. She was too busy hoping he wouldn’t do anything detrimental to her wellbeing out here in the middle of the day, in the middle of the sidewalk—which, by the way, it would be nice if it were a tad busier.
“I want you to give your man a message,” Davit said, leaning close, like he was about to divulge a secret. “Tell him I’m coming for him. Tell him I’m not through yet. Tell him if I can’t have Shannon, he can’t live. Got it?”
Her heart stuttered, stalled, and then kicked into overdrive while she stood there, immobile, unable to respond, unable to run, unable to do anything except fear for Marco’s safety.
Davit’s lips lifted into a distinctly non-friendly smile. “There you go, little rabbit. Run along now. Tell him my message.” When she didn’t immediately move, he made a shooing motion with his hands.
The door to the shop opened, and a woman stepped out, her gaze flicking from Davit to Hillary, concern on her face.
Hillary abruptly rushed down the sidewalk, speed walking toward Marco’s truck. Once in the driver’s seat, she panicked. Hadn’t Marco’s parents died in a car crash? The police ruled it an accident, but Marco believed that Davit had caused it.
What if he’d tampered with Marco’s truck while she’d been busy shopping?
How was she supposed to leave if she didn’t start the damn vehicle? She could call Marco, except that would be leading him right into the wolf’s den. Davit still stood on the sidewalk, watching her.
Shit, shit, shit.
Sucking in a deep breath, she climbed out and crouched on the pavement, looking under the truck for any indication he had cut a brake line. There were no puddles, and nothing looked out of place.
She straightened and popped the hood. She wasn’t an expert by any means, but her dad had taught her the basics of the inner workings of a motor vehicle. Enough that she could do minor repairs herself rather than rely on an expensive shop or a man.
Nothing looked out of place there, either.
When she closed the hood, Davit was gone, and that frightened her even more than knowing he was watching her. She needed to get out of here. She needed to get to Julia, make sure she was safe, and then she needed to get to Marco, to warn him.
To protect him.
Chapter Fourteen
Hillary and Julia showed up at the restaurant just as Marco was getting ready to leave. He grinned, thrilled to see them both, but when Hillary hopped out of the truck, he saw it—the stark fear on her face. The last time he’d seen that look in her eye had been when they were trying to get her and Nina out of town before Davit caught them.
He ran across the parking lot, reaching them before they’d even stepped away from the vehicle. “What happened?” he demanded, his hands clamped onto Hillary’s arms.
She shook him off, murmuring, “Not in front of Julia.”
His baby sister bounced up and hugged him.
“How was school?” he asked, hoping his voice sounded even.
“Good, except Madison says Corey has a crush on me, and yuck.” She scrunched up her face and stuck out her tongue.
“Yuck because it’s Corey, or yuck because he’s a boy and they still have cooties?” Marco was surprised at how normal this conversation was, when his heart was pounding a mile a minute and he desperately wanted to soothe Hillary and figure out what had spooked her.
Julia rolled her eyes. “They don’t have cooties. That’s so old-fashioned. But they are only cool as friends. Is Luigi here today? I’m starved, and I love his meatballs.”
“Armani made the meatballs today, but there are plenty of them.”
“Works for me.” She headed inside, seemingly not a care in the world. Which was exactly the world he wanted for her.
Based on the way Hillary started shaking as soon as she left, he guessed that wasn’t meant to be.
“What happened?” he demanded.
“Is the restaurant open?”
“Not yet. Why?”
She nodded at the building. “Let’s go inside. And maybe pour one of those whiskeys you’re so fond of. I know I could definitely use a drink right now.”
“Fuck. It’s that bad?”
“Yes.”
She strode toward the kitchen door, and Marco followed, his gaze darting every which way, seeking out whatever the hell had done this to her. He’d hated Hillary’s fear three years ago when they first met. It had messed with him even back then, had caused an uncontrollable need to protect her, even though she wasn’t the one in danger.
That need hadn’t diminished with time and distance.
He followed her to the bar and didn’t say a word as she flipped over a lowball glass and filled it with ice and Jamison before slipping a wineglass out of the holder hanging from the ceiling and filling it halfway with dark red liquid. If the circumstances were different, he’d crack a joke about hiring her as a bartender.
She slid both glasses across the bar, then dropped onto one of the stools.
“Are you ever going to tell me what’s going on?” he asked as he took a seat next to her.
She swallowed an impressive gulp of wine. “Sorry. I needed to calm myself down first.”
Shit. It was that bad. That meant it had to be—
“Davit. I saw Davit.”
He leapt out of his seat, standing over her, glaring at her. Not because he was angry—at least, not with her. “What do you mean you—?”
“I went shopping after I left here. And he was there. Just showed up out of nowhere.”
“How the
fuck did he know who you are?” Marco hadn’t thought to ensure Hillary had a tail. He’d mistakenly assumed she wasn’t on Davit’s radar.
“I was driving your truck.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. His bright red, souped up Chevy Silverado.
Fuck. He’d deliberately sent her off in his truck in an attempt to shield Julia from the pain of riding in his parents’ SUV.
“Did he approach you?”
Again, he knew her answer before she gave it. She was too spooked for that not to be the case. Spotting the man skulking across the street would have made her nervous, sure, but not like this.
He swiped his drink off the bar and downed a fair portion. He hadn’t had a glass of Jamison since Hillary agreed to pretend to be his fiancée. He appreciated how nice and calm his life had been for the past two weeks.
Too bad it hadn’t carried on that way a little longer. Or maybe forever.
“H-he gave me a message. For you.”
Marco wanted to throw the glass at the wall, but he wanted the calming effects of the liquor more.
“He’s going to kill you, Marco.”
She said it in a whisper. Her hand shook so badly, wine sloshed out of her glass and splashed onto the bar top. She let go of the stem and curled both hands into fists in her lap.
Marco wrapped his arms around her, willing her fears away. He kissed the top of her head and rested his cheek there, soaking in her warmth, her scent, everything about her.
“He won’t kill me. I won’t let him.” It was a promise and a threat. Davit was a dead man. No one frightened Hillary like this and got away with it.
Fuck his aunt, fuck the system, fuck every damn thing.
Davit needed to be stopped. And Marco was the man to do it. The government had trained him to be a killing machine, and Davit was exactly the type of person they expected him to kill. Of course, this kill wasn’t sanctioned by the federal government, but he didn’t give a goddamn.
The man needed to die.
He pushed Hillary to arm’s length. “Stay here. I’m going to go talk to the staff, let them know I’m shutting down the restaurant tonight. Then I’m going to call Frankie, tell him what’s up and arrange to get Julia to Aunt Dee for the evening. Or however long it takes.”
He paused. If he went through with this, he could kiss custody of Julia goodbye.
If he didn’t go through with this, his own life would very possibly be cut far too short. Not to mention the potential threat to Julia and Hillary. Davit would harm them in a heartbeat in his quest to get to Marco.
Hell, he was honestly surprised Davit hadn’t done anything more than simply talk to Hillary.
Why did it feel like every damn decision he made was the lesser of two really shitty evils?
Oh wait, this one was even worse than he thought, because if he was throwing in the towel on this custody battle, that meant he and Hillary no longer had to pretend to be engaged. He could send her home.
He should send her home.
“Do you want to go with Julia?”
She shook her head.
“You’ll be safe there.”
She shook her head again.
Part of him wanted to push her—the part that also reminded him that he really ought to put her on a damn plane and get her as far away from this life, and him, as possible. Wherever the fuck Sleepyville was, it clearly wasn’t on Davit’s radar or he damn well would have tracked down Luca and Nina by now.
Davit obviously didn’t take losing well.
Marco pressed his palms into the bar top on either side of Hillary. “You need to understand what you are getting into. This is no different from what happened to Luca and Nina. When I call Uncle Frankie, he’s going to alert every dangerous man he knows, and they are all going to head here, to this restaurant. You are about to be surrounded by the Detroit mafia. Are you okay with that?”
“I—”
“Your other option is to go with Julia and Aunt Dee until this is over.” He was a sick motherfucker, because that was most definitely not her only other option. But he couldn’t seem to open his mouth to tell her she was free to go home.
He could tell she was tempted to go with Aunt Dee, which meant if he gave her the other option, she’d take it in a heartbeat. And he didn’t blame her. This wasn’t her life. She’d been raised by a cop. A cop who used to be an FBI agent. He’d probably busted people just like Uncle Frankie and his crew. Her entire life, she’d only ever known one side of the law.
And that was as it should be.
He shoved away from the bar, turned away from her. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t keep her here. He had to send her away. To—
“I may be able to help.”
“Huh?” He jerked around to face her.
“I studied criminology, psychology. In college. I told you worked with a police department to help them solve crimes.”
He raked his hand through his hair. He’d not forgotten that fact, but it hadn’t occurred to him that she’d actually want to participate in what was about to go down.
She arched one brow, no doubt preparing to do verbal battle with him. But he wasn’t looking to spar, not this time.
“When this is all over, we should sit down and just talk about our lives. There is so much I want to know about you.”
She snorted and slapped her hand over her mouth. “I totally thought you were about to attempt to shut me down.”
He shook his head. “Hell no. With as many trained killers who will be in this building with us, we can keep you safe. So if you want to help, by all means. I just want you to understand that we aren’t calling the cops into this. This isn’t going to fit into your black-and-white world.”
“I told you I’ve learned there are lots of shades of gray, remember?”
He remembered.
“Go make your calls.” She pointed at the door leading into the main room of the restaurant. “I’ll sit here and try really hard not to drink too much wine, so I can actually be useful when the time comes.”
He threaded his fingers into her hair and kissed her. Hard. Deep. Desperate. Hungry. He wanted to ensure that kiss left no doubt how he felt about her.
Even though, when this was all over, he was sending her home.
Chapter Fifteen
Marco closed the restaurant and then called Frankie and repeated what Hillary had told him. Twenty minutes later, a cluster of large, scary-looking Italian guys poured into the restaurant and swept Julia away with them.
She hugged Hillary and Marco both before leaving. She didn’t seem fazed in the least. Was this not the first time this had happened to the little girl? More than once, Hillary had heard Luca mutter, “If you’re born into the mob, you never really get out.”
There was obviously more truth to that statement than Hillary had realized at the time.
And Patricia was more right than she knew.
Hillary was crazy for staying. Especially when she considered her own history with the local mafia.
Gino Sarvilli, the man who started it all, had held a gun to her head. Seventeen years later, one of his henchmen had done the same thing.
And Marco had killed the man.
That was why she was staying.
He had saved her life. She’d meant nothing to him; she would have been collateral damage, basically, yet he’d protected her as if she were as important as his cousin, as Nina. He’d protected Shannon, too. And now he was protecting his sister.
It probably ate him alive, the belief that he hadn’t been able to protect his parents.
Yes, killing a man in cold blood was a criminal offense. It was wrong. He should involve the authorities, let them do the job they were trained to do.
But Hillary knew—and no doubt so did Marco—that the authorities wouldn’t be able to take down Davit. If they could, they would have by now. Marco’s parents weren’t his first kill. Even Hillary knew that.
Not to mention, the police had ruled their deaths an acc
ident.
Letting a man like Davit roam free to do even more harm, that was the worse offense.
Soon the restaurant resembled the set of The Sopranos, and as Marco had sent the staff home, Hillary stepped up to help serve drinks and the food that he threw together on impulse.
“Good thing Armani made all those meatballs,” Marco said as he plated up another batch of subs and a platter of caprese salad for Hillary to whisk away to the restaurant proper.
The setting wasn’t quite like a television show. No one slapped her ass or propositioned her. A few guys eyed her speculatively, but it wasn’t leering so much as wondering who the hell she was. Considering her bright red hair and obvious Irish features, she definitely didn’t fit in with this crowd.
Yet no one judged her or questioned her presence.
They all sat around joking with one another, talking about their wives and kids; this one was in college, that one just got married, another was about to make someone a first-time grandfather.
If she didn’t know the reason Marco had summoned them all here, she’d think it was some sort of casual guys’ night out.
Until the real talk began.
Frankie started it. He told a fabricated version of what really happened three years ago when Davit had kidnapped Nina.
Because this group wasn’t supposed to know Nina had ever come back to Detroit.
Hillary found herself backing out of the room, half afraid someone would connect the dots and realize she was Nina’s sister, and considering Nina had disappeared along with a substantial amount of money many of these men believed was rightfully theirs, that would not be a good thing.
She felt someone at her back and glanced over her shoulder at Marco, who had an unreadable expression on his face.
That certainly wasn’t unusual, at least not since she’d passed along Davit’s message. He’d kissed her with all the passion of a man desperately in love—yeah, right—and then he’d become practically a robot, going through the motions, doing what was necessary to kick off this manhunt. No emotion, no fear, no… nothing.
She tried to tell herself it was his military training; this was how he was supposed to act in this sort of situation.
