by Sasha Leone
I don’t know if that makes any sense, but it feels right, and I follow right along as he grabs my hand and leads me towards a set of elevator doors in an underground garage somewhere in the nice part of town.
I kick his passenger door shut behind me and it slams with a rattle. That seems to spark something in Ronan. He pulls me in a pirouette and spins back around to his car. I watch, completely taken with him, as he rummages around in his back seat.
“Gold or silver?’ he asks, with his back turned to me. He has his jacket back on, but I wish he didn’t. Just thinking about those ripped shoulder blades of his makes me drool.
“Silver,” I say, hardly thinking about the question. I’ve felt drunk ever since he pinned me against the alley wall earlier, and he’s acting like he feels the same way. We’re both a bit goofy right now, and I’m thankful for it. It’s such a far cry from the fear and the hopelessness. It’s exactly what I need.
Ronan turns around and I’m nearly blinded by the jewelry in his hand.
“What is that?” I giggle, completely taken by surprise. This man is so full of surprises...
“It’s for you, is what it is,” Ronan smirks.
I step forward and study the elegant silver bracelet in his hand. It almost looks like something a princess would wear—a thin tasteful band embedded with what looks like real diamonds.
I gasp. “Ronan, it’s beautiful.”
“And now it’s yours.” He takes my wrist and I pincer my hand. With all the care in the world, he slides into onto me—it fits like a charm.
“Is it a family heirloom or something?” I ask, transfixed by its glittering beauty.
Ronan shrugs. “I’ve never had a family.”
I tear my gaze away from the bracelet and dole out some sympathy. “Poor baby,” I offer, before standing on my tip toes and wrapping my newly adorned arms around his thick neck.
I give him a soft, tasteful kiss—because I’m a real lady now—and he holds me around the waist. His soft kiss is just as exhilarating as his hard one. I feel like I’ve fallen into a pit full of fluffy pillows.
“Where are we?” I ask, after we’ve gazed into each other’s eyes for what seems like a blissful eternity.
“Home.”
14
Ronan
I wake up feeling like all my problems have finally been solved.
It only takes a second for reality to come crashing back down over my pounding head. I check the bedside clock. It’s 10am. I have about twelve hours to find Santino and bring him to the meeting tonight, or else I’m a dead man.
Nia stirs in bed beside me. My heart sinks at the thought of what I’ve gotten myself into. What’d you do that for, you idiot? Now you only have so much more to lose.
I take a deep breath and sit up in bed, grabbing my phone from the bedside table with my good arm and running my fingers through my messy hair with my bad arm. If there’s any good news, besides Nia, it’s that my arm isn’t nearly as sore as I feared it might be. Sure, it’s still weak, but the throbbing has eased.
Last Chance. It’s the only message I have. It’s from Luca. I’m filled with fury. If I was alone, I might throw my phone across the room and take a little bit of pleasure from seeing it smash against the wall, but I don’t want to startle Nia. She’s been through enough.
I get out of bed and quickly get changed. The same clothes I wore last night are strewn across the floor. They smell like Nia. We weren’t done with each other when we got home last night—we fucked until it was light out; each time more furious than the last, until we were so worn out that we collapsed in a tangled ball under my covers and drifted off into a blissful oblivion.
I’m shocked by how little blood covers my sweat-damp outfit. That thin greasy asshole from last night hadn’t hesitated to shoot his own man to get to me. At least I’d had a human shield—it might have been the only thing that had gotten me out of there alive.
Neither of the remaining goons were particularly good shots, but they were close enough to me that they didn’t need to be. I got the other big guy quickly enough, but the skinny leader somehow managed to escape. I’m almost certain I caught him in the leg with a shot, but I wasn’t about to follow him to find out for sure and finish the job. When things settled down enough for me to make a run for it, I only had one thing on my mind: Nia.
Thank god she’s alright.
I tie on my black boots and text Finn. Anything on Santino? We’re cutting this shit pretty close, bud.
I think hard and long about who to message next. Should I call in the shootout from last night? Does Gianni or Luca or any of the Barone family need to know about it?
I pinch the bridge of my nose and fight back a headache. Those three goons from last night had looked awfully Russian. It didn’t matter to me at the time—I was going to do whatever it took to protect Nia—but now I have a big decision to make.
If I don’t call the skirmish in to the Barone family and tell them to ask their dirty cops to sweep the incident under the rug, then I risk having a formal investigation opened up by the actual police. I’d heard distant yelling and seen apartment lights turn on last night after the incident. At least one person had obviously called the cops. I didn’t stick around to check for witnesses.
If I do report the incident to the Barone family, though, and it turns out that those assholes were indeed part of the Bratva that we’re trying to make peace with... well, then I’m just as fucked as Santino, if not more so.
I have a bad feeling that they must have been connected—no slimeball in this city who isn’t connected would ever think to act so high and mighty. That slim, greasy leader who was waving his gun at us last night could very well be an important member of the Volkov Bratva, if not the son of someone important.
I decide I can’t risk calling the incident in to the Barone’s. My only hope is that I can somehow catch Santino before tonight’s meeting and then disappear for a little while. Even then, I’ll have to be careful about who I let Gianni introduce me to in the future. Still, if that greaseball from last night survived the shootout, and has an important position in the Volkov Bratva, then there might not be any avoiding him.
I can only hope he bled out after we parted ways.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Finn. I have some good news. Baker street in an hour?
I tent my brows in curiosity. Could I actually pull this off? See you in an hour, I text him back.
I look back towards Nia and my heart kicks in my chest. She looks like an angel against my white sheets. A perfect contrast. I just want to get back into bed with her and forget about all my problems, but I know that if I do, there’s no future for us. I have to solve this Santino shit once and for all. I have no choice.
Before I can write down a message—telling Nia she’s welcome to stay here for as long as she wants—and head down to the garage, the cocoa angel stirs awake.
I watch as she tries to make sense of her surroundings. She looks so innocent, a far cry from the dirty passion of last night.
When her eyes fall on me, though, her confusion evaporates and a warm smile crosses her beautiful lips. “Hey,” she whispers.
My heart calls for her.
Shut up with that poetic shit, I try to order myself, but it’s harder than it sounds.
“Hey,” I smile back, forgetting all of my problems for just one more peaceful moment.
She notices I’m fully dressed. “Where are you going?”
I purse my lips. “I have to go to work. You’re more than welcome to stay here, though. In fact, I’d prefer it.”
Nia closes her eyes and stretches her long elegant arms up to the ceiling. Alfonzo’s bracelet shimmers on her thin wrist. That’s all it takes for my defences to break. I let myself give in for just a little bit before I leave. When her eyes open back up, I’m sitting on the bedside with my hand on her thigh.
We share a soft, bittersweet kiss, before I forcefully pull myself away again.
“Th
ere’s a fully stocked kitchen just down the hall. A maid should be by in an hour or two, she can tell you where things are. You’ve had a tough few days. I want you to have a little vacation. Okay?”
Nia furrows her brows with slight confusion. “Vacation?” she asks, like she barely knows the meaning of the word. Suddenly, her eyes go wide as she looks desperately around. Her gaze settles on the bedside clock and she jumps out from underneath the covers. I thought I’d had my fill of her naked body last night, but still, the beauty of her is enough to take my breath away. I struggle to stay focused. I fear it’s a losing battle. So, I look away.
“I’m going to be late for work!” Nia gasps. Her clothes are on the floor, right next to where mine were. I hear her scrambling to get changed.
“You’re really going to go to work?” I ask, turning back around to her when I feel like I can handle her beauty again.
“I need the money, Ronan,” she says in a hurry.
My eyes wander down to her thighs, which are accentuated so deliciously by her tight blue jeans. My pants stir and my stomach growls. I realize I’m starving. For her and for some breakfast.
“Stay here, please,” I ask, taking a long step towards her. “We’ll make a quick breakfast and I’ll show you around the loft.”
My words don’t seem to deter her. Nia’s hiding it well, but I can tell she’s panicked. “I can’t lose this job, Ronan. God, I have one night of fun...”
I wrap my fingers around her shoulders, willing her to take a deep breath and a step back. “Stop, Nia. Breathe. Look around for a second.”
I gesture to my sprawling bedroom. The open concept floor plan is so expansive that it even makes my Alaskan king bed look small. Long, elegant, dark red curtains cascade down from the ceiling on the far side of the room—when you open them up, you’re treated to one of the best views in the city. A television-sized fire crackles near the bed, and a 75-inch TV hangs above it, just waiting to slide down at the click of a button. There’s a long oakwood desk near the doors of two walk in closets and, beside that there’s a heated-tile bathroom with a rain-forest shower head and a polished white bath tub as big as an infinite pool.
I make sure Nia knows what she’ll be missing out on if she leaves for work. “I know what it’s like to live in poverty,” I tell her. “And this is not it. There’s room to breathe here.”
“But for how long?” she sighs.
I’m scared to be any clearer. The truth is, I never want her to leave. This has become my sanctuary, and now I want it to be hers too. How can I ask her to stay without revealing too much? I dreamed about more than just her body after we were done fucking last night, I dreamed of an entire life together.
“As long as you want,” I assure her.
“And then, what?” Nia crosses her arms and bends at the hip. “What happens if one of those gunfights you get into goes bad? What if you get betrayed or arrested? What if you suddenly realize that we’ve only ever really spent one night together and we hardly even know each other? Then what? I like you Ronan, but I need to have my own life. I relied too much on my mother once, and when she left me, I was fucked. I’m not making the same mistake twice. I can’t give up my job. I can’t stop making my own money.”
I wrap my arms around her and pull her in close. She doesn’t resist, but I can already tell she’s not nearly as warm as she was last night. “You don’t need money anymore,” I try to tell her.
“I can’t rely on your generosity, Ronan,” Nia pushes away from me. I don’t want to let her go, but she’s a hell of a fighter. Her heavy hand leaves an imprint on my chest, just as it did on my wounded arm that night we first met.
“Well, then pawn off your new bracelet. I’m sure it’s worth at least a day’s pay. Take a break, please.”
Nia shakes her head, admiring the jewelry. “You just don’t get it. I’m making an honest living. There are no days off. People rely on me.”
I know I’m not winning this battle. It’s a bad start to a day where I need to come out on top. “At least let me drive you to work,” I ask, reaching out my hand to her. “We can have breakfast together.
To my relief, she takes it. “Well, I’m sure as hell not taking the bus.”
15
Ronan
Finn wasn’t lying when he’d told me he had good news.
“Three separate sources confirmed it,” his voice crackles over my earpiece.
The two of us have spent the past few hours staking out either side of a warehouse not far from where I had my little shootout last night. Finn had been one of the cops called in response to the skirmish, and after everyone else had left, he’d decided to take some initiative and ask around about Santino. To his surprise, he got some bites.
Several citizens had sworn that they’d seen someone who matched Santino’s description in the area over the past two days. One was a garbageman, who’d seen him coming out of a nearby alleyway with an armful of groceries just before the break of dawn. The garbageman told Finn that the memory only stood out in his mind for two reasons: first, because no grocery stores were open so early, so he figured the man must have looted his haul; and second, because the man had a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his forehead.
I must have nicked him with a bullet, I thought, when Finn had first relayed the news to me.
Another witness, an elderly woman, told Finn she’d watched from her apartment window as a man wearing a bloody headband snuck into this semi-abandoned warehouse, not long after she’d been awoken by gunshots last night. She’d been too infirm to make it down to the police before they’d left, but when Finn stuck around, she’d told him everything.
That was the good news. The bad news was that we still weren’t sure how we were going to get into the warehouse itself. The decrepit building looked worn and abandoned, but a construction crew with a security detail had quickly shown up just after dawn and surrounded the place while working on some mysterious project.
They’ve been at it all day, and Finn and I have had no choice but to just sit back and watch, and hope that Santino might come to us. We’ve had no such luck—and I was starting to get restless enough to try something reckless before an opportunity finally presented itself.
About half-an-hour ago, the crew that was working on my end of the street finally packed up and left.
It’s about 7pm now, and I’ve been able to infiltrate the electric fence that surrounds the property.
This is my last chance, but it’s also the best one I’ve had yet.
I have little doubt that Santino was here this morning—I can almost smell him in the air—and I’m betting my entire life on the hope that he still is.
I sneak behind a dumpster while Finn circles the premise. There’s still a small construction crew left behind, but they’re only covering the front entrance. I go around back and find a way in.
“Are you ready?” I whisper into my earpiece.
“Let’s do this,” Finn replies.
I take a deep breath and try the back-entrance door. It doesn’t open, but with a little convincing from the butt of my Glock, the handle falls to the ground and the door creaks open.
I push my way inside.
The warehouse is dim and quiet. The only sound I can make out is the drip of a leaking pipe echoing off somewhere in the distance. I creep around and listen for a sign, any sign.
The place is huge and empty. The floor is strewn with huge shipping containers and debris and the only light is what’s seeping in through the holes in the roof. On a windier day, the warehouse might be a filled with the loud racket of howling wind, but there’s barely been a breeze out today.
The leaking pipe drips like a metronome, and I try to time my footsteps to it. My gut tightens with every second that passes. Santino has to be here, or I’m fucked. I’m almost tempted to call his name and try to smoke him out—I’d rather he scurry outside to be caught by Finn than have him stay hidden in the shadows of this warehouse for one second longer.
I’m just about ready to do something drastic, when I hear it.
A cough. My heart stops and I freeze in place. What direction did that come from? It’s almost impossible to tell, the echo of the noise fills up the empty warehouse. Still, I don’t move. Most people don’t cough just once. Wherever the next cough comes from is where I’m going, it’s where Santino has to be.
I close my eyes and wait. The drip from the leaking pipe sounds as loud as ever.
Suddenly, I hear what I’m waiting for. The second cough.
I know where it’s coming from.
My pulse kicks into gear but I keep my footsteps calm and in sync with the dripping pipe as I tiptoe around a big yellow shipping container. The further I walk, the more I can hear. Rustling paper. A shifting chair. There’s no doubt about it: someone’s here.
I turn a final corner and see someone sitting on a chair; his feet are up on a rickety table and he has a magazine pulled up over his face—I can’t tell who it is, but I’m not about to hesitate.
I take aim and click the safety off of my gun. The sound echoes through the giant warehouse. It’s enough to make the man sitting before me freeze.
I’m so ready to blow this motherfucker’s head off that I can barely wait as he slowly lowers the magazine from his face. The first thing I see is the bloody bandage wrapped around his forehead, the second thing I see are his eyes—the same eyes that have taunted me since I failed to put a bullet between them three nights ago.
Santino Costa.
It’s him.
It’s over.
I squeeze my trigger, and the warehouse is filled with the sound of thunder.
Santino’s dead body is heavy, and I don’t get him far before I hear the heavy grating sound of the warehouse’s front entrance opening up.
Panicked voices fill the room, but I can’t understand what they’re saying... it almost sounds like they’re speaking—
