by Meghan March
“Come on, baby. Time to go.”
Baby? Is that what she is to me, even after everything? And if not, why did it sound so right?
When she doesn’t wake up, I shake my head, but rather than feeling annoyed, I can’t help but think she’s pretty fucking cute. Now all I can picture is her curled up in my bed, which is not how tonight was supposed to go.
Yes, I planned to bring her to my place.
Yes, I planned to interrogate her. But I didn’t plan on wanting to see her hair splayed on the pillow next to mine when I woke up.
As I determined before, I’m completely fucked.
When she blinks her eyes open, the dark-colored contacts shift out of place for a second before sliding back to cover her aqua-blue eyes. After a moment of confusion, she jerks into an upright position.
“I’m so sorry. I—”
“It’s fine. Let’s go. It’s been a long day.” Without thinking about it, I hold out my hand, and I’m equally surprised when she takes it with no hesitation. There’s so much that needs to be said between us, but the only question I truly care to have answered is the one I asked her at the construction site.
Was any of it real?
My instincts, which are rarely wrong after being honed through a lifetime focused on survival, say yes. It was fucking real. When I mentally rewind our every encounter, I see openings that someone truly opportunistic would have taken, but she didn’t.
Maybe I’m grasping at straws here because I want to believe the narrative I’m spinning in my mind. Hell, there’s no maybe about it. I am. But that doesn’t make it any less possible.
Once she’s on her feet, I grab her jacket off the chair and wrap it around her shoulders. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
She glances up at me from under long dark lashes that at least I know are real. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
The question cuts me to the bone, and my jaw tightens. “We’ll talk about it at my place.”
Our ride there is silent. I still haven’t had time to sweep the car for bugs, but I will in the morning.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Her question repeats in my brain as I park and open the door, but the only real sound is the grating metal of the overhead door closing us both inside my garage space.
When I unlock the entrance to the stark elevator lobby, the scent of pizza greets me. A puffy red delivery bag is sitting inside. Geno.
Of course. Good man.
Memphis’s stomach growls as soon as the rich scent of tomato, basil, and melted cheese reaches her. “That man deserves a medal.”
I crouch down to open the bag and remove the box, leaving the red delivery bag near the door Geno would have entered through. He’ll pick it up in the morning, like he has so many other times before.
“He’s a good one,” I say.
We enter the elevator, and Memphis takes the box from me so I can close the gate and hit the button. It’s a smooth, silent exchange, like we’ve done this together a million times.
This could be us . . . late dinners together after long days at work. Someone to smile with on the good days. And on the bad days, having someone to fight for instead of with.
The thoughts pop into my head, but I shove them down. Not until I hear everything.
With more silently choreographed moves, we enter my apartment, and I slide the pizza across the counter and grab two plates from the cupboard, along with a bottle of wine and two glasses. She waits for me to take a seat on one of the stools and I reach for the box, but instead of opening it, I rest my hand on top of the cardboard.
“I don’t share my pizza with people who lie to me. For every bite, I want the truth.”
Her form crumples and her elbows rest on either side of the plate, her hands catching her drooping head. “I’m so fucking sorry, Cannon.”
She lifts her eyes to mine, and in them, I read anguish and guilt and myriad other emotions that send a shot of hope straight to my chest. Even if I can’t see the real her beneath the makeup, contacts, and hair, her sincerity is as clear as the well-lit New York skyline outside my windows.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen. I mean, that’s not true. I did mean to deceive you. To lie to you. That’s why I came. But I didn’t mean to . . .” She trails off and sucks in a deep breath, like she’s gathering her nerve.
“You didn’t mean to what?” I ask before she can pull herself together. “To make me fall in love with you?”
I study her so damn closely that I see every tiny movement of her face, her hands, her lips, her chest. When she squeezes her eyes shut, the hope I feel dissipates a fraction more with each passing second.
But when she opens them again, shiny with tears, hope returns with a vengeance.
“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you.” She shakes her head, and the blond strands of her wig curtain her face until she brushes them away and meets my gaze. “But I couldn’t help it.”
She glances up at the ceiling again, like she can’t handle the eye contact. “God, I’m so bad at this. I’m the one who asks the hard questions and hides behind my job. I don’t get put on the spot or grilled or interrogated.”
Everything she says makes perfect sense. Memphis Lockwood has a reputation for being a bulldog of a reporter, pushing and shoving her way through obstacles until she discovers the truth. But this woman, the one sitting two feet from me, isn’t Memphis Lockwood. My gut says even if that is her real name, everything else about that persona is fake too. I’d bet this building on it.
I lean in, searching for the truth right in front of my face. “Which one is the real you? Any of them?”
With her lips pressed together in a tight line, she meets my gaze once more. “Every time I’ve been alone with you, I was more me than I’ve been in over a decade. And when I ditched the wig and the contacts and the makeup, I felt like I was stripping myself bare. I don’t do that around anyone. Ever. Not even my own stepmother.” She reaches out one hand and covers mine on top of the pizza box. “I know you have absolutely zero reason to believe me, but it’s the truth. I didn’t mean to show you the real me, but I couldn’t help it.”
Even though I believe every word, I can’t let down my guard yet. Not until I’ve aired all my suspicions. “But you were hunting for evidence that you planned to turn over to the cops or the Feds to get me and Dom and the rest of the Cassos convicted of whatever you found so that we’d go down for your father’s death.”
“No.” Memphis shakes her head, and her hand tightens on mine. “I would never have let that happen. I couldn’t. At first, I thought I could, but then once I got to know you, I knew it was impossible. You couldn’t have had anything to do with it. There’s just no way.”
“That’s some pretty strong faith to have in another person that you barely know,” I say, considering her statement and wondering if I can make the same leap.
I have a choice to make, right here, right now.
I can believe her, take her words at face value—or I can hold tight to the feeling of distrust that’s already slipping away from me. But I can’t make this decision yet, as much as I want to.
Instead, I lift both our hands with the lid of the box, and the scent of the fresh-baked pie wafts out in a cloud of steam. “Eat before it gets cold.”
Her gaze pins me, but she makes no move to take a slice. “I’ve never not solved a case. I’ve never walked away without an answer. Ever. I don’t know how to leave something unfinished. But if you tell me that it’s the only penance you’ll accept, I’ll try to find the strength to walk away from this. Either option leaves me with a broken heart, and I figure I’ve earned that for what I did.”
My jaw tightens at the thought because I know firsthand what it’s like to be in a situation that feels like you’re drowning in lies without anyone there to throw you a lifeline. It’s hell being caught between two conflicting worlds. I just hope I can figure out a way where she gets peace in hers and I still get to keep her in mine.
; “Eat your pizza, Memphis. I didn’t wait my whole damn life for a woman like you to come along just to break you.”
10
Memphis
What did he mean when he said he didn’t want to break me? Are there any whole pieces of me even left under this mask I’ve been wearing for so long?
I’m totally lost and confused, and vulnerability wraps around me like a vise. What I said about not being in the hot seat or being forced to answer questions is the truth. I didn’t realize by becoming an investigative journalist, I gave myself permission to stay guarded to the point where no one would ever see or know the real me.
Except this man.
I can’t just bite into the pizza, regardless of how delicious it smells, without coming clean about one more thing.
As Cannon puts a slice on my plate, I blurt out, “I put a keystroke logger on the computer in your office here. Which you don’t use, but you know that. I felt fucking horrible and guilty about it as soon as I did it, and if you want to turn me over to Dom and let him deal with me, I wouldn’t blame you in the least.” The weight of my betrayal lifts but doesn’t go far—it only perches on my shoulders.
Cannon’s hazel gaze sweeps over my face. “You’re not a martyr. Don’t get boring and start acting like one now.” His words are like a twisted balm for my soul, because even with the sarcasm, they soothe me.
He’s not going to hand me over to Dom.
All day, I’ve wondered, because he’s had opportunity after opportunity. The torture of wondering and waiting was enough to make me resign myself to the fact that I’d let him choose my fate.
But Cannon’s right. I’m not a martyr.
I lift the slice of pizza and we both eat in silence, watching each other before looking down or away. This awkwardness kills me, but I caused it. It’s all because of me, and I have to make it right between us. Somehow.
Then an idea hits me.
“Do you want to see the file?”
Cannon’s attention cuts to me. After he finishes chewing and swallowing, he asks, “What file?”
“My father was investigating the Casso family, like I told you. He had a file with photos dating back almost thirty years. I don’t know where he got them or how long he’d been keeping it, but he was fixated on Dom and trying to take him down.” I grab a napkin from the pile left from the other night and wipe my mouth.
“He could have tried, but nothing sticks to Teflon Dom. And Dom has never once mentioned his name, that I know of. I hate to tell you this, but I think you’re looking in the wrong place.” Cannon pulls another slice from the box and pops a few of the runaway toppings into his mouth.
“You really don’t think it’s possible?”
He shrugs and takes a huge bite, so I wait for him to chew and respond.
“Dom’s capable of a lot of things, including murder, but I will say that he never does something without a reason. I don’t have to agree with his methods to know that he lives by his own code of honor, as skewed as it may be.”
I pour wine into both glasses and slide one to him. “Has he ever had a journalist killed?”
He nods his gratitude for the drink, slugs most of it back, and then answers. “I don’t know. I spent a lot of years outside the family interests, keeping as far away from the business as possible.”
“Why’d you come back?” I replace a crust with another slice on my plate and toss the doughy portion back into the cardboard box.
“Into the fold?” He leans back on his stool. It’s the most relaxed he’s looked all day. “Because of Enzo.”
Like I’m seeing Cannon for the first time in a long while, I’m reminded of just how arresting he is. The earth, the forest, and the sky all live in his ever-changing eyes. Then there are the strong muscles in his jaw and the classic way his dark hair is swept to the side.
Before I get too caught up in the mere sight of this man, the one who has shifted so much of what I thought I knew about myself and my life, I shake my head and fight to focus and regain my composure. “Enzo? Why?”
Without skipping a beat, Cannon swipes my discarded crust from the box, folds it, and eats it whole before he replies. “Dom considers him a potential successor. As much as I never wanted to be a mobster, there’s no way in hell I can let Enzo take over. It’d be like letting a kid play with a fully automatic weapon after watching a decade of shoot-’em-up movies and thinking life is a fucking video game. It would be carnage. He wouldn’t discriminate between guilty and innocent. He’d want blood in the streets as a way to cement his power.”
A chill skitters down my spine as I picture dead bodies sprawled on the sidewalks of Hell’s Kitchen. “Jesus Christ. What a disaster.” Suddenly, my pizza doesn’t seem so appetizing, and I put my half-eaten piece on his plate.
“And now we’re at war with the Rossettis, and no one is safe.”
The queasiness spreads to my stomach and arms, and I roughly brush my palms against the sleeves of my jacket, willing the goose bumps forming underneath to go away. “What are you going to do?”
He finishes my slice and closes the box. “Try to defuse it before anyone gets killed.”
“How?”
“By taking out GTR and his dad.”
I stare at the man in front of me—the man I could never imagine pulling a trigger on anyone, unless it was to save his own life or the life of someone he loved. Will it come down to that?
“That sounds dangerous as hell.”
A smile flits over his lips, and for a moment, Cannon looks like a younger Dom Casso. “I may not be a mobster, but I know how to think like one.” Quickly, he stands and puts the leftover pizza in the refrigerator, and when he turns back to me, his eyes are squinted and his mouth puckered. “Who knows, maybe Danger is my middle name.”
The conversation should have been a deep, dark well of emotions and accusations. But it hasn’t been—not even close. And there he is, making a joke to ease the tension that I brought to the table.
I smile, and he winks at me.
“Why are you telling me this? You shouldn’t trust me with anything.”
The brightest part of his smile dies, and Cannon’s expression is freshly stamped with seriousness. “The other thing I know is how to trust my instincts. You’re in love with me, whether it’s as Drew Carson or Memphis Lockwood, and there’s not a single fucking chance that you’re going to betray me again.”
He stalks around the island, and my chest rises and falls faster the closer he gets.
“You’re my woman now, whether you like it or not.” One corner of his mouth quirks up. “And I promise I’m going to make damn sure you fucking love it.”
I stare at him in awe as he stops in front of me.
I excelled at hiding who I was from the world. Even more, I excelled at hiding my fears and my demons from myself. So, how in the hell did Cannon Danger Freeman find my heart anyway?
11
Cannon
I may not be a mobster, but I’m a man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to take it.
Memphis is mine. For better or for worse. I’m claiming her and I’m not fucking giving her up, no matter what happens next. The decision is made, and the entire goddamned city could come at me and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference. I’m not afraid of a challenge or to watch life unfold with uncertainty. Hell, I’m ready.
Bring it.
I sweep her off the stool, loving the expression on her face. That softness paired with amazement unnecessarily confirms everything I already knew. It was all fucking real. There’s no doubt in my mind. She may try to hide behind her makeup and wigs, but I see through her now.
As I carry Memphis into the bedroom, the plan I have for our future is solidifying with each step. Whoever killed her father will face justice, and I’ll help her make that happen—without getting her fucking killed.
I don’t give a damn how she came into my life, only that she did, and I won’t lose her now.
Once I’ve lowere
d her to her feet beside the bed, I place my palms on her shoulders and close the gap so that our faces are only inches apart.
“I’m in love with you, Memphis. From now on, it’s just you and me. No more lies. No more hiding. Out in the world, you can be whoever you need to be and say whatever you need to say to keep yourself safe. But when it comes to us, there will be no more secrets.”
Her eyes turn shiny again, and relief smooths her features.
Even as I make the proclamation, I know what I’m doing. I’m opening up the entirety of my past to her, along with my present, and most importantly, my future. Our future.
“You belong with me, and you’re staying with me. We’re a team, and we handle everything together. Got it?”
I never thought I’d say those words. Never thought I’d ever find someone who would understand my life, who could survive it along with me. With her beside me, I feel stronger than ever.
“It can’t be that easy,” she says.
A tear escapes her eye, and I lift my hand to catch it on my thumb. “Not everything in life has to be hard.”
She presses her lips together and slips out of my grip. “Give me two seconds, okay?”
I let her move around me, and she disappears into the bathroom. The faucet turns on, and three minutes later, the real Memphis appears.
No wig. No contacts. Her face scrubbed clean of makeup.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” I hold out my hand, and she crosses the room to take it.
“I’m in love with you too.” The words tumble from her lips like she just realized how easy it was to say how she feels now that the disguise is gone. After a lifetime of hiding the real Memphis, she’s letting me see her, and I’m fucking proud.
“Good, because this would be awkward as hell if you weren’t.” I lower my head and take her lips, catching whatever she was going to say next on my tongue.
The time for talking is later. Right now, I need to show her exactly what’s on the table. We were fucking explosive together last time, and I know this time will be no different.
