The Last Boss' Daughter

by Sam Mariano

  “You don’t like me much, do you?” he asks.

  The sheer idiocy of this question strikes me momentarily speechless.

  Only a moment though, then I reply, “I’m not much for the company of killers.”

  I haven’t even annoyed him. His brown eyes are cold while mine must be alight with barely contained loathing.

  “Funny, that’s not what I heard,” he answers evenly.

  I remain unimpressed, but I’m not sure how to take that. I have the uncomfortable feeling he knows something I don’t, and the last thing I want is for him to know that.

  “Come on,” he says, almost brightly. “Let’s eat.”

  Liam

  It’s been a week since they started tailing her.

  I haven’t been able to get near her. Haven’t been able to reach out at all. I’m sure she has no idea, but red flags are going up around every lobe in my brain. Are they watching her, or watching for me?

  After a week, I’ve pegged the weak link. Two of the guys they have on her are pretty good, but the third fucks around on his phone a lot. He gets the night shift, so it’s boring for him anyway, but if I’m going in, that’s when.

  I shouldn’t try. It’s reckless and dangerous and frankly stupid.

  At the end of the day, my belief that I’m better than them, and some concern for her that I don’t want to deal with, drive me to do the stupid thing. I do it as smartly as I can, parking on the street behind her house and cutting through a neighbor’s yard. I’m thankful they don’t have a motion light and it goes smoothly, but I don’t know how I’m going to get in quietly. The kid watching her is out front, and she just turned on the bathroom light a couple of minutes ago. I can’t get in the bathroom. Window’s too high and on the side of the house. I can’t go in either door, because they’re on the front and side of the house—again, kid’ll see me. I can’t bust out a window, because that’s not subtle and they may hear me.

  I also don’t know if they have the house bugged. I’m not going to take the time to search it; I’m just going to assume the answer is yes and be doubly safe.

  I want to kiss the fuck out of her when I get to the back window and find it unlocked. It’s not hard to pop out the screen without a lot of noise, and a minute later I’m inside.

  The shower’s running. I stifle a groan at the prospect of finding her naked. I don’t want to find her naked, ready to step into the shower. That’s fucking mean.

  This is so much easier than I imagined it being. I make it to the bathroom door and turn the knob, opening it as quietly as I can.

  Her back is to me and she is, in fact, naked except for her panties and about to step into the steamy shower.

  I don’t want to scare her, but more than that, I don’t want to alert the guy watching her that anything is happening. So just as she goes to shimmy out of her panties, I lunge forward and grab her, clapping a hand over her mouth and pulling her back against the hard plane of my body.

  She struggles and tries to scream, but before she can I’m whispering in her ear. “It’s me.”

  She stills. Her chest works hard, and I’m sort of crushing her right breast with my arm.

  I give her a minute to calm down. I feel her relax against me, her left hand coming to rest on the arm gripping her hard across the chest. She doesn’t know why I’m here, sneaking into her house and grabbing her, but she doesn’t question it. Doesn’t worry that I’d ever be here to hurt her.

  My hand still covers her mouth but I let go of the grip I have on her. I let her turn around, backed up against the wall in the small space, and she doesn’t even try to cover herself.

  I resist the urge to look and use my free hand to bring a finger to my lips, warning her to be quiet.

  Her eyes grow wider but she nods, and I move my hand away from her mouth. She’s silent, waiting for my direction. It sort of kills me how much she trusts me.

  As if to hint how much she shouldn’t trust me, my gaze finally drops. Now that I know she’ll be quiet, I can look at her.

  Time slows down for us, because I’m a fucking idiot.

  She takes a breath when my gaze hits her tits, and before I can think better of it, my hands are drawn to them, covering them, thumbing the pebbled nipples. A breath rushes out of her and she closes her eyes, resting her head back against the wall.

  I measure the weight of them in my hands, caressing her flesh. I move in closer, pressing against her mostly bare body. I release her tits, bringing my arms up on either side of her, trapping her against the wall.

  I want to kiss her so goddamn bad. She arches against me, craving the same contact.

  This is not what I came for.

  Before things can get too far out of hand, I take a step back. She covers herself, as if chilled, and I reach back to retrieve the bra and t-shirt she left abandoned on the edge of the sink.

  She dresses quickly and reaches to turn off the shower but I grab her, stopping her with a shake of my head.

  She’s frowning now, really confused, but she obeys and follows me. I hold up a hand for her to stay in the hall. I want to check out the living room window, just to make sure the kid hasn’t noticed anything. His face is illuminated by the glow of his phone; he hasn’t moved.

  I go back to get Annabelle in the hall, and I don’t know exactly what I’m doing, because I can’t just break her out. Any longer than it would take for her to shower and even the dipshit outside might start to wonder what’s going on. If I kill him, her whole goddamn family will come after me. I don’t need that headache.

  I climb out the window first so I can help her out. She doesn’t know what’s going on but follows me without reservation. I could be leading her to her death, and she’d follow me there like a fucking puppy.

  I shouldn’t have saved her. Now she thinks I’m her hero when I’m anything but.

  I haul her out back but it’s not far enough. There’s a thicket of woods in the yard of a neighboring house on that back street where I parked. I consider just taking her to my car, but I strike the idea down and head for the wooded area instead.

  She’s slower than I am, so I grab her hand to pull her along.

  And then here we are, back amongst the trees. That first meeting, pinning her against the tree comes to mind, and I want to do it again, but I push down my baser urges.

  Quietly, unsure, she asks, “What’s going on?”

  “You’re being watched.”

  Her eyebrows rise, since, well, I’ve been watching her.

  “Not by me. Not our guys. Pietro’s.”

  Now she scowls. “Why?”

  “That’s what I want to know,” I tell her. I watch her, too. It’s not that I don’t trust her, ‘cause I more or less do or I wouldn’t be putting my neck on the line for her, but… you can never be too careful. I’m not as trusting as she is.

  She shakes her head, gazing off at nothing, trying to think. “I don’t know. I think Paul told him I’m having an affair. Maybe they’re watching for the guy—well, you. In which case, you really should not be sneaking in my bedroom window. I’m not going to leave it open anymore.”

  “There’s no other reason you can think of?” I demand.

  Shrugging helplessly, she says, “What other reason could there be?”

  I sigh, looking at a spot beyond her head. “I’m not going to be able to come around with them watching the house. What if Paul set this up on purpose? Has he been acting strangely?”

  “He’s Paul, he always acts strangely.” She pauses, frowns. “I mean… I guess he has been extra strange lately. You think, what, he has guys watching the place so you can’t protect me?”

  I don’t know, and she knows I don’t know, but I watch the implications of that sink in on her face and I want to hit someone. A line of someones. As many people as there are standing between Annabelle and me protecting her.

  Goddammit.

  I don’t know if I’m more enraged by the possibility of Paul or Pietro keeping me out so sh
e’s at Paul’s mercy, or the steely fucking resolve I have not to let that happen. Both are extremely problematic.

  “Fuck,” she says softly.

  I nod, because I was thinking the same thing.

  She looks at the road. “I could run.”

  “You won’t make it. You don’t have the resources and you’d have maybe an hour before every guy on Pietro’s payroll, cops included, are hunting you down.”

  “Well, fuck. What the hell do I do?”

  It’s not much, but I reach into one of my pockets and pull out the only safeguard I could provide her. “This isn’t sufficient,” I tell her as I hand her the stun gun. She looks at it as it transfers into her hand, then back at me. “If he attacks you, you can use this. It’s a big if though. You’re not going to be able to carry it around out in the open, or he’ll obviously know. Even if you can use it, he’s not going to be incapacitated long enough for me to get to you unless I’m right around the corner.”

  Dread fills her features and she looks at the small measure of defense again.

  “If you have to use it, call me immediately. They might have your house bugged, so just say… lightning bug,” I say, somehow the first thing to cross my mind. “I’ll come as fast as I can.”

  “I don’t like this.”

  She doesn’t feel safe. I can’t keep her safe. That fucking infuriates me.

  “I’m going to come up with something better,” I tell her. “This is just until then.”

  I don’t expect her to get vulnerable. I don’t know why. But when she fists my shirt in her hands and burrows into me for comfort, something expands and explodes inside my chest. She tilts her head back, looking fucking beautiful and vulnerable and open, and she says, “I don’t wanna go back there.”

  I hate everything about the world, because she has to.

  And I can’t do a goddamn thing about it.

  Angry at my powerlessness, plagued with a yearning I’ve never had to deal with before, I fist my hand in her hair and jerk it back, tilting her face up toward mine. A breath of surprise, but no protest, and she gazes up at me, inviting me with her eyes.

  My free hand comes up and I brush my rough thumb across her soft, smooth cheek. I don’t want to identify the rush of tenderness I’m experiencing, so I call it a new strain of lust. My thumb brushes across her plump lower lip, catching it. She doesn’t break eye contact, but turns her head just enough to pull the tip of my thumb into her warm, wet mouth. Lust surges through me as her mouth closes around it, and I see what I’m feeling reflected back in her warm brown eyes.

  I let go of her hair and walk her up against the nearest tree. She never breaks eye contact as her back hits the rough bark, and I want to fuck her more than I want to stay sane, apparently. I’m still pretty sure I shouldn’t, but I’m damn sure going to kiss her.

  I hold back for a few seconds, thinking of all the very good reasons I have for not kissing her, but none hold up when her fingers tentatively come to rest on my sides, tugging me toward her ever so lightly.

  She’s waited long enough for this. Fuck, so have I.

  I dip my head toward hers and her lips part for me, soft and eager. She winds a hand around my neck, pulling herself up closer to my height and our lips brush, soft at first. Moaning against my lips, she pushes her tits against me, tempting the hell out of me. I catch one in my palm, kneading it as my tongue sweeps into her mouth. Things pick up, each of us a little more desperate with every breath.

  I want her, and I don’t give a damn why that’s a bad idea.

  My hands skim her sides, moving over the curve of her ass. I lift her, planting myself between her thighs and pinning her against the tree, like the first time, ‘cept the first time I didn’t have my tongue halfway down her throat, her fingers moving through my hair, listening to her little moans of pleasure.

  The hardness of my erection is obvious as I push between her legs. She groans, one hand dropping to grip me through the fabric.

  Hissing, I slam her against the tree. She cries out, quietly, and I open my eyes to make sure I didn’t hurt her. Her eyes blaze with passion and her hand works the button on my pants.

  “We can’t,” I manage.

  “Yes, we can,” she says, freeing the button and shoving her hand down my pants.

  Jesus, that’s hard to say no to.

  “Annabelle…”

  “Please,” she murmurs, bending to kiss the curve of my neck as her soft hand strokes my length.

  Jesus Christ.

  I pull back, but it’s the hardest goddamn thing I’ve ever done.

  I let her down gently, trying to ignore her crestfallen expression as her bare feet touch the forest floor.

  “Why?” she asks, and I feel like an asshole. She’s turned on and flushed and I’m rejecting her.

  I can’t tell her.

  It’s selfish as hell, but I don’t want her to stop looking at me the way she does.

  Averting my gaze, not wanting to see the hurt expression, I say, “You’ve gotta get back. Before they notice anything…”

  It’s even meaner. I pull her out of a place of passion and pleasure, and remind her of the bullshit life she has to go back to.

  She keeps her head down for a moment, and when she looks up again, her face is clear. Expressionless.

  Guilt wallops me. I want to rewind the moment and keep going. I want to fuck her. Who cares if I feel guilty afterward? I should. It’s not as if my betrayal will be any easier for her just because I stopped.

  I don’t want to be one more person who’s betrayed her. I don’t want to finish the job.

  If I don’t, someone else will. No matter how I feel, no matter what I want, I can’t save her.

  I don’t let her see how twisted up I am. My face as blank as hers, I get in front of her and lead the way back to her yard. I try to help her inside, but she swats my goddamn hand away like I’m Paul.

  I don’t climb inside with her. It’s like there’s a pit of acid in my gut, seeping out and eating away at everything it touches.

  And I was so goddamn distracted I didn’t realize I couldn’t speak to her once we made it back to her house, so I can’t even say goodbye.

  I don’t even know if I’ll see her again.

  She closes the window and turns away without so much as another glance. I feel a sliver of what Paul must feel every day, and it burns in my gut. She stops beside the bed, with her back to me, and pulls the t-shirt over her head, dropping it into the floor. She unclasps the bra and lets it drop, then pushes her panties down.

  I don’t look away, and she turns around, giving me one last look at her, fully naked. She meets my gaze, still blank, and then turns and goes back to the shower.

  It’s stupid and reckless and pointless, since she hates me right now, but I try the window. If she didn’t lock it, I’m going to climb in the goddamn window and get in that shower with her, and if the dipshit with the cell phone puts a bullet in my head while I’m fucking her, so be it.

  It’s locked.

  Regret rocks me and I wait another minute before I turn and make my way back to my car.

  Annabelle

  Paul doesn’t kill me, which I guess is a good thing.

  He comes home late that night, but I’m already in bed. The stun gun remains hidden in my bedside drawer, but I lack the energy to reach for it. Turns out I don’t need to; he goes to sleep.

  I wonder if there’s any chance he doesn’t know I’m being watched.

  I close my eyes and try to sleep, but all I can see are flashes of Liam. I touch the breast his fingers squeezed hours earlier and look out the window. I know he isn’t out there now. I don’t even want him to be, not if Pietro’s guys are watching the house, but no matter how good I usually am at guarding my feelings, I can’t seem to ignore the burn of rejection. I don’t understand it. I know he wanted me, I could feel the physical evidence. Literally held the hot, hard proof in the palm of my hand.

  I sigh and go to roll over, bu
t I remember Paul is there so I stay put. Looking at his gross face isn’t going to make me feel any better. In fact, it only makes me think how amused he would be if he knew that my grand love affair was with a man who wouldn’t even fuck me.

  I finally drift off to sleep, but it’s broken and full of bad dreams. Come morning I’m exhausted, and not at all prepared for my mother to call me and tell me today’s the day we go dress shopping.

  As much as I want to say no, I also feel like a prisoner in the former sanctuary of my own home. I don’t know if they’re listening or watching. It makes me paranoid, because I don’t even know why it’s happening.

  “Perk up!” my mother says from the driver’s seat, making me cringe.

  “There’s not enough coffee in the world.”

  A moment passes before she says, “You must’ve been up late last night.”

  “I went to bed early, actually.”

  “Have you thought about what kind of dress you’d like?”

  “No.” Dress shopping has been the last thing on my mind, what with never knowing if I’d see the light of another day and all.

  I wonder if she knows. She obviously knows something, but how much? I can’t envision Pietro confiding in her as he loosens his tie and unbuttons his sleeves after a long day of work, but maybe he does.

  Does she know her husband has men watching my house? Does she know it might be my husband who wanted them there to assure no knight in shining armor comes to my rescue if he decides one night he’s had enough of my shit? Does she know her husband may ultimately be responsible for my death, just like he was my father’s?

  “How’s Paul?” she asks, like there’s even a chance of me answering, let alone caring.

  There isn’t and I don’t.

  After a moment passes, she says, “Pietro says you two have been having problems.”

  I’m too tired for this shit.

  “Paul and I have never had anything but problems,” I state, resting my head against the window.

  She’s quiet for another few seconds, then she asks quietly, “Who’s this other guy?”