by Kim Linwood
Dammit, he’s hot even when I think he might be a creepy stalker.
We pull onto the highway, and even though my world has tilted twice in the last twenty-four hours, I can’t stop myself from yawning. The jetlag is killing me worse than usual, but on the upside, my stomach feels back to normal. He turns the radio on low, and I look out the window, not sure what to say.
“I didn’t know who you were until your father gave me a picture of who I was picking up. Right then, I saw my life flash before my eyes,” Montana says with a soft chuckle.
I should let him stew, but the truth is I’m mostly bluster and not a lot of bite. “I won’t say anything if you don’t.”
He shrugs. “It’s up to you. I’m not a kid. I made a decision and I can deal with the consequences.”
When the consequences can include actual bodily harm, I’m not alright with having that on my head. “I did too, so like I said, unless I find out you’re lying, it’s between us.”
He grunts.
If I was expecting a thank you, it’s apparently not coming. “So you work for my father? I don’t remember seeing you before.” Not that I know the face of every single person who works for him, but the ones who wind up trusted to watch out for me tend to not be strangers.
“In a manner of speaking,” he answers cryptically. “Let’s just say I’m on loan.”
“Well, we’ll avoid each other and it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Montana laughs. “Sorry, princess, you’re going to be seeing a lot of me for a while.”
As if. “Not if I don’t want to.”
“We’ll see.”
10
Montana
Standing guard in the hall outside Andrea’s room makes me feel like an idiot. It’s her own fucking house and all she’s doing is taking a nap. What’s going to happen? Bogeymen?
My phone buzzes, alerting me to the fact that there isn’t much time before the next bomb drops on the poor girl.
Emilio is an idiot for keeping the truth from her. I thought it was a bad idea as soon as I’d heard what they were planning, but then she was just an assignment, another casualty to Mafia politics. Now that I know who she is, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m betraying Andrea by not giving her a heads up.
But that’d be putting my own neck on the chopping block, and it wouldn’t change anything anyway.
The muffled sound of a door closing, and then running water alerts me to the fact that she isn’t sleeping anymore. Probably taking a shower.
The image of her face, lost in ecstasy flashes across my brain. I picture her standing naked under the water, soapy suds dripping from her gorgeous breasts and sliding over the curve of her ass.
Talk about a conflict of interest.
I adjust myself to relieve the pressure in my tightening pants. Both families would throw a fit if they knew what we’ve done.
What I’d love to do again.
My daydreams are cut short by a scream from Andrea’s room. What the fuck? Drawing my gun from my shoulder holster, I throw the door open and scan the room.
It’s bigger than my last apartment. On one side is a king sized bed, and the other has a sitting area complete with an L-shaped couch and a big screen TV. The door to her en suite bathroom is closed, but there’s a grunt and a smacking noise, sounding like a struggle.
I barge in, leading the way with my Glock.
The air is thick with steam, turning the spacious room into a sauna. As soon as I’m inside, the problem becomes immediately obvious.
It is an intruder, just not the kind I’d assumed.
Fat, long-legged and a big wet stain on the floor, the poor wolf spider definitely picked the wrong woman to spook. Wielding a stained, rolled up copy of Cosmo, its executioner is crouched on the floor, completely naked and looking up at me with shock scrawled all over her face.
I don’t blame her. It isn’t every day some madman with a gun tries to save you from a spider, no matter how vicious it might appear.
Time stands still, her staring at me, me staring at her, the spider twitching slightly between us, before she draws a deep breath.
“What the fuck?” she yells.
Andrea scrambles to grab a nearby towel, which turns out to be little more than a glorified washcloth, barely able to cover anything.
My memory wasn’t wrong. She’s fucking gorgeous.
The blood in my brain rushes south faster than a polar explorer, leaving me stunned. Water glistens on her breasts, and the way the tiny towel gapes open between her thighs, it might as well be directing me exactly where to look. “I…”
She points at me with her rolled up magazine, wielding it like a club, which makes the towel flutter enticingly. “Get out!”
“You screamed. I thought…” I gesture hopelessly, noticing that I’ve still got my gun out. In a hurry, I tuck it away.
Throw a roomful of angry men at me and I’ll handle them without a thought. Make it a pissed off, mostly naked woman, and apparently I’m fucking useless.
Unless it actually involves fucking.
I don’t remember being trained for this.
“Montana.”
“Yes?” I murmur distractedly.
Were her legs always that long? Was she always shaved bare, or is that new? So many details that I hadn’t had time to really appreciate on the plane are now burning themselves into my memory. I could spend all day looking at her and not get my fill.
Leaping to her feet, the muscles in her legs flexing sexily, Andrea glares daggers at me. “I understand why you rushed in. It was dumb, but I get it. What I don’t get is: why are you still here?”
Well, the answer to that’s obvious to me, and she’s not stupid. I’m willing to treat that as a rhetorical question. Despite being basically bare ass naked, she stands imperially and unafraid.
A sly smile turns up the corner of her ruby lips. “Alright. Fine, but so long as you’re here, make yourself useful and hand me my towel.”
I don’t even reach for it. Why would I? It’d be covering up art.
She gives me a look and then, with a deliberate flourish, she drops the small scrap of cloth that wasn’t really hiding much anyway, putting every curve, every dip, every soft, strokable inch of her skin on display.
My eyes rove hungrily over her body, unable to settle on where to look. All of her at once.
“My towel?” Her eyebrow arches in challenge. “Unless you want to check for more spiders, but I think we’re safe for now.”
I take a step towards her. “Just doing my job, Andrea.”
Her big, dusky nipples tighten in spite of the heat of the room. I want to grab her right now and bend her over the marble bathroom counter. From the color in her cheeks, and the way she’s eyeing me, I’m not the only one remembering the last time we were alone together in a bathroom.
She licks her lips and tilts her head. “I think I’m safe.”
“Are you?” I step even closer. I’d kill anyone who threatened her, but right now her biggest threat might be the man assigned to protect her.
“No, and neither are you if you keep this up.” Before I can do anything but step closer, Andrea brushes by me in a rush.
I can’t resist running a hand down her back, trailing my fingers across the top of her pert ass.
“Stop it,” she whispers, shivering at my touch.
In another world, she’d be mine, I can feel it. Every time we’re together, it’s electric.
The towel she grabs off the wall is unreasonably big. When she wraps the soft, brown material around her naked body, it covers everything.
“At least stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m some…” Her hands gesture wildly as she searches for the right words. “Some girl cannoli you want to suck the filling out of.”
A surprised laugh bursts out of me. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Well, you are pretty enticing.” I clos
e the distance between us and lean in until I can smell the sweet scent of soap clinging to her skin. “And from what I remember, sweet and delicious.”
“We can’t do this,” she says, but doesn’t move away.
“I’m pretty sure we already have.” I trail a finger up her arm, watching goosebumps rise in its wake.
“Look, I don’t even really know who you are, but I know how my father operates. If you were on the approved-for-dating list, you’d be downstairs having a drink with him, not standing outside my door. Sorry, but that’s reality.”
The bitch of it is, I know she’s right, but I can’t stop pushing. “I wasn’t aware we were dating. Aren’t you the one who told me it wasn’t like that?” Funny, I didn’t know that had bothered me as much as it did until I find myself throwing it back at her.
Several emotions flash across her face at once. Irritation, wistfulness and a hint of regret. “It’s not. Trust me, you don’t really want to get involved anyway.”
“You don’t think you’d be worth it?”
Andrea looks away, vulnerability peeking through her tough facade. “It doesn’t matter what I think. The fact that you’re standing here tells me you know where my responsibilities lie.”
One thing she doesn’t have to tell me about is family responsibility. In fact, if she knew who I really was and why I’m here, she’d probably grab my gun and threaten to shoot me.
I brush a quick kiss across her surprised lips before she can move away. Neither of us can help who we are. “Responsibility can force our hands, but in the end we can only ever be ourselves, and nobody can take that away unless you let them.”
Or at least that’s what I tell myself when the darkness creeps in too close.
She gives me an odd look. “That’s surprisingly astute from a hunk of hired muscle who came in guns blazing to kill a spider.”
“I take my job very seriously.”
“I can tell.”
“I’m not sure, but I think my valor should be rewarded,” I joke, wanting to see her smile again.
It works. Andrea laughs. “Did you forget that I’d already killed the spider by the time you got there?”
“But I didn’t know that, did I? Isn’t it the thought that counts?”
She stretches up, pressing her lips to my cheek. I’m a big guy, and I like that she’s tall enough not to need a boost to do it. It’s another unneeded reminder of how well we fit together.
“Then thank you, my brave knight. Now get the fuck out of my bathroom.”
I smile and back out the door with a small bow. “Until we meet again, mia principessa.”
Her snort and the sound of a damp towel hitting the door makes me smile.
The thought of what lies ahead, on the other hand, doesn’t.
11
Andrea
“Andrea, are you even listening?” Mom glares at me from across the limo. “If we’re late, it’s going to reflect on us as a family, and we can’t afford to mess this up because you,” she flutters her stiletto tipped nails at me and her face scrunches up, “needed time.”
I stifle a yawn. The nap helped, but the jetlag won’t be gone for some time.
Answering her is pointless. She needs someone to blame things on, and since traffic on the Eisenhower isn’t as easy to yell at, I’m the closest target. Dad reaches across and pats my leg comfortingly, but wisely stays out of it.
Chicago crawls by.
It’s a nice enough city—or maybe I’m biased since I grew up here—but in my head it’s so intertwined with my family that right now, I hate it just a little. I’d give anything to be back in Durham, with my friends and relatively worry-free existence.
Montana sits at my side. His leg is warm against my thigh, but we might as well be strangers. He might be fun in private, but now he’s working.
“Emilio, can’t you do something about this?” Mom gestures out at the traffic, before she crosses her legs, somehow managing to put all of her pent up frustration into that one curt movement.
“Relax, Gloria. What do you want me to do?” He gestures at the window. “Order them off the highway? We’ll get there when we get there. They need us as much as we need them. A little traffic doesn’t change that.”
My ears perk up. I try not to seem too interested, but since nobody seems to think I need to know what’s going on tonight, I’m trying to piece together whatever clues they drop. It has something to do with the Caporossi family, which explains why Dad assigned extra security, but tells me nothing about why it was so important that I had to fly in at a moment’s notice.
Mom huffs in frustration and looks out the window. “When my grandfather was in charge, we could practically call in a police escort.”
Dad laughs dryly and shakes his head. “When your grandfather was in charge there were probably still horses on the road. We can’t live in the past if we want to carve out our share of the future. Trabucco going clean screwed us all over. Stronzo.”
“Emilio!” Mom admonishes.
Dad rolls his eyes, and I smirk.
She cuts her icy gaze to me. “Don’t even think of using language like that. You are a DiFiero and you will act like it.”
“Are you kidding me?” I’m too tired and cranky to let that slide. “I’m an adult. You think I’ve never heard that word before? We aren’t exactly a family of fucking priests, Mom.” She opens her mouth. “And Uncle Tony doesn’t count! That’s one, one priest.”
Montana jerks slightly next to me, probably smothering a laugh.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve such a disrespectful daughter.” Mom turns to Dad. “This is why I told you not to talk to her. Do you see?”
Dad’s expression hardens. “I didn’t, did I?”
I was nervous and annoyed when we got into the car, but now I’m actually a little scared. “Wait, why can’t you talk to me? What aren’t you telling me?”
Unfortunately, traffic started moving again while we were bickering. The car pulls into an alley between two old, brick buildings. At the other end, it pulls into a small parking lot, and stops. My question is left hanging in the air as our driver walks around and opens the door. Montana gets out first, whisking us quickly inside one of the brick buildings through the back.
A narrow hallway leads us to the main room of Gino’s, a restaurant that I vaguely recognize. I’ve been here a few times growing up, but it’s been a while. The tables are full, but instead of families enjoying their dinner, the place is packed with hard looking men who don’t seem to be enjoying much of anything.
Some I recognize, Dad’s capos and their lieutenants. Others I don’t. It’s not like I know everyone that works for our family, but the way people have arranged themselves makes it seem like they aren’t all ours.
A shiver crawls down my spine. Whatever this is, I’m not going to like it.
There’s a table set up at the far end of the room, almost like a stage, or where you’d put the happy couple at a wedding reception. The mood feels more like a wake than a celebration, though.
The crowd shifts, and the reason for all the tension becomes obvious. At the table sits Giuseppe Caporossi, along with his wife and son. Our families have been rivals since long before I was born, and I can count on zero hands how many times we’ve sat down to dinner together. I’ve only even seen them a few times in my life, when social obligations demanded it.
Something seriously weird is going down.
He stands up as we approach, his mouth smiling, but his eyes untouched, managing to remain coolly neutral. “Emilio. I was starting to wonder if you’d stood us up.”
Smooth and deep, his voice is seductively compelling for a man his age. It doesn’t hurt that he’s in good shape, and dressed in a well-tailored suit. Marco—his son—stands at his father’s side. The resemblance is obvious. He’s taller and broader than his father, but the way they stand and the set of their jaws is eerily similar.
Giuseppe’s attention is fixed on my father, but Marc
o looks at me with an unreadable expression on his face. His mother—I’m embarrassed to say I don’t remember her name—stands more slowly. She’s a beautiful woman, and her eyes hold a warmth that my own mother lacks.
“Gloria,” she murmurs, lightly holding my mother by the shoulders as they brush polite kisses across each other’s cheeks. “It’s been too long. Look at how our children have grown.”
My mother’s lips squeeze into a brittle smile. “Leah.”
Marco steps forwards and takes my hand, raising it to his lips and pressing a kiss against my fingers. A shiver of unease slides through me. “You’re even more beautiful than I remember.”
Woah.
I take a step back, bumping into Montana’s chest. The last time I saw Marco was at Father Dominic’s funeral. I was maybe eleven, and he was a spoiled teenager following his father around like a puppy. I doubt we even spoke together, and now he’s kissing my hand?
Montana puts a hand on my arm protectively, and I can’t help the way I lean into him. It feels like the walls are closing in around me.
“What’s going on?”
“Andrea,” my mother hisses. “Don’t be rude.”
“Marc,” Leah chides with a soft smile. “Don’t scare her off.”
Marco grabs Montana’s wrist, pushing it off my arm. I expect Montana to react, but instead he steps slightly away, leaving me with the son of my father’s biggest rival.
Tell me this isn’t what it seems like.
Tell me my parents aren’t setting me up with this man.
“I understand if you’re a little shocked. I was too when they told me.” Marco gestures to an empty seat at the table next to where he was sitting. “Why don’t we sit down and get to know each other better. It’s not quite how I imagined meeting my fiancée either, but here we are.”
12
Andrea
I can’t. I just can’t.
No amount of training to be their obedient daughter has prepared me for calmly sitting down at a table with the Caporossis to discuss my surprise engagement to a man I don’t even know. Giuseppe looks smug, Marco annoyed, and Leah concerned. I honestly can’t find the energy to care what any of them think about my behavior right now, though.
