"What's wrong?" Timur demanded, leaning on the counter. "You're frowning. I've never seen you frown before. Not even when you're dealing with a crazy customer. Sometimes I want to take my gun out and shoot them for you."
Evangeline supposed she should be grateful he wanted to shoot someone for her, but it only confirmed she'd managed to get in over her head with the criminal element in her beloved new home.
"I appreciate that you don't," she said softly and then found herself laughing. What else could she do? She was never going to ask Alonzo to stay away. "What brings you in so early? Can't live without your macaroons?"
"Alonzo wanted me to come in and talk to you." His eyes were hard. Flat and cold, very similar to Alonzo's. Too similar. Even the color was the same, that piercing, beautiful glacier blue. As if deep inside both men were mountains of ice that could never be thawed. That was how she thought of Alonzo. Timur was . . . difficult. He didn't like her. He especially didn't like Alonzo anywhere near her.
"Talk to me about what?" She fixed a latte for him without him asking for it, glancing over her shoulder as she asked the question.
"He wants me to explain things to you before he comes in."
There was a definite warning in his voice. She turned back to him and set the latte on the counter, reaching for a pair of gloves in order to pick up the cookies he preferred. "Why would he have to explain anything to me?"
"Exactly." His voice was clipped. His eyes bored into her. Not like Alonzo, not with interest, more with annoyance and speculation. "Why the hell can't I find out any information about you? You don't exist. You have this bakery and a driver's license, but that's it. I can't even find a birth certificate for you."
Her stomach muscles knotted hard, so much so that she pressed her hand tightly against her belly in an effort to ease the ache. She'd known Timur would investigate her. He didn't want anyone near his boss, not unless he knew everything about them.
The bell over the door rang and that started the steady stream of her usual early morning customers. Businessmen and women, rushing to work, grabbing pastries, tea and coffee, smiling without really noticing anything but the time. Timur seemed to fade into the background, drinking his coffee and eating his cookies while reading. Not one person so much as glanced at him, as he sat so quietly, seemingly absorbed in his book. Evangeline knew better. He saw every single person and probably could tell her all sorts of things about them.
It took a good hour and forty-five minutes of hard work to get through the first wave of customers before the shop was empty and she could begin to restock the cases with her baked pastries. Her ham-and-cheese pastries were very popular, along with her mushroom-spinach quiche. She'd learned that most of the early risers didn't eat breakfast at home so when she'd introduced those fluffy pastries, they'd been a big early morning hit.
The moment the door had closed on the last customer, Timur materialized in front of her. "You didn't answer me."
"Why would Alonzo have you investigate me?" She couldn't keep the hurt out of her voice, and that bothered her. It was giving too much away to this man. She shouldn't care about Alonzo. They didn't have any kind of a relationship, nor could they. She had left that world behind and she didn't want to go back to it. Still, Alonzo was the only man she ever thought about. Ever dreamed about. Fantasized over.
"He gave me strict instructions not to investigate you."
Her gaze jumped to his face at the same time her heart clenched tightly in her chest. "Then why are you askin' me?"
"Because I don't like anything out of the ordinary, and you're out of the ordinary."
There was no apology in his voice. None whatsoever. His gaze was so hard and cold she shivered as she filled the last spot in the case and glanced at the time. Another five minutes and the second wave would start. That was far too long to be alone with Timur. She didn't trust him or herself. She didn't want to blurt out her own questions in retaliation. Questions such as why Alonzo was pretending to be Italian when it was so clear he was Russian and Timur's brother. That kind of question was the kind that might get her killed.
"I'm no threat to your boss," she said.
"Don't kid yourself, honey," he snapped, all but slamming his empty mug on the counter and leaning close to glare at her. "You're the biggest threat to him there is."
She didn't know what to say to that. To do with it. "Just tell me whatever it is he sent you to say." And get out. She was beginning to shake. She wasn't going to let Timur intimidate her.
"There's a big meeting today and it is to take place here. We didn't call it. Alonzo couldn't protest, not without putting you in jeopardy. When we come in, he won't talk to you. He wants you to know it isn't personal."
She fought the inclination to roll her eyes and shrugged instead. "He never talks to me. How is this any different? I don't take it personal."
He sighed. "It's more about the way you look at him."
Her breath caught in her lungs. "Oh. My. God. I'm not supposed to even look at him? Why are you holdin' your meetin' in my bakery? Pick somewhere else." Was it so obvious to everyone that she was attracted to Alonzo? She didn't even know his real name.
"The meeting's set. Just don't look at him the way you do."
She could feel her color rising. How totally embarrassing. "You know what, just tell him not to come back here. Seriously. I don' want him in here if it's such a big deal." Her accent was thicker than ever and she didn't care. Didn't care if he knew she was from the swamp and her grandfather was a horrible man, feared by everyone around him, so much so that her own family had hidden her away. "I want you all gone. I mean it. Just tell him to stay away, and then no one will have to worry about how I look at him or don' look at him." Tears burned behind her eyes, and that was even more humiliating.
"Stop." He said the word softly. A command nevertheless. "You and I both know he isn't going to stop coming here. And don't you fucking cry. He'll put a bullet in my head."
"He won't know. I'm not about to tell him and neither are you."
"He'll know." He pushed his latte mug at her. "Make me another one."
"What part of 'I want you out' didn' you understand?"
"The part where you're acting crazy. Just make me a latte and do what I tell you to do and don't cry. Don't even look like you're about to cry."
That stopped her. She turned back to him when she'd nearly walked into her kitchen to avoid talking to him. Why shouldn't she look as if she were about to cry? There was an undertone to Timur's voice, as if he were just a little nervous. Very slowly she lifted her gaze to the higher walls of her bakery and took a long look around. She couldn't see anything but the smooth walls. Still . . .
"Did you put cameras in here?"
He tapped the latte mug on the counter. "Seriously, Evangeline."
"Seriously, Timur." She couldn't believe she was challenging him. He was mafia. A mafia bodyguard. Maybe even a hit man.
She was crazy to challenge him. She should just shut up and do what he said. That wasn't exactly in her nature. She didn't want to ever do what anyone said again. She'd made herself that promise, but then she'd promised she'd never be around criminals. She'd work hard and find a really nice man who had a boring job and he'd come home to their little house every night. She wouldn't have to worry about him cheating on her because he'd be so crazy about her . . .
"Evangeline." Timur's voice was sharp.
She didn't care if he was angry with her. She was done. Done pining away for a man who was absolutely, completely inappropriate and wrong. What had gotten into her? Alonzo Massi--and that wasn't even his real name--was as cold as ice. His emotions were frozen, if he had any, and she doubted he did. She didn't think he could feel at all. He was a walking, talking robot and she had built too many fantasies around him. Stupid, but then she didn't have a lot of experience. She should have gone to bed with him, it would have been awful. She wouldn't know what she was doing, and he would hate that. He'd be an icicle and she would hat
e that. Perfect.
The bell sounded and for the first time she whipped her head up, glaring. Instead of Alonzo, it was her second wave of customers pushing through the door. She plastered on her smile, ignored Timur's empty latte mug and went on full automatic. Screw Timur and screw Alonzo as well.
Evangeline was so upset with her decision to end it with Alonzo, and that told her more than anything else that she'd gone way too far in her fantasies. There never was an Alonzo and Evangeline. Not. Ever. Yet she was on the verge of tears most of the day as if she'd really broken up with her boyfriend. It was ludicrous. Ridiculous. It just showed her how naive and strange she was still. A mythical boyfriend. A criminal one at that. What was wrong with her? She lived in her head too much. She always had.
Alonzo had been coming into her shop for a year. He barely spoke to her. Even when she had admitted she missed him, nothing had changed. Did she even want it to? He was everything she despised, and yet her made-up world had been completely formed around him. And they all knew it. Everyone knew it. She hadn't even been under the radar about her interest in Alonzo, and that was mortifying. Absolutely mortifying.
Timur was still in the shop. He'd made no more attempts to talk to her with all the customers and she was grateful but wished he'd leave. He hadn't made the mistake of coming back up to the counter for another latte either.
She worked hard, but time went by fast because she was so angry over her own stupidity. She spent the hours chastising herself while she worked. That took her past noon and into her lightest period. Customers tapered off around one thirty, and by two the store was in what she always referred to as "the dead zone." She welcomed that period because it gave her a chance to restock, get off her feet and take a short break.
When the last customer left the shop, Evangeline heaved a sigh of relief and took a much-needed bathroom break. When she returned, Timur was at the door. He casually turned the sign from open to closed and he locked the door. With a key. His own key. She knew it was his because her key was safely in the coat pocket of her jacket in the kitchen closet. Without a word to her, he moved behind the counter and into her kitchen.
"What are you doin'?"
"They'll be coming in through the back door." He spoke tersely.
"You aren't takin' over my shop, Timur." She lifted her chin. This would really get her into trouble, but she didn't care. She marched over to her phone.
Before she could lift it, Timur's hand clamped down on hers, preventing movement. "Don't be ridiculous. I get that this isn't a good thing and you're probably scared, but nothing will happen to you. You'll have customers in the store and we'll compensate you for the use of the bakery. We'll be out by four. You have light or no business during this time, so it will be good for you financially."
His fingers were surprisingly gentle as he pried her hand from the phone, while his eyes were as cold as ice and his face was hard and scary. She glared at him and then her gaze swept the room. "Is he goin' to be angry about this too? Will he know about this? Me tryin' to call the cops and you stoppin' me?" It was a challenge. She forced him to answer, even though she already knew the answer.
He nodded slowly. "Yes."
She jerked her hand away from his as if he'd burned her. "I'm doin' this today because I have no choice, but tonight I'll be sweepin' this store for cameras. I want all of you gone, out of my life. Do you understand me?"
He sighed. "Miadshaya sestra, you understand me. You no longer have a choice. Just do your job and you'll get through this. Don't look at Alonzo as if he is anything at all to you. Don't look too closely at the others here."
She turned away from him, her stomach churning. How the hell had this happened? After making certain the display cases were full, she went into the restroom, away from Timur's all-seeing eyes, and stared at herself in the mirror. She wasn't that girl alone in the swamp. She wasn't abandoned. She wasn't helpless. She wasn't even what her last name represented. She was Evangeline Bouvier-Tregre. She mostly went by her mother's name Bouvier. It was on her license and her business license. Bouvier-Tregre was on her birth certificate. She was whatever she made herself to be.
Very carefully she applied her lip stain and went over it with a gloss. She took her time brushing out her hair and restyling it. She wanted to look and feel her best to get through this. She had no idea what she was going to do once they were gone, but she wasn't going to think about that until she had to. For now, she was the owner of the bakery and the men coming in were nothing more than customers.
She slid her hands down her hips, smoothing the material of her soft vintage blue jeans, a pair that were very comfortable because she'd had them for years. Since they were worn and ripped in places, she rarely wore them to work, wanting to appear a little dressier, but she'd woken up from one of her bad dreams with a headache because her skull felt too tight, her body ached, joints painful, and the familiar clothes always comforted her. Her jeans. The emerald green camisole that matched her eyes and had been a gift from her friend Saria back when things weren't so good.
She had nice eyes. Her mouth was too . . . big. Pouty. She practiced smiling to relieve the pout that was there when she wasn't thinking about it. But her eyes . . . She must have gotten them from her mother. They were large and shaped exotically, like a cat's eyes. Most of the time they were pure, startling emerald, the color emphasized by her thick, dark lashes. Lately she'd noticed little gold flecks at times. She wasn't certain what to think about that gold, but at least she liked her eyes.
The problem with her jeans and camisole was, they were old and she'd put on a little weight growing up. The denim clung to her hips and thighs, and the camisole emphasized her small waist and generous breasts. She couldn't loosen the laces in the front because the camisole zipped and the lacing was for show. She sighed.
A fist banging on the door made her jump and her heart stuttered. "Get out of there, Evangeline." There was pure steel in that voice. Timur was every bit as commanding as Alonzo. "I didn't think you were the type of woman to hide."
She threw the door open, hoping to hit him right in the face with it, but of course he wasn't there. She sent him one look from under her long lashes. "Like I would ever hide from you or your brother." She was terrified now and humiliated, but she'd spent her entire life hiding and she wasn't doing it again. Not. Ever.
She positioned herself behind the counter as Timur went to the back door and let someone in. She stayed locked against the counter close to the espresso machine, and pasted a smile on her face when the first few men came through the kitchen. She recognized Elijah Lospostos. He was notorious. His family had been in the crime business for generations. He was a good-looking but very dangerous man, and she knew he'd recently married Siena Arnotto. That bit of information was in every single tabloid and magazine. Alonzo had taken over the Arnotto estate. For her. Siena.
She realized that while she'd been in the bathroom, Timur had rearranged her tables to make one big one down the center of the room and several smaller ones surrounding it. There appeared to be a sign on her door. She didn't bother to go look and see what it said. What did it matter? She was stuck with this mess. She had to get through it and make certain it never happened again.
Elijah went straight up to her. "Thank you for being so generous with your bakery. We really appreciate it." He gave his order and she made his cappuccino while he surveyed the display for pastries. Her smile was practiced and didn't let her down. She made coffee for him and the four men with him. She assumed they were his bodyguards. All of them were leopard. That was easy enough for her to see.
She hung on to her smile a little grimly when Patrizio Amodeo walked in. He was tall and rather good-looking by most standards. He had two gold teeth that flashed when he smiled--and he smiled a lot. He was oily smooth, leered at her from the moment he set eyes on her, changed his coffee order three times, waiting each time until she'd begun to make it. He also had four bodyguards with him, big hulks, definitely carrying guns and
very nervous. She didn't think they were leopard, but they looked scary.
She'd seen Amodeo on the news. He'd been arrested several times but was never actually convicted. Witnesses disappeared or insisted they'd lied. He walked out of the courthouse with a huge, mocking smile and cameras on him. Twice he'd given the cops the finger as he'd gotten into his very expensive car and been driven away from the frenzy of the media. Her skin crawled a little bit every time he looked at her.
His men were equally as bad, ogling her and making little comments to each other like high school boys. She wanted to roll her eyes at them but thought it best to just get them their drinks and pastries and hope they would stare at their boss instead of her.
Alonzo arrived next. Instantly she was angry. He'd done this, brought her right into the middle of his criminal world. She looked right through him as she gave him her fake smile and made his familiar drink, not that it mattered. At. All. Alonzo didn't notice her hostility. His eyes were so iced she thought she might freeze when he looked at her. There was no emotion. He looked more dangerous than ever. Scary. Lethal.
Alonzo Massi was a man no woman should ever want to be with. So why did her heart beat faster when he was close to her? Why did her breasts tingle and damp heat gather between her legs? It made no sense at all, but no matter how angry she was, or how determined not to react to him, her body seemed to have a mind of its own. Her freakin' female leopard unfurled and stretched languidly. Sensuously. She hissed her displeasure at the cat. The last thing she wanted was for any of the male leopards to catch a glimpse of Bebe.
Alonzo took his coffee from her, shifting on his feet to angle his body so that her smaller body couldn't be seen by the others. "Cover up," he hissed.
She frowned at him. He didn't have the right to tell her what to do in her own bakery. But then he didn't have the right to have his private meetings there or his cameras either.
"Do. It. Now." He bit out each word.
A shiver went down her spine. He meant it. It didn't matter that his voice was low; she had the feeling that force would come next. She stuck her chin out, scowled at him and turned to head to the kitchen, where her cardigan hung over the chair. Gorya came through the door, the sweater bunched in his hand. He carried it down low, so the others couldn't see him hand it off to her. She took it without a word and went back to the espresso machine in order to make Gorya's favorite drink.
Leopard's Fury Page 5
