Escape (The Covington Heights Crew Book 1)

by Deana Birch

  The empty room mirrored my blank emotional slate. Survival. If I wanted to see Violet again, my selfish wonderful dark place that was calling me with every fiber of my being would need to be fought.

  When the door shut, he said, “Bath and bed for you. We’ll get your sister and deal with your mom tomorrow. Come on.”

  He walked down the hall to his bedroom and the water turned on in the tub not long after.

  Too dutifully, I made my way down the hall.

  Anton sat on the edge of the filling tub, the whoosh of the water as comforting as the relaxation it promised. “Do you want me to leave?”

  Yes. No. Maybe. The lesser of two evils. That fucking resolve crept back in. He’d just saved my life. How could I deny him anything?

  “No.” I reached for the zipper on my dress and tugged it down. It fell around my ankles, exposing my breasts and white underwear.

  Anton didn’t ogle. In fact, he glanced away. God, he was really trying to show me some compassion—and it was working. I slipped out of the white cotton and tossed it next to the dress. “Burn that.” I held out my hand and he took it, steadying me as I lowered into the steaming bath.

  A small smile brushed over his lips before he rubbed them together and furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry.”

  I interlaced my fingers into his and closed my eyes. “Thank you for saving me.”

  When I dunked my head under the water to wet my hair, I wondered if I’d sounded as fake as I’d felt?

  * * * *

  After a final glance over my shoulder to check that Anton hadn’t stirred, I padded cautiously down the hall, wearing his oversized T-shirt. As exhausted as I was, sleep hadn’t come. There were too many questions ricocheting through my head, the biggest one being, Where the fuck is Leo?

  Anton had said that Rafa was moving in the next day. Had that meant that Leo had gone underground after killing Mac?

  I passed the kitchen and headed for Leo’s room. The door was open a crack and I pushed it the rest of the way. Thankfully the hinges didn’t make a noise and give away my late night hunt for answers.

  The bed was unmade and dirty clothes were scattered on the floor. In the bathroom, all the toiletries were still in place. Even his toothbrush was in a cup by the double sink. His towel was damp. I stepped into the shower and smelled his half-used bar of soap. The clean, simple scent filled me with comfort and longing for the only person I was sure was patient enough to allow me to put my shattered pieces back together before asking me for anything more.

  The moisture under my feet was unfair. He’d just been there, hours before. Why wasn’t he back in the bed stroking my hair while his silent strength seeped into my skin? I wiped my feet on the rug and exited the bathroom.

  All his clothes—all of them—remained in the closet. He’d left his entire life. He’d left me. He’d left Violet.

  I let my hand drag over his row of black jeans like a slow farewell. An ache in my chest climbed up my neck and clasped the base of my brain. My imagination had gotten the best of me, seduced me while I’d been in survival mode. The spark or connection I’d convinced myself I’d shared with Leo was fiction.

  But it was a story I still needed for at least one more night. As if in a dream, I walked over to his bed on the side where he’d slept. I climbed in and hugged his pillow tight. I could smell his hair, him—the transfixing energy that was quintessentially Leo Ricci.

  I wove a tale about his arms around me, hugging me into the brightest part of his soul, a sleepy illusion of safety. Dream Leo was just that…not real. Maybe the other one had never existed either.

  Did it matter? In that moment, the bed, the fantasy, it was all I needed.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Leo

  The guest room at Nanna’s was a far cry from my suite in Covington Heights. But it hadn’t been the stiff pillows and short bed that had kept me awake. It hadn’t even been the undeniable fact that I had taken three lives. I’d foolishly hoped it wouldn’t matter. I’d foolishly thought I could be cold, but I’d killed out of passion—broken the number one hitman rule. And it was that passion that had me staring at a blank ceiling for most of the night—tossing and turning, searching for any form of comfort.

  Those cloudy brown eyes streaked with tears had appeared each time I’d closed my own. She’d been broken. All the fucking night, my chest had ached for her. And my overly healthy ego was convinced I could help mend the damage that I’d caused.

  Because I’d done this. It had been me who had seen her from afar and had started asking around. I’d run to help her then brought her to Anton’s attention. Stupid fucking payback.

  I tapped the headboard several times. I fucking needed to see how she was, talk to her about what happened, let her cry in my arms, hold her. And maybe just a little splinter of me needed her to hold me back. What a bitter pill. The sacrifice I’d made would keep me away from her.

  A small creak was all I needed to know that Frankie was on his way up. I’d been sure he would come, and in fairness, he’d let me sleep in—or so he probably thought.

  And so it begins…

  He opened the door with a huge smile that somehow made me want to both flip him off and pull him in for a hug. “I am so looking forward to kicking the shit out of you.”

  I smirked. The buzz from us sparring with each other was unmatchable. Even Anton was not at the same level as Frankie and me. “Aww. You miss me, big brother?”

  Frankie tossed a gym bag on the end of the bed and shrugged. The years and stress were showing as a hint of salt-and-pepper just over his temples. But he was still cut. Even behind his black designer track suit, his muscles were obvious. I hadn’t trained on his level for a while. He would probably beat me to a pulp.

  I stood and scratched my hair with a groan.

  “That tattoo is hideous and potentially dangerous.” Frankie pointed to my arm. “No distinguishing markings.”

  He’d always been a bit of a kiss-ass to our father. Throwing out the rules from my dad’s killing handbook was just another pucker on the cheeks to the dead man who’d made us what we were.

  I rolled my eyes. “Really? Before coffee?”

  He ignored me. “Shower and change. I have a lunch meeting, so I need to bruise your body and ego before noon.”

  I swiped up the gym bag. As predicted, we were going to start immediately.

  “Oh,” he said, and I turned back. “It’s nice to see you.”

  Anyone could say what they wanted about our fucked-up childhood, but it was a secret that only we shared. Nanna and Chezzie knew our father had been a criminal, but both had stopped short of asking more. Sometimes I’d wondered if they hadn’t been oddly proud of him. So being in a room with the one person on the planet who understood every ounce of me was comforting, despite the past.

  “Yeah, you too.” My words were sincere and I offered a small smile as proof. I shuffled down the hall, found a new bar of soap in the linen closet and got ready.

  Showered and clean, I caught the smell of fresh-brewed coffee when I exited the bathroom. I jogged down the stairs to find Frankie at the kitchen table, the metal Italian pot on a hot plate to his left, the gun I’d used the night before on the right.

  “You owe me three bullets.” He crossed his arms and leaned into the teak chair.

  I found a mug and opened the fridge. It was spotless and bare, so I closed with a little annoyance of no milk—not that Frankie had known I was coming. I put back the mug with regret. I couldn’t drink coffee black. It was maybe the least Italian thing about me.

  “Well?” Frankie did a thing with his face that was so typically my father that it almost made me laugh. It was a combination of a frown and snarl as he raised his bushy eyebrows.

  I leaned into the counter and stretched out my legs before crossing them at the ankles. “Target practice.”

  “Were those targets the reason you came back?” Frankie knew damn well three bullets meant three lives. We weren’t wasteful
.

  I looked away.

  “Leo…” Frankie’s tone haunted me. I knew what was coming. “Killing for your own reasons and killing for hire are not the same.”

  Killing was killing as far as I was concerned. Who knew what Mac had done to Fiona? Not to mention the bald fucks he’d looped into his plans. And what? I was just going to let them walk away with my money? No fucking way.

  I looked back at Frankie, whose eyes were wide.

  I didn’t want to share the details, but I had to give him a nugget of truth. I decided on something that I’d wondered if he could relate to. “It’s true. Everything he said would happen did. I was patient. I was calm. Ice ran through my veins. My instincts were flawless.”

  Frankie rolled his head on the back of the chair. “Yeah. Same.” His stiff body softened, the connection between us stronger.

  “Come on. No one knows my fighting habits like you do. Anyway, it will be good to work out what you did last night.” He stood and pushed the chair back in place. “Just not the face.”

  A grin I couldn’t hold back tugged at my cheeks.

  “No.” Frankie shook his head in a slow warning then motioned to the coffee. “You’re not going to drink that?”

  “I need milk.”

  He wove his head around. “You go to live in the fucking projects and you come back a diva?”

  The familiar banter that had kept us sane in our youth blanketed my warped soul.

  I walked over to Frankie and put my arm around his shoulder. “You gonna start name calling, Old Man?”

  Frankie’s jaw dropped and I squeezed him closer then planted a kiss on his cheek. Shit, I had to admit that I’d missed my big brother.

  “You have gray hair. That’s hideous and potentially dangerous. No distinguishing markings.”

  As we made our way to the front door, he groaned. “Ugh. I forgot how annoying you are.”

  “Ugh. I forgot how annoying you are.” I delivered my sass in a high-pitched voice and followed him down to the curb where he’d parked in front of a hydrant.

  In Frankie’s baby blue Porsche, we headed downtown. He told me how business had changed since the days of our father, when someone handed over a name on a piece of paper in the back of a restaurant.

  The times of clients seeing our faces were over, but that didn’t mean that we still didn’t need to be careful. A poorly planned murder was sure to have witnesses. And the money was laundered in and out of foreign bank accounts, then filtered through Frankie’s ‘investment’ firm. He paid all of his taxes like a good boy, never over-complicating his finances to draw attention.

  Clients themselves were researched back to when they had baby teeth, then the potential victims were surveilled for months. Cold feet and last-minute cancellations still paid full price—after all, the pulling of a trigger or pushing off a cliff was the easy part for us.

  “You’ll need to come into the office. I’ll tell people you were getting your Master’s degree abroad. People never know how to check that shit and don’t give a fuck. But if they do, they’ll find you in a private school in Ireland. I’ll send you the link so you can drop random details, but trust me… No one cares.”

  We pulled into an underground garage and Frankie zipped the sports car into a private spot. He killed the engine. “You’ll need to look the part. My tailor is expecting you this afternoon.”

  Frankie reached behind my seat and presented me with a phone.

  Damn, Big Brother has thought of everything. “How long have you been expecting me?” I tried to mask the hurt of him knowing that I’d be back, understanding that the day would come for the inevitable.

  “Since the day you left. It was just a matter of hitting Send on an email.”

  I let out a long gravely exhale. “Now I have to kick your ass.”

  We got out of the car and Frankie lifted out another gym bag from under the storage space in the front of the Porsche.

  I followed him to the elevator and we entered alone. He turned to me and little wrinkles around his dark eyes folded into place. I hadn’t seen them before. “If you need to talk about last night, you come to me…only me. You have no more friends. You only have family—and that’s me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Fiona

  Coffee. The unmistakable smell of coffee brought the first smile to my face since I could remember. He’d come back for me after all. A warm relief brushed over me. I scrunched my shoulders up like a giddy girl at the candy store and, on an inhale, opened my eyes. My face fell and I swallowed.

  Anton sat next to me on the bed, fully dressed in black jeans and a black tank. He cradled a cup of coffee in his lap and his strong legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He studied me through narrowed eyes and his little frown made me understand that he’d caught my disappointment.

  “Coffee?” he asked, still keeping his lips turned down.

  I pushed myself up to sitting and shook my head. “I don’t—”

  “Right.” Anton set the cup on the nightstand then crossed his arms. He stared ahead. “I’m not going to lie. This stings a little, Fiona.”

  “I…” Shit. I was an ungrateful bitch. Anton had saved me and I couldn’t even extend him the favor of sleeping next to him. It wasn’t like he was going to make a move on me. He’d been gentle, practically sweet.

  “You couldn’t sleep so you came in here?” He turned his head and his crystal eyes bored into me. Behind the accusation was something else. It took me a second to find it, but when I did, it hit me hard. Hurt. He’d been wounded that I’d left him.

  He has me now.

  I bowed my head and rubbed my temples. What had I been thinking, sleeping in Leo’s bed?

  I met Anton’s gaze and he lifted both eyebrows.

  “That wasn’t a rhetorical question.” Any pain he’d showed had shifted to annoyance with a tiny bit of anger.

  Great.

  “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I was just…” What? I was just what? A fool on all fronts, it seemed.

  Anton dropped his head back and closed his powerful eyes. I was happy to be rid of his scrutiny but didn’t dare move. I thought about climbing into his lap and trying to make it better, but he would smell my lie, so I saved us both the embarrassment.

  After a torturous silence, he finally said, “Let me ask you a question.” He let out a long exhale through his mouth. “If you could choose between him and me, who would it be?”

  It was an impossible question to answer. My free will had been silenced the first day they’d noticed me. And, quite frankly, even though I literally owed them my life, I was still a little salty about the fact that they’d taken that choice away from me.

  Leo was out of the picture, by either Anton’s design or some other reason. Choosing the tall, dark, gorgeous mound of Italian muscle was pointless. And yet it was rather obvious that I already had. My heart raced. If I were honest, maybe any protection for me or Violet would be gone. Maybe that anger bubbling below Anton’s surface would pop and be directed at me.

  I pressed my lips together and bit down on the inside.

  “Whatever you do, don’t lie. I’ll know.”

  His steel eyes hammered into me. There was only one thing to say.

  With the last drop of strength I had, I said, “I would choose me.”

  Anton let out a quick, airy chuckle and shook his head. “Funny. I think he knew you’d say that.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. His anger was gone, replaced with a tight, forced smile. “Rafa’s gonna be here soon. Grab some shorts and go back to your place. Your mom’s still a bit out of it, but your sister is asking for you.”

  I didn’t understand. “Are you—?”

  Anton’s grumble and fake scowl brought a smile to my face. “Letting you go? Yeah. I don’t want someone who doesn’t want me. I told you that.”

  “But—” I rose from the bed, unable to believe what I was hearing. I walked over until I was just inches aw
ay from Anton. His strong chest beckoned for my hand to confirm the reality.

  I stared into his eyes, eyes that had hurt me, lusted after me, fucked with my entire being. They glimmered back at me, exposing a flicker of hope that I would still change my answer.

  The curiosity got the best of me. “What changed?”

  Anton wet his pouty lips and I had to stop myself from being dragged into his luring haze. “Everything.” His gentle word said more than he knew. It revealed that he, too, had lost Leo. That sometimes the respect of a memory was stronger than the need in the present.

  Without thinking too much about it, I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my cheek into his chest. The embrace was more than gratitude. It was understanding and closure. The tension I’d been carrying for weeks melted out of me.

  “Okay, okay.” He pushed me away and held me at arm’s length. “There’s something else I need to tell you.” His tone was playful, so I met it with my favorite response of sarcasm.

  “If you’re going to tell me I’m Rafa’s or Jackson’s now, you’re gonna get a knee in your balls.”

  Anton stepped back with a smirk. “You’re crazy if you think you could get one on me, but no. You have a nest egg.” He pointed to a bag I hadn’t noticed next to the bed.

  “What?”

  “A parting gift from your boyfriend.” There was a tease in his words that brought back my sass.

  “He was never my boyfriend.” I rolled my eyes, enjoying what seemed like friendly fire with the man I’d once vowed to hate for life.

  “You sure about that?” Anton walked out of the room.

  I went over to the side of the bed and knelt down in front of the bag. When I opened it, more money than I’d ever seen, in tight, perfect packs, stared back. I leaped back like I’d been burned and looked around the empty room. With caution, I was half afraid something would pop out and say ‘boo’, because it had to be a fucking joke, I leaned back over for another peek.