Speak Easy (Speak Easy 1)

I stared at him. “You can’t think I stole it. I was with you the whole time.”

“Maybe it was your little friend, Joe Lupo. I hear he works for Scarfone now. Where was he last night?”

“He wasn’t at the club.”

“Of course not. He was busy hijacking my shipment and shooting my men. Is he in Chicago too?”

Get off the subject of Joey. My voice shook when I spoke. “Listen, I don’t know where that necklace came from. It was just handed to me at the store by some kid off the street today.”

He gritted his teeth. “You said before it was a gift. There’s the lie.”

Exasperated, I nearly threw my hands up until I remembered they were holding up the towel. “Well, I didn’t know what to say! How was I supposed to know it was yours? None of this makes any sense to me.” I shivered. “I’m just trying to get that ransom money, Enzo. I know nothing about anything else.”

He came toward me, still holding the necklace. “I want to believe you, but I think you know more than you’re telling me.” Reaching behind me, he pushed my bedroom door shut, and I winced at the noise.

Nervous, I sidestepped him and moved deeper into the room, remembering how he’d grabbed me earlier today. “Enzo, please. I didn’t steal the necklace. And I don’t know who did.”

He backed me into the dresser and put his hands on my shoulders, but instead of getting rough, he turned me gently toward the mirror and draped the necklace around my neck. Our eyes met in the glass, and my breath caught as he fastened the clasp. Chills spilled down my arms when he brushed my wet hair aside and lowered his lips to the skin behind my ear.

“Oh my God.” My room tilted and whirled like a carnival ride.

“Sometimes I think,” he whispered, sweeping his lips down the curve of my neck, “that you were sent to me as punishment for the things I’ve done. For the things I’ve prayed for.” He put his hands on the dresser, one on either side of me.

“What have you prayed for?” I barely got the words out. A cyclone of desire and fear swirled within me.

He kissed my shoulder before answering. “When I was an altar boy back in Brooklyn, I used to bow my head when the priest said to pray, bu

t instead of thinking about the sick or the poor or the departed souls, I’d think about my father and other men like him, and ask God for the things they had—money, power, control.” With each word, he dropped a kiss across my shoulder blades, setting my back on fire. “And you know how they got it? By giving the people what they wanted. I knew what they did behind closed doors, the deals they made, the rivals they took out. But on the streets, they were adored—women holding up babies for them to kiss, men falling to their knees to beg for favors, children scrambling for nickels they’d hand out. It was pure adoration.” His teeth raked against my other shoulder, followed by the softness of his tongue. “And it meant complete control.”

The movies make you want things, Tiny.

Joey’s words echoed in my mind, although for Enzo it hadn’t been a movie that inspired want, but real life. And unlike Joey, Enzo wasn’t talking about wanting the cars or the clothes or the fancy apartment. He wanted the power.

“And me?” I whispered. “Where do I fit in?”

“I’ve come a long way since those days. I no longer pray for the things I want. I just do what it takes to get them.” His arms wrapped around me, one hand stretched taut over my stomach and the other capturing a breast. “Then I meet you, and that control begins slipping through my fingers.” He pulled me back against him, and I could feel the hard length of his erection through the thin towel. “I don’t like it.”

The hell you don’t. I met his eyes in the mirror. “Your body feels differently.”

His breath warmed my neck. “Yes.” He moved his hands over me, squeezing my breasts and hips.

Don’t trust him, warned a voice in my head. But my nipples peaked under his touch, and my head lolled backward as he pulled me even tighter against him. The ransom money slipped from my fingers and hit the floor again. “This is all wrong,” I said, my voice as weak as my resolve.

“Maybe.” He slid one hand down over my pelvic bone and reached under my towel with searching fingers. “Maybe not. I’ve been thinking today that we could help each other. We each have something the other wants.”

Lord have mercy, I did want him. As he slipped one finger inside me, I remembered how he’d awakened every nerve ending in my body, the way he’d filled me to bursting with need.

“You’re wet already,” he whispered.

“I—I just took a bath,” I said, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing what he did to my body without even touching it.

He laughed softly as his fingers stroked the silky folds between my legs. “Does that mean you don’t want to get dirty again?”

Resistance was leeching itself from my bones. My legs can’t hold me up. If I didn’t stop him now, I knew I never would. Pushing his arms aside, I moved away from him, holding the towel tight. I spoke firmly, and I meant the words. “The only thing I want is for your family to leave mine alone.”

He looked at me, his breath coming heavy. “I could arrange that. But I want something in return.”

“Take the necklace. I don’t want it.”