“I want to know how much it’s worth. How much I’m worth. I’m hoping more than ten grand.”
“I’m doing it as a favor.”
She sits up and looks up into my face. “Like plant sitting, or helping someone paint a room? Or taking in the deliveries when they’re away?”
Then her face brightens. “Hey, I’ve got money. How about I pay you to kidnap my father and my idiot brother?”
“After I give you back to them? Sure.”
“No.” She bites me even harder. “What would be the point of that? No, now. Instead of you giving me back to them.”
I tell her, “You’re looking at this all wrong. You want to hire a kidnapper who would sell out his client? You need to think things through better.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why are you so determined to make me hate you?”
“Because I’m having no luck making me hate you.”
“Do you need to hate me?”
“It will be hard to do my job if I don’t.”
“If you were going to do it, you would have done it by now.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“I’d fucking seriously hope not.”
“What? What do you think I’m going to do to you?”
“I told you. Anyway, it’s obvious. You’ve been hired to kill me. I’m just waiting for you to bundle me into the trunk of the anonymous car outside, drive me out to the desert, and unload a few clips of ammunition into me.”
“You’re really crazy, you know that?” I pull her close. “I couldn’t do that to you.”
“I assumed that was what was taking you so long.”
“No, I’m waiting to hear.” I shouldn’t tell her. But I do. “I have to take you to your father, or I’ll hand you to Liam O’Malley, and he’s going to take you to your father. There’s some politics or something.”
She slumps. “My father wants to marry me.”
“God, that’s kind of sick. I don’t think I can go along with that.”
“I don’t mean he wants to be married to me.” She takes another bite. “Idiot. He wants to marry me to one of his henchmen. The worst. A sadistic creep called Drago.”
Chapter Eleven
Mia
The house is a furnished rental, as anonymous and style-free on the inside as all the identical white bungalows around here are on the outside.
I don’t know if I believe him, that he’s not planning to kill me. Even if he’s not planning it, he might do it anyway. I can’t trust a thing that any of these mob guys say.
I should know. All my family are mob guys.
While he cooks, I take a look around. The windows are all locked. Naturally. And the doors to the outside.
He’s got a bedroom that doesn’t look particularly comfortable. Furnished out of a warehouse like the rest of the place. The only thing it has going for it is some books. I like his taste in reading.
I use the bathroom that’s off his room.. My white shirt is all messed up, so when I get out of the shower, I take a look in the wardrobe. He has a couple more of those nice black shirts. I take one and try it on.
It looks pretty hot on me. I wear it with most of the buttons undone. It looks a riot without my pants. But I’m not rocking that look for him.
That wouldn’t fit the plan.
The steak smells great. The fries are perfect and he serves me a lovely fresh salad to go with it.
“If it’s my last meal, though, shouldn’t I get to choose it?”
“You really don’t trust me.”
I shrug.
“What’s an honest, hardworking kidnapper to do?”
He offers me beer or red wine. I take water. He has a beer.
After I taste the steak, I tell him, “This is great. You really can cook.”
“The trick is kosher salt. You give it a dusting, rub it in. Ideally, you should leave it in the fridge a couple of hours.”
“I like that you serve it rare, though. I hate overcooked steak.”
“I’m loving my shirt on you.”
I smile. “You like it? I love these on you, too. I love it especially with you jacket. Mind if I try that on, too?”
He smiles, “Sure. Try it. I’m not letting you keep my jacket.” But he says, “You can keep the shirt. You’ll make me and it very happy.”
He really is a nice guy. That’s going to make it hard.
I step out to the garage to get his jacket. It’s a beautifully made leather coat. It fits me pretty well.
I do what I need, I walk back into the kitchen, and I give him a twirl before I sit down to finish my steak.
He looks me up and down, approving.
“It looks pretty fucking good on you. I’d love to get you one made up. I don’t know how the hood you’re supposed to marry would feel about that.”
“Drago doesn’t feel things. Anyway, I’m not going to marry him. I thought I was clear on that.”