The Woman in the Wrong Place (Grassi Framily)

I wanted to object to that, to claim it was dysfunctional to love anyone else more than you loved yourself.

But, really, what did I know?

I’d dated nothing but the wrong guys, ones I knew almost from the beginning were going to have an expiration date. Yet I’d still hung on, wanted to be wrong, wanted it to work out.

Who was to say what I might be willing to do for the right man?

Would I find myself staying even if I found the lifestyle too uncertain, too nerve-wracking? Just because being without them would be too painful?

Honestly, I didn’t know.

“It sounds more like the good outweighs the bad,” I insisted, not wanting to think of it like a lack of choice. I didn’t want to think about these women in this Family, these women I might join the ranks of some day, as that weak. It was way more likely that they had looked at the whole of the situation, weighed the pros and cons, and decided the occasional all-night worry session was worth all the love, the affection, the family, the life they’d built.

That seemed much more likely to me.

And while things were new, I was starting to see how a previously “normal” woman could learn to accept the less savory parts of these men’s lifestyle.

This was one night of anxiety.

Among a week of caretaking and intimacy and sharing.

If I amplified that by more weeks, months, or years, yeah, I could absolutely see myself saying this occasional rough night would be worth all of that.

I mean, not that I was even sure we were heading toward months and years. It was too soon to assume anything like that.

But I liked him.

A lot.

And I was pretty sure he felt the same way.

“Josie,” Massimo called, his voice strange, making me turn to look.

“Yeah?”

“Give me a straight answer to this, yeah?” he asked, brow raised. “It will be between the two of us,” he added.

“Ah… okay?”

“Why were your shoes in Matteo’s trunk?” he asked, making me stiffen. “Yeah, I thought so,” he said snorting. “Why the fuck were you in his trunk?”

“I saw him shoot someone,” I admitted. “And he saw me see him do it. He said he was trying to protect me,” I added.

“And how did you get from the basement to back at work again?”

“I, ah, I hit Matteo with a toilet tank cover and ran for my life,” I admitted, getting even more proud of myself in hindsight.

“And then?” Massimo prompted.

“And then I, ah, blackmailed him,” I admitted. “I set a price for my silence. He was willing to pay it.”

“That’s a fucked up love story if I’ve ever heard one, babe,” Massimo said, chuckling. “And yeah yeah yeah, I know. It’s not love yet,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You two have been fucking like bunnies. And you look at each other with puppy eyes. But okay. It’s not love.”

“I don’t… he doesn’t…” I started to object as I slid the food into the oven. I mean, I probably was looking at him with puppy eyes. He’d been so good with me. Attentive, gentle, sweet. And then there was the steamy stuff. Which was off the charts.

“You sure your scans came back clean?” Massimo asked, shaking his head. And I knew him well enough at this point to know what he was saying: Because you must have something wrong up there if you can’t see it. “Fine. It isn’t love yet. But it is love-adjacent. So what is the use in…” he trailed off then, his entire body stiffening as I became aware of a slight popping sound, something I would have shrugged off if Massimo hadn’t gone so tense.

“What—“ I started to ask, but Massimo raised a finger to his lips as his other hand reached inside his jacket, producing his gun.

I don’t really know what overcame me right then.

But my hand reached inside the cabinet for a small cast iron skillet.

“Get in the pantry,” Massimo whispered, pointing to it in a way that said he was not going to take any objections.

And me, well, I was nobody’s female action hero, no matter how many times I might have fantasized about being the one to save the day when I would watch said movies.

That wasn’t me.

I didn’t have training.

I couldn’t fend off one attacker.

I, apparently, was capable of actually fainting if I got scared enough.

I would only be a hindrance to Massimo and Aurelio if I insisted on trying to help.

So I gripped my frying pan a little tighter and rushed into the pantry, but left the door cracked just enough to see. Because not having any idea what was going on was not something a smart woman did, right? You had to know what was happening, what the threats were, if you were going to be found, if you needed to prepare for a fight.