Beautiful Thief (Omerta Law 2)

“Don’t say that name around me again, he’s dead to me!” He points at me, his chubby chin jiggling as he talks with rage. I scoff, out of everything I just said, that’s what he takes away from it; the mention of my brother’s name.

Without another glance in my direction, he gets into the back of his car, and Leo gives me a sympathetic look.

“What am I supposed to do with her?” I snap, still holding on to the poor thing.

“Like the man said, whatever you want.” Leo shrugs and gets into the car, leaving.

Another vehicle gone, it’s even darker under the bridge. I can hear the shallow breaths coming from the woman as she clings on to me as if she’s too scared to move. Using my strength, I try to pull her to her feet.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I whisper, and her legs lock, allowing her to stand. She’s short, at least a foot shorter than me. Her head hangs, her hair in her face, her chest rising up and down as she gasps for air.

“You can leave, you can run right now and I won’t stop you,” I tell her, wanting her to be free. I’m done with my father. Fuck being a DeAngelo. If this is what it means to have power, then I don’t want it.

Outstretching my hand, I tuck a finger under her chin, the skin dirty and cold, and force her to look up at me. Her breath skips across my hand as she looks at me with so much fear I can literally feel it in my own bones.

“Run,” I whisper gravely.

Her eyes flutter, and she falls right back into my arms. She fainted. Fuck.

Putting her in the back seat, I drive all the way back to the city, nervous she’s going to wake up and jump from the car any second. I keep my eye on her from the rearview mirror. She’s malnourished, dirty, and the dress she has on is hideous. A cheap knock-off of Cinderella.

What the fuck was my father thinking? What would Mom think if she knew? I might be a lot of fucked up things, but apparently even I have a line I will not cross.

Finally reaching my apartment, I get out and feel a mist of rain cascading down with a slight wind. I open the back door and find the girl still out cold. I look around to make sure there’s nobody around, thankfully this hour of the night traffic is light and I don’t see anyone out walking their damn dog. I look at my apartment building and the windows overhead, this is going to look bad but I can’t just leave her in the damn car. I pick her up and toss her over my shoulder. She weighs practically nothing and is dirty as hell. She has no shoes on either. Jesus, I feel like I have a rug over my shoulder that was just taken straight from the goddamn desert. My anxiety that someone will say something has me able to carry her with ease, my steps hurried as I try to dash into the building.

Inside the lobby, lights from the crystal chandeliers display a beautiful glow against the polished floor.

“Um, Mr. DeAngelo, should I call a doctor?”

My eyes snap to Henry, the doorman who is standing behind the desk. His dark blue bellhop suit fitting him well, matching his blue eyes. He looks at me with worry on his face, the wrinkled on his forehead proving so. During the day, Jannet works the desk. She’s a sassy black woman with a pear-shaped body, always has her nose in a book. She’s completely oblivious to whom walks through here, unlike Henry.

“No, Henry, I have it under control,” I tell him.

He follows me to the elevator, looking me and the woman over. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, can you have my car parked though? And Henry?” I step inside the elevator and he comes to a full stop just outside.

“Yes, sir?”

“You didn’t see us,” I tell him with a threatening tone, raising an eyebrow.

He nods frantically. His hands fidgeting just as the doors shut.

“Jesus,” I whisper under my breath. I might seem like steel on the outside, but inside, I’m not any stronger than a tower of cards. I’m waiting for the slightest breeze to knock me off my feet.

Inside my apartment, I head for the guest room and lay her on the made-up queen-size bed. Her head resting on the white pillow, dirt flakes off her locks marking the sheets. She’s filthy.

Taking a step back, I look her over, her long hair in her face. I still haven’t seen her fully. Reaching out to slip the hair from her face, I get mere inches away from her skin before I freeze, recoiling my hand back to my chest. The thought of touching her, skin contact alone making my fingertips burn. Turning away from her, I open the closet and find a button-up shirt. I pull it off the hook and lay it on the end of the bed, and grab some sweats from the dresser drawer. They’ll be way too big for her, but it’s better than what she has on. Maybe when she wakes, she can shower and change.