“Why not sell the mansions?”
Something thick and heavy shifts in my belly. Why not, indeed?
“You said it’s your parents’ mansion? Or it’s yours? What did you get out of this deal?”
I’m pissed off by the tears that spring into my eyes. I blink furiously, looking away.
Tony abruptly slams back in his chair like he’s pissed. “I fucking knew it. Don’t tell me everyone around you is making themselves comfortable while you’re hanging out to dry. I already want to kill your asshole manager.”
I get up from the table, sending my chair skittering back behind me. I run for the door, covering my mouth with one hand before the sob caught in my throat comes out.
Tony’s surprisingly quick for such a big guy. He’s right out the door behind me, wrapping a strong arm around my waist and pulling me against him. “Songbird, don’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” His chin rests on the top of my head, his large hand splays over my belly, stroking heat in my body, despite my angst.
“I’m not crying,” I croak through my tears.
“Shh.” His lips are at my ear. “Of course you’re not.” He turns me around and produces a handkerchief. Who in the hell uses a handkerchief anymore? I dry my eyes with it and we both look back through the plate glass window to see the waitress delivering our burgers. “Come on, baby. I know you’re hungry,” he coaxes.
I hand the handkerchief back and push back through the door.
I sit down, but I’ve lost my appetite now. I tear off the sheets from my notepad and crumple them up, wanting to destroy the evidence, kill that story.
“When this is over, songbird, I hope you’ll do something.”
I drag my eyes up to his face.
“Buy yourself a mansion. Or a sweet ride. Or whatever lights you up. Treat yourself to everything that floats your boat.”
I pick up a sweet potato fry and dip it in the fancy sauce with a dismissive shrug.
“Nothing turns you on? Or you already have everything you want?”
I shrug again. It’s pretty fun playing mute. Lets me off the hook in many ways.
“Then…” He wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Then, I hope you’ll fire that testa di cazzo manager of yours.”
The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that’s sort of always there with any thought concerning Hugh returns.
“Nevermind. It’s none of my business.”
No, I write. You’re right. Hugh has to go.
I don’t know why it was so hard for me to arrive at that. I guess because my dad hired him and I figured he knew best. But borrowing money from the mob and putting all of our lives at risk is grounds for dismissal. I’m not sure anyone would argue against that.
Tony looks at me steadily. “I have your back. Whenever you want to do it. No pressure.” He holds his hands up. “But I don’t think you need him here.”
I tap the notepad with my pen as the thoughts tumble around my head. Finally, I write, I need to square up with your outfit first.
Tony eats his last fry. “You worried I’ll off him?” My shock must show on my face because he quickly shakes his head. “Oh, you want to keep his feet to the fire. That makes sense. Not that he’s much of a buffer, the coglione.” He pulls out a small notebook and checks it. “I got fifteen grand for his furnishings, by the way.”
My stomach knots. The casual way Tony discusses things like offing people or cleaning out their houses of furniture sends warning bells going off in my head.
To make matters worse, I think he guesses my thoughts, because he grows sober, almost regretful, but with a streak of tight resolve. It’s the same quiet he gave me after we stopped at Hugh’s and I freaked out yesterday.
And it’s that little piece that possibly gets under my skin more than anything. Tony knows what he is. And he knows it’s wrong.
And I’m pretty sure he regrets it on some level.
But his loyalty is to the Tacones.
He may have my back with Hugh, but he’s the full-on enemy when it comes to my situation with the mob. I need to remember that.
I need to stop spending time with this man. Because I’m in danger of falling for him, and that would be the worst possible thing.
Tony
Pepper’s edgy on the way back to the Bellissimo and I know why. She remembered I’m the guy holding her tits to the fire right now. I’m the guy she’s supposed to be afraid of.
I would do well to remember that, too.
Because I was just about on the verge of promising I’d never let anyone hurt her. Which isn’t an oath I can make.
Even knowing I need to get space from this girl, she rides my senses the whole drive home. Her crisp apple and cucumber scent fills my car, her perfect little body keeps drawing my eyes and I long to do or say anything to see that unguarded smile she tosses out far too infrequently.