Falling for the Killer

“Seven days,” he said. “Get your shit together and come home. The daughter I knew would never have done this to her family.”

He turned and stalked off. I watched him go, feeling stunned.

I knew my father was a hard man, even a bastard, but he’d been good enough to me growing up. There wasn’t kindness or warmth, but he took care of me and never raised his voice. He expected things, and so long as we didn’t let him down, he gave us more or less whatever we wanted.

That man felt like a stranger now.

I couldn’t believe he thought there was any way I would marry Stuart. The fact that he didn’t outright say it was an impossibility scared the hell out of me and only proved what I always feared—my father cared more about the family name than he did about his own daughter. I expected it from my mother, but there was some stupid part of me that hoped my father wasn’t that horrible.

I was wrong, so very wrong.

I leaned forward, face in my hands, and cried.

Gian pulled up a chair and sat next to me. I leaned on him and he held me. I didn’t care about the people that walked past, and he didn’t move to stop me. He only comforted me, Gian and his big, strong arms, until I finally got myself together.

“I take it that didn’t go well,” he said softly.

“Seven days,” I said. “He’s giving me a week to come home or I’m cut off.”

Gian nodded slowly. “I guess now you know at least.”

I looked at him and wondered if maybe my father was right. I was taking an enormous risk, coming to Gian like this. If I went home, I’d have a trust fund again, I’d have financial support. My father could be convinced to let me marry someone else, and Stuart would be a dark footnote in my life. I’d have my baby, and there’d be nannies and family to get me through.

With Gian, I didn’t know what would happen. Maybe he’d support me, or maybe he’d get sick of me after a while and leave. I could put on weight from the baby and he might hate me for that, or start cheating on me, or any number of horrible things. I felt a shiver down my spine and realized I was so far from sane, so far from anything remotely normal, and had no way of getting back.

I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to trust Gian, but I didn’t know him. He was still a stranger, even if he was a beautiful, delicious stranger, even if I wanted him.

“Come on,” he said softly, and took my hand. “Let’s go home. You don’t have to make any decisions right now.”

I smiled a little and realized that this mobster was being kinder to me than my own father.

What a fucked-up world.

“Okay,” I said, and let him lead me away.

10

Gian

I visited Brett in the hospital after Ash’s meeting with her father. The kid was happy to see me. His face was all fucked up and he had a concussion and a broken arm, but seemed in good spirits.

“Can’t wait to get back out there, man,” he said.

“Rest,” I said. “Heal up. You’ll be fine. And don’t worry about the bill, I got you.”

He looked at me like I was the greatest guy in the world.

I felt like the biggest piece of shit.

Well, maybe the second biggest. Ash’s father was the biggest piece of garbage I’d ever seen. The way he treated his daughter was appalling, like they were some fucking nineteenth century royals, and she was his property to be given away in a marriage of his own convenience. It was sick, and it broke Ash to pieces, I could tell.

I didn’t want to leave her alone, so I picked her back up after the hospital. She lounged back in the passenger seat as my truck rolled slowly along my territory, and I started pointing out some spots to her as we cruised along.

“That strip club’s owned by a guy that pays into the family,” I said, pointing at a rundown corner joint with paper over the windows. “That cover over there’s a good spot for the drug boys, but they must be somewhere else today.”

“How many soldiers do you have?” she asked.

“Fifteen officially,” I said. “And a lot more unofficially. It’s better to keep the crew small and tight. Most of the guys that work for me don’t even know what I look like, much less my name.”

“What a different world,” she said softly, then laughed to herself. “But I guess not that much different. I doubt my father’s employees know him.”

“I doubt they’d want to,” I said, smiling a little. “That house is a safehouse, and I own that bar over there, and that bodega on that corner.”