The Woman in the Trunk

It made no sense to focus so much on such low-hanging fruit.

My father, though, was a man with a lot of ego. If he thought someone slighted him in even the smallest way, that he was being fucked over, or—worse yet—laughed at, he got petty.

Like kidnapping a man's daughter because he wanted a little extra out of someone who already struggled to pay his fees.

The Lastra Family Bakery had been a staple in their neighborhood for generations. It was successful, but no bakery was rolling in endless amounts of cash.

And I couldn't imagine what Leon Lastra could have done to piss off my father, to slight him in any way. It was painfully clear the man was a fan of the mafia, was desperate to be affiliated in a way that wasn't about being indebted to us.

They weren't a rarity, these mafia groupies.

And they came in both types.

Women who wanted to fuck a powerful man.

And men who wanted to be powerful.

Unfortunately for Leon, he wasn't someone who had "big earner" stamped on his forehead. He had no chance. And he was the only schmuck who didn't see that.

It didn't bother me that he was desperate and needy.

What did bother me, was the lack of genuine concern for his own daughter.

When he'd found out that we had her, that we were keeping her until he paid, he hadn't batted an eye. He hadn't begged for her back. He hadn't pleaded with us to treat her well, to let him see her, to at least speak to her.

He'd just accepted the reality.

As though she was a pawn that he was willing to sacrifice.

It shouldn't have mattered to me, his feelings toward his daughter, their obviously strained relationship. It wasn't my business. She wasn't my business.

But I'd had the girl in my place for just a couple of days, and I seemed to give more of a shit about her well-being than he did when he'd been with her for her entire life.

I'd even called him out on his disregard for her.

"You don't seem too concerned with Gigi's well-being," I'd observed, leaning back in my chair in the restaurant we'd met at because I knew it couldn't be bugged. Because we owned it. Because we kept guards in it twenty-four-seven so that no one could ever sneak in.

We'd learned a lot from all the wire-tapping and raids of our predecessors. None of us were planning on catching a charge because some fed overheard us talking over dinner or in our own damn living rooms.

"That girl," he said, shaking his head. "You must have your hands full with her. Always too much lip, not enough respect. "

"One might argue that those are learned traits," I shot back, annoyed.

"Psh, she's on her own."

"On her own?" I repeated, brows furrowing.

"Yeah, she's a grown-ass woman. There's no talking to her. You know how women are."

"Wait," I said, sitting up suddenly, knocking into the table as I did so, making Leon jolt. "What did you just say?"

"Women. They're more trouble than they're worth."

Women.

Not girls.

Women.

"Leon," I said, feeling my stomach knot. "How old is Giana?" I asked.

"Oh," he said, waving a hand in the air. "Twenty-two. Going on twenty-three."

"Twenty-two?" I repeated, something in me rebelling at that knowledge, unable to accept it.

"She looks younger, yeah?" he asked, nodding. "She gets that all the time. I have some assholes accusing me of abusing labor laws when they see her at work late at night. But she's an adult. And she's got a mouth on her. That she got from her mother."

Giana was a grown-ass woman.

Not even just barely legal.

Which would have still felt gross. If you fantasized about fucking the youngest woman you wouldn't go to jail for, there was something wrong with you.

But she was into her twenties.

There had been a barrier in my mind about her once I got a good look at her face, when I decided she was underage.

Anything thoughts of her physically were behind that wall.

I did think, occasionally, that parts of her personality were mature, but there was no thinking about her anatomy.

Now, though?

A wrecking ball had crashed through that wall.

And all the images of her in my home came back, the parts that had been blurred out before in crisp detail.

Mingle that beauty with the personality I was starting to appreciate, and yeah, there was a tug of desire so strong I almost got up and walked out of the restaurant right then, without having hammered out details with Leon.

As it was, I forced myself to sit through the conversation where he made excuses I'd come to expect, and I had to make a threat that he surely came to the table expecting as well.

When we left, he walked away with an "or else" that he had to deal with.

And I walked away armed with new knowledge.