Broken Beginnings (The Moretti Crime Family 3)

I try my hardest not to think of Lucca. I didn’t get this far to turn around and go right back to where I was. I’m living my best life here, even if I’m barely getting by. I’d rather have nothing than be trapped under his thumb again.

My apartment is only a block away, and I’m thankful for that since my feet are aching fiercely tonight. The wind howls through my hair, chilling me to the bone, and by the time I reach the complex, I’m an ice block.

The complex itself isn’t anything special. There’s no elevator and nothing fancy about the place. There’s an entrance, and then you walk up the stairs to your floor. I’m on the second floor, so I drag myself up twenty-four steps and turn right to walk another twelve feet before I reach the door to my apartment.

Fisting the keys in my hand, the metal bites into my flesh. For the first time in six months, I feel nervous. Anxious. Like something bad is about to happen.

I shake the thought away and force my fist to unclench the keys. It’s nothing. I have no reason to worry about anything. If Lucca hasn’t found me yet, then he most likely never will.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and I unlock the door as fast as I can. As soon as I open the door and step inside, I reach for the light switch. My fingers tremble along the wall until they connect with the switch.

I flick it on and off, but it does nothing. Fear trickles in, the floor creaks behind me, and before I can scream, someone grabs me. The scream lodges itself in the back of my throat. I’m dragged backward, an arm locks around my chest, and I collide with a hard chest. A hand slaps over my mouth and presses against my lips.

I struggle for half a second before a familiar woodsy scent invades my senses.

“I told you you’d never be free of me. That I would always find you, butterfly…”

Red hot anger rushes through me, and I part my lips and bite the meaty part of his palm while stomping my foot onto his at the same time.

The combination causes him to release me with a curse, and I rush to the other side of the room, darting for the lamp on the side table. The light turns on, illuminating the soft space, and I grab the nearest object, which is a broom. Under no circumstances do I want to look at him, but that’s a little hard, being that he’s right in front of me.

“Leave. Get out of my house, or I’ll call the police,” I yell.

Little does he know I don’t have a phone, but that doesn’t matter.

My warning must not scare him because he just stands there like a statue, staring at me with his penetrating gaze. He looks the same as he did six months ago when he dropped me off at the university. Not that I expected him to look different. He’s still stupidly gorgeous with an edge of danger.

“What are you doing with that?” He gestures toward the broom, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

I adjust my grip on the broom. “If you don’t get out, I’ll hit you with it.”

“Will you now?” He smirks, and that smirk makes me want to hit him ten times more with this thing. “I’d pay money to see that.”

His gaze flicks away from me, and I can see him taking in the contents of my apartment.

“You need to leave. I don’t want you here.” I’m more insistent this time. If I have to, I’ll scream, and someone will call the police. Larry down the hall calls the police on just about anything.

“This place is dangerous. I mean, I was able to get in with little effort and could’ve easily hurt you in the time it would take for someone to call the police here.”

“My safety isn’t your concern anymore. Get. Out.” I punctuate each word, pointing toward the door.

The amusement leaves his face and is replaced with a sober expression. “Your safety always has and always will be my concern.”

“I don’t need you, and I want you to leave. I might have meant something to you before, but now I’m not your concern. Leave. Go home.”

Lucca must sense my seriousness because he lifts his hands as if to signal that he is harmless. “Fine. Fine. I’ll leave. I’ll go home.”

I almost sigh out loud. That was too easy. This has to be a trap.

He snickers, a triumphant smile overtaking his face, making him seem young and carefree. “By leave, I mean for tonight, and by home, I mean to the apartment next door.”

Fucking asshole!

I’m so angry I toss the broom at him, the tip of it hits the toe of his boot. He looks at the object and back up at me. I want to punch him, ruin his face, tell him how much I hate him for hurting me, but I keep my lips pressed together.