I chuckle. “You’re right. That was lame. But also probably true.”
She stops and tips her face up to mine. “Thanks for being so understanding.” She rises on her tiptoes and hooks a hand behind my neck to kiss me.
Cazzo.
I want her. I always want this girl, and when she kisses me like that, it’s hard to turn off the male aggression she produces in me. I walk her backward until her ass hits my car and press my body up against hers. Wedge one thigh between her legs.
“Don’t be so fucking sweet,” I growl, nipping down her neck. “I don’t want to have to take you back inside and fuck you until you can’t walk straight.”
She giggles, but I still feel the fatigue radiating off her, so I take mercy.
I give her ass a firm, possessive squeeze. “Next time I won’t be so lenient,” I warn, knowing she likes when I get punitive.
“Mmm,” she agrees and kisses me again.
And then it’s back on—her lips sliding over mine, her tongue sweeping into my mouth.
I bend my knees and grind my cock at the apex of her thighs until she moans and tugs at my hair.
“For tonight your punishment will be not getting fucked,” I tell her as I pull away and take in her flushed cheeks, the swollen lips.
She’s so fucking beautiful.
“Mean,” she murmurs, eyes locked on mine, somehow making the one syllable sound sexy and inviting.
“Yes,” I agree, unlocking the car and shifting my weight off her. I open her door and help her in.
I should be content. I’m taking her home, but she’s still giving herself to me. These kisses are honest. The intensity of her gaze is real. Everything between us seems normal. Close even.
Why then, do I have this mounting feeling of dread?
Chapter 14
Marissa
Saturday I go in to help at Milano’s. Everyone’s there—both my grandparents, Lori, Mia, me. They don’t really need me. Maybe I’m just there out of guilt— I don’t know. Trying to still be loved despite my disappointing choice in men. Despite my betrayal.
It’s our busiest day, and I’m working the front counter. That’s why I don’t really notice when he comes in.
I take orders and ring people up and then suddenly, fucking Arnie is standing across the counter.
Holding a gun.
The room spins. Warps.
I have that freaky fishbowl feeling of nothing in focus but his giant face in front of me. Scratch that, the cold muzzle pointed between my eyeballs.
The cafe goes dead quiet.
The metal at my forehead trembles.
“You lost me my job, you little bitch.” He’s drunk. “You couldn’t give me any of that pussy, but you put out for him, huh? Had to go and spread your legs for the new owner? Did you suck his cock, too? Is that how you got me fired?”
A wild, raucous shaking starts in my knees and travels all the way up my skeleton until every bit of me shudders non-stop. My life is in danger, but what registers more is the humiliation.
He’s calling me a whore in front of my grandparents. My eight-year-old cousin.
My aunt.
That’s the part I want to stop.
Maybe because my brain can’t even contemplate the danger I’m in right now.
And then, it starts to.
The memory of six dead bodies on this floor floods my mind. How much blood there was. What it looks like to see brains splattered on the wall.
Paolo paid for cleaners to come and scrub the place last time.
Who will clean my blood?
Crazy thoughts. I’m having crazy thoughts.
“Huh?” Arnie shouts, spittle flying from his mouth. “Did you blow him real good to get me fired?”
The door opens silently. Somehow I know not to look in that direction. Not to take my eyes from the crazy man in front of me.
The guy who’s going to shoot me in front of my family.
And suddenly I want to sob over everything unfinished with Gio. How I haven’t really let him in yet. How I want to.
What would it have been like if I had? Would we have found happiness?
Slowly, very slowly, I raise my shaking palms in the air to show my surrender. “I’m sorry, Arnie,” I whisper. It’s a lie, but I’d say anything right now to keep him from hurting my family. To keep him from open firing in this cafe like Junior did. Gunning down more than just me.
In my periphery, I see the slow approach of a figure. I don’t look, but I register dark clothing.
Gio.
In his usual finely tailored Italian suit. Without moving my eyes, I try to track him. He moves ever-so-slowly. Reaches for his waistband in back, but comes up empty.
Because I made him stop carrying a gun.
The cafe is silent. No one else moves. Mia lets out a small whimper behind me.
“I’m sorry, Arnie,” I repeat, tears filling my eyes. “Can we talk about this? What would it take to make this right?”