Bound by Danger: An Enemies to Lovers Mafia Romance (Born in Crime Book 2), page 23
“We’ll figure it out. You can talk to me. I’m not someone from outside this life. That’s why we work so well together. I can tell you things. You can tell me things. I don’t have to hide who I really am from you, and you don’t have to hide from me.”
Her eyes swim, but she finally nods. “Okay.”
“You’re extra, doubly sure that you don’t want me to come in there?”
She chuckles, but shakes her head. “You have more than enough stuff to keep you busy at your warehouse. You should get over there. Your men will be making jokes, knowing that you took me from the shelter last night and didn’t bring me back to my uncle’s.”
“If they want their nuts cut off and fed to them, they can make jokes. So, nah, that’s not happening and you don’t have to worry about it. My men don’t make jokes. Marco is good shit. I trust him. I wouldn’t have anyone working for me who I didn’t trust or couldn’t stand. Our family has had enough of that in the past.”
Sara nods. She knows all about Piero and what he did to Elisa. I can see that she believes me, too. She really does trust me. Just like that. That knowledge doesn’t make me feel like I have an edge, though. It only makes me more determined than ever to never betray that trust. I realize this is a total one-eighty, and considering my past, I should be having a meltdown internally, driving until I get lost or running so hard that I either escape myself or exhaust myself, but I have no urge to go anywhere.
And, no, my balls aren’t shriveling and my manhood doesn’t feel like it’s getting called into question.
Sara kisses me and then gets out of the car. She waves at me, and I watch her walk to the door. She’s strong. So damn strong. She sees herself to the door, and she lets herself in. I know that’s the way she wanted it. She’s not scared to do this on her own. I know she’ll be more than able to handle herself in there. Not just handle herself, either; she’ll appreciate all the people who are worried about her and who love her. They probably will try to lock her down. She might even have let them before, but I don’t think she’ll go along with it so easily now.
After I’m sure that Sara’s safe inside, I peel away from the curb, heading toward the warehouse. I could use a few hours of solitude—not to clear my mind, but because I need to focus. Last night made me realize more than a few things about myself. It made me realize that John was right. I never wanted this for my future, but when football was up, this was what I had. My brother’s giving me a way out, though. Giving me something that I can see myself enjoying. We won’t stop all the shit on the side, but heading into the future, maybe we can tone it down. Our uncle won’t necessarily like it, but even he’s coming around to heading in a new direction. It will take time anyway, and since it’s mostly John’s idea and John is being groomed to one day take over for our uncle, maybe Leone won’t have such a problem with it after all.
I’m so lost in thoughts of a dealership and plans for it, and also more worry for Sara than she’d like me to admit to, that I nearly miss the flash of black in my peripheral as I park my car in the compound beside the warehouse. But I don’t miss it, and I throw open the door and leap out. If someone is planning on shooting me again, in broad fucking daylight, they’re going to have to deal with a moving target.
I scan the area, already moving. I run in a zigzag, heading away from the warehouse. The compound gate is closing, but before it can get all the way shut, I dash through. The flash came from outside the high walls of chain link and barbed wire. I have good eyes, and I wasn’t wrong.
As I’m running past a second warehouse near ours—a big metal building that’s sagging in several spots—I see a black flash dart out from behind it. The shadow tries to blend in with other shadows, but it’s far from being one. I let out a yell and start running hard. It’s fucking annoying in these shoes, which are made for looking good and not for sprinting, but I’m still as fit as I was in college. After the knee surgery, the rehab was long and painful, but then I made sure that I got back into shape and stayed that way.
I tear after that shadow, uncaring that it might be a trap meant to lure me into some black space where no one will see me go down. People don’t always shoot to kill. I know that, especially after Piero stole Elisa. Sometimes, what other people want is a live hostage to barter with. If that’s the case, I’m playing right into their hands, but I keep going anyway—keep pushing, keep running. I need to know who the hell’s been coming after me so that I can end this.
I race past buildings, the wind screaming in my face and my shoes screaming on my feet. I keep pumping until my clothes are soaked. I can run for ages without getting tired. My lungs are like balloons, so I could keep this up for hours.
Whoever I’m chasing doesn’t seem to have the same stamina. I can tell they’re flagging, and that makes me push myself harder. We hit an open stretch down the street and, unbelievably enough, the bastard, who’s dressed all in black, darts out of the shadows into the full daylight and goes sprinting on down the street. He looks behind him to see how far away I am, and I catch sight of black hair and black eyes. A darker skin tone, though he could be tanned.
What the fuck? Is he Italian?
The only thing that saves him is that, at that moment, a large dump truck filled with gravel comes rumbling down the street. The bastard darts just behind it and I have to stop or be run the fuck over. I come up short, and when the truck passes, I break into a sprint again, but it’s too late. I check every single bit of the street and go past every building, every alley, but there’s nothing to be found. The guy finally blended back into the shadows.
But I saw him. I saw his face. And if he’s Italian, that is a real head-fuck, because we aren’t at war with any other families right now, Italian or otherwise. As I head back to the warehouse at a fast jog, sticking to the shadows myself because my skin is prickling with unease, I tell myself that the guy could have been anyone. Dark hair can come from a fucking box or a barber. Darker skin and dark eyes could mean anyone. It doesn’t mean that he’s Italian.
Or that he’s familiar to me.
By the time I let myself into the warehouse, sopping wet under my dress shirt and jacket, I head straight into my office. I kick off my shoes, peel off my soaked jacket, and unbutton my shirt. It doesn’t help. I need a damned towel or a shower.
I shiver again for no reason other than the fact that the brief glimpse of that guy’s face has stayed with me.
Why the fuck did he look familiar?
I was running. He was running. It was the briefest of glances. I have to be wrong. The guy honestly reminded me of my brother, but that makes zero fucking sense.
Speaking of John, I was supposed to call him an hour ago. I’m amazed that he hasn’t shown up, demanding to know why I didn’t touch base. He isn’t exactly patient after a clean-up crew gets called out. Maybe Elisa talked him down before she left for Sara’s. I can only hope.
I get out my phone and punch in his number. I have something more to talk about now, even beyond what happened last night.
Chapter 22
Sara
“He was a murderer, Sara. He was wanted in two different states.”
My mouth drops open—because of all the things I expected my uncle to say first, this isn’t it. They’re gathered around the breakfast table, which is kind of the place in my uncle’s house where we have our family meetings. My mom has put out a spread to feed, literally, about half of New York. I told them I’d be home by nine, and I’m incredibly and unfashionably late by half an hour, so everyone is finishing up. It’s fine with me since I’m not hungry anyway.
I do sit down, taking the empty chair beside Elisa. She immediately shifts her right hand under the table and grips my left in a tight squeeze. I squeeze back, and then grab some cold toast and reach for the jar of cherry jam. I have to make an effort to eat something or everyone will worry. Well, worry more.
And my uncle has gotten right into it like he usually does, albeit with unexpected information.
“A murderer?” Elisa is gasping. “What on earth? You… you can’t… how do they know that already?”
My uncle looks at Elisa with extreme tenderness. It’s nice she doesn’t know about all of the things that our men do, in the greatest detail. Even after her ordeal with being taken by Piero and being married to John, I’m kind of glad she’s still pretty sheltered for the most part.
“They ran his prints,” Uncle Gastone explains. “They did it last night. They had his background to me within twenty minutes of clean-up.”
Elisa turns to gape at me. She clearly didn’t know it was possible to move that fast when you aren’t the police. We have good men who can get just about anything done, though, and when they can’t, there’s always someone who can be bought somewhere.
“John knew last night,” Elisa mutters.
Okaaaaay, maybe I was wrong about her not knowing our men could move so fast. That’s not what she’s focusing on. John knew, and he didn’t tell her. “He wanted to keep it from you because he didn’t want you to worry,” I tell her under my breath.
“You have enough on your plate right now.” My mom stares at Elisa’s stomach. “John’s worried, that’s all. He doesn’t want you getting stressed.”
“Uh, did he not think that I’d find out here?”
“You’re safe here,” Uncle Carlo cuts in. “With family. He thought it would be better if we told you. Once you’d seen Sara’s safe with your own eyes, I imagine.”
“Better I found out here that a murderer tried to take Sara? Oh yeah. That’s sooo much better learning it here than him telling me. I trust him, and I love him, too. I don’t know what he was thinking! What else has he kept from me?”
Uncle Gastone lets that go. He seamlessly moves on to exactly what I thought he would. “From now on, Sara, no more shelter.”
“No, I want to go back to the guy!” Elisa insists, and I cast her a grateful look. She’s doing double duty here—trying to get the details and also saving my freaking bacon. “He was wanted for murder? How was he even here, working in plain sight?”
“He was wanted in two different states. He was here, but he changed his identity physically and otherwise. His real name was Phillip Longford. He was very troubled. We have his whole history.”
“It was random that he targeted me,” I say, maybe louder than I need to. I can’t look at anyone, so I grab up the toast and work at spreading jam. “It has nothing to do with the shelter. That could have happened anywhere.”
My uncles both look surprised. If they think I’m going to burst into tears and simper—which isn’t what I think they really think, though they do expect me to meekly accept their decisions for me like I have in the past—they have another think coming. As in, the Sara who doesn’t want to sit on her butt and be told to wait in a gilded tower for life to happen to her. For a marriage to some guy and for that to be my whole life. I don’t want to go from being my uncle’s obligation—notice how I didn’t say problem—to being someone else’s duty to protect and smother.
I clutch the butter knife like it can save me, and I make sure to keep any emotion out of my voice as I continue. My uncles don’t really understand emotion. I mean, they feel feelings and they love us, but if I get emotional, that’s something they’re really uncomfortable with. I don’t just mean tears either. A lot of joy all at once would be equally as hard for them to comprehend.
“I know you want to keep me safe,” I say evenly, looking between Uncle Carlo and Uncle Gastone. They’re both wearing suits, as per usual. My mom is actually wearing a black dress, too. They look like they came for a funeral. As in, the funeral of my future, but I’m not going to let that happen. “But, for me, it’s like being trapped and smothered. I dealt with the problem last night. I survived. And you’re not going to keep me from living my life—which, right now, means I’m going back to the shelter.”
Even Elisa is stunned at hearing me say that.
“I wouldn’t call surviving that kind of desperate situation dealing with it,” Uncle Carlo chokes. He looks to Uncle Gastone for support, and the other man nods.
“That’s right. Not getting yourself into a situation like that would have been preferable. You know that anything could have happened to you. Or to Dario. It could have turned out quite differently.”
“Yes, but it didn’t! Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean that I should be locked in a cage and never let out. You do it with your best intentions, but for me, it’s hard. Too hard. Taking away all my freedoms is a terrible punishment, even if you don’t view it that way. You’re men. You’ve had a thousand brushes with death. It’s like it’s a right of passage for you! Or your everyday line of work, but I…” I trail off when I see how white Elisa’s face has gotten. Her eyes flick to her dad. God, I’m such an idiot. Why did I go there? I try something else, if something not much smarter. “I can’t live in a bubble my whole life,” I offer, more quietly. “Elisa didn’t even want to be in this life, and she still ended up in it and ended up being taken and held against her will. It could happen to anyone, even when we’re protected.”
“That’s why we need to make doubly sure that you’re safe,” Uncle Gastone says, clearly so that I’ll drop all talk of Elisa and her abduction.
But I know that if I give in on this, I’m not going to be able to stand firm on everything. My uncles and my mom might be family, but I’ve been an adult for a long time—and unless I’m blatantly putting myself in danger, I should have the right to direct my own life. “I need this,” I plead, my voice cracking. I close my eyes and wait for a minute, until I’m composed, before I go on. “The shelter matters to me. I’m not in danger there. I’m not putting myself in danger. What happened was something that no one could have seen coming. If I live my whole life like that, waiting for what nobody can possibly predict might happen to me and put me in danger, then I’ll never do any living at all. I know that sounds stupid to you, cheesy or whatever, but I’m not trying to be smart or token. I’m serious. What happened to me could have happened to anyone. I can’t live in a bubble anymore. I’ll be careful. I always was,” I point out, looking around the table to make point. “I have training. I didn’t lose my wits. I got through it.”
The table goes silent. Waiting for me. I can’t believe my uncles are actually sort of giving me permission to continue. Or maybe they’re treating me like the wind—waiting for me to blow myself out so that I calm down and obey like I have in the past.
I gulp and let the big bomb drop. One that I’ve been keeping to myself since Dario made that comment about college. “I’m also going to start taking some online courses. From home, as soon as the next semester starts, in the fall. I want to be a vet tech. Or maybe more. But it’s a start, and I need a start at something other than sitting around, just waiting to get married. I know that you want me to be happy, and being a trophy wife for someone is never going to give me pleasure or help me be fulfilled. I want more. I need more.”
“But you’re dating Dario—” Mom points out. She blinks at me, confused and wounded, like I’ve betrayed her by announcing that I don’t want to be some man’s prize. As if she hasn’t known her entire life that I’m headstrong and far too outspoken to ever make any man happy that way.
I guess denial can indeed be a powerful thing.
I don’t want to deconstruct my mom’s whole world, so I get a hold of my feelings about that and make sure that I’m being reasonable. I can’t expect anyone to negotiate with me if I’m acting like a petulant little kid making all of the demands.
I look her straight in the eye and explain, “It’s safe, and I’m not changing my mind. Yes, I’m dating Dario.” I bite into my toast to hide a grin as Elisa makes a gurgling noise beside me. Not of disgust, but of utter shock. Right. Because she knows that Dario is the last being in the universe, somewhere behind strange-looking aliens and inanimate figures like rocks, who I’ve said I would want to be with. And now I’ve obviously embraced him—as well as stood up to my family. “We’ve decided that’s what we’re doing.”
My uncles and my mom look at me with bland, unsurprised expressions. They assumed that’s what I was doing, after Dario showed up with flowers. In their minds, someone who shows up at our house bearing a bouquet isn’t anything but serious, no matter their reputation. Also, they know Dario wouldn’t take a chance on fucking around with me because of who I am. To them, he’s always been a good choice. A natural choice. Not a surprise, but a wonderful working out of plans that they didn’t have to make and actions they didn’t have to take. In other words, he saved them a lot of trouble.
My mom just looks thrilled that I’ve actually accepted the match. I can practically see her going through bridesmaids dresses and wedding colors and themes as she sits here.
If I’d known that’s all I’d have to do to distract her from my brush with a psycho murderer, I would have started with the news about Dario first.
“I was doing a lot of thinking about things last night,” I go on. “And this morning…” I pause, thinking about how to say what I need to say. I made a decision when I told Dario about my dad. Dario’s parents were stolen from him. He said my dad was kind of taken from me, too, and he was, but he’s still alive. He’s still there for me to see and talk to. Not when I want to, on my time, but on a schedule. He’s not gone at all.
Uncle Gastone clears his throat and Uncle Carlo gulps down his coffee. Elisa looks at me like I’m someone she’s never met before. She knew this side of me was here, probably better than anyone else. She sees the determined and headstrong bits of me as much as she sees the carefree, cheerful ones.
