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Chapter Twelve
Sophie
My phone rings as George ruffles his feathers and dunks his head beneath the surface of the water in the inflatable kiddie pool in the far corner of my office.
“You’ve been a good duck today. Just stay in the pool for a few more minutes then we can go home, got it?” I ask as he surfaces.
He looks at me, then dunks beneath the water’s surface again. I’m taking that as a definite yes. So far, he’s been good; all through my morning sessions, he barely even quacked.
I roll my ergonomic chair a few feet from the pool to the desk and answer the phone.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Ugh. “You know, I wouldn’t mind if you threw in some heavy breathing to make this worth my while,” I say, then hang up.
It’s the fifth call I’ve gotten since arriving home from Harmony just over a week ago—three to my office number and two to my cell phone, all from untraceable numbers. I would have blamed it on Nico—some sort of scare tactic—if I didn’t know the man better.
Nico Vitelli is an enigma with a cold, almost inhumanly cruel shell. But somehow, I slipped beneath his walls to the warm, incredibly giving man—the one he doesn’t allow to breathe because, frankly, it could get him killed.
I wonder if I’ll ever see him again. Common sense and self-preservation dictate that I shouldn’t. But try telling that to my body that behaves like it’s withdrawing. I never even had sex with the man. Although, who am I kidding? That soul-destroying kiss alone was more intense than anything I’ve ever felt before. My tongue darts to the healing bump on the corner of my lower lip and I feel a familiar tug in my pelvis.
I sigh, willing the hot memories away, and then reach up for one of the blue folders on my desk. I should make detailed notes for Mrs. Tisdale’s session while they’re still fresh in my mind before heading home.
The office closes early on Tuesday, and Eva has already left, locking the door behind her. I power up my iPad, but before I can load up the secure app, my scrawled note from a few nights ago catches my eye. Notes from days’ worth of research on the Outfit, but mostly on the Vitelli family. ‘Cunning,’ ‘dangerous,’ and ‘ruthless’; these words come up often, but there are other words that have caught my attention, like ‘benefactor,’ ‘restoration,’ and ‘donations.’
Nico Vitelli doesn’t just have his fingers in every illicit pie in the city; he’s also neck-deep in fundraiser events and charity organizations too.
“He’s just like the goddamned freaking Reapers,” I complain to George.
The Reaper Druids MC are arguably the most prominent organization in Harmony, and despite their illicit business and arms dealing, they are a community favorite for their frequent benefit and toy rides. Their motorcycle garage is renowned for unbeatably low charges, and their open fight against drugs and human trafficking makes them very impervious to local police, who have found a way to turn a blind eye to their interstate arms dealing. After all, it’s a problem for the feds, not the local police.
I force myself to focus, finish my notes then start to pack up for the day.
I’m just about to coax George out of the pool when I hear a brief scraping. It’s the faint sound of grinding metal. My office door is open, so it must be coming from the locked door in the waiting area. Odd. I remember the prank call thirty minutes ago and dread settles in my spine.
What now? Have I become a target for every perp in Chicago, then?
I slide my hand down my thigh, searching for the reassuring hilt of my dagger, and feel…nothing. Oh, shit, I left it with Nico. A dangerous move that I like to think eventually paid off.
Is it weird that I knew Nico wouldn’t hurt me even before he realized it himself?
I grab a fountain pen and move toward the waiting room to investigate. When the outer door suddenly opens, I gasp.
Nico appears in the doorway. All hard, chiseled six-foot-plus inch of him. He stops when he sees me, his gaze heating up. Then he stalks toward me, kinda like he did when he was trying to kill me eleven days ago.
Speak of the fucking devil.
I take a few steps back and position myself between Nico and George—which is ridiculous. Somehow, I don’t think he’s here to take down my duck.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, because ‘how did you get in here?’ seems like a moot point with the sleek lockpick kit dangling from his hand.
His bright blue eyes rakes me from my feet up and stops at my mouth. I resist the urge to lick my lips. I know, without a doubt, he’s thinking about the kiss. Then he looks past me into the office
“You brought the duck to work?”
I shrug. “I feel like this isn’t the most relevant conversation we could be having, but okay, yes. I feel bad leaving him at home for too long so I bring him to work on Tuesdays.” And there’s the small issue of the havoc George manages to wreak when he’s alone and upset.
