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My hand wrapped around the hilt of the knife before springing the blade free. I stared up at him warily, but the concern etched on his features only deepened.
“I’m sorry that one as young as you has already had to face those monsters.”
My mom had had a few boyfriends that snuck into my room while she was coked out or when they thought I was asleep. The first one got the farthest—his bony hand under my blanket to caress my thigh. When I woke up and realized what he was doing, I screamed.
And I didn’t stop screaming until he fled. I was eight.
When I told Nana, she’d gifted me the blade. I’ve slept with it under my pillow ever since, for the times my mother insisted I come home with her.
“Why are you in here?” I asked.
His lips tilted up in one corner. “Look.” He undid the bottom button on his jacket before crouching down so we were eye to eye. “I know all about your mom. She’s a great woman when she focuses on something other than herself. I can help with that. You’ll have a bigger house. A new bed. You’ll want for nothing. I won’t hurt her. Or you.”
My nose wrinkled. “You’ll never be my dad. I don’t have a dad.”
Romero’s smile grew. “Fair enough. But we can be friends. Would that be all right?”
I huffed. “I don’t know. I have enough friends, honestly.”
He chuckled. “How about you give me a six-month trial run? After that, you can decide if we’re friends or not. Fair?”
I couldn’t help but smile, though it was faint, weighed down by years of mistrust. “Allright, Romero. Six months.” Holding out my hand for him to shake, I wiped my tear-stained face with the other.
“Nice doing business with you, Julietta,” he said before taking my hand in his much larger one and shaking it.
Chapter Four
JULIETTA
The men that guarded the gate quirked their brows at the sight of my deceased car on the back of the tow truck. I hopped out of the cab after shelling out my last bit of savings, slamming the door, and stomped down the long driveway.
“And of course, insurance is due tomorrow, so that’s just fucking awesome,” I grumbled. Insurance on a car that no longer ran.
“Hey, Shorty!” one of the guards called, jogging up behind me.
I turned, glowering at the guy in his early twenties. He was cute, with dark skin and shorn black hair, but a bit gangly. Uninterested in anything he had to say, I kept walking.
In all the years I’d lived at this house, not once has any of the men spoken to me. Romero said they worked for the surveillance company, but the older I got, the less I believed him. What kind of surveillance companies toted around ARs?
He appeared at my side, grinning. “Rough luck with that car, huh?”
Before I could stab him or snap his neck, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Need a smoke?” he asked.
I narrowed my eyes at him. He looked harmless enough, but I shook my head. The last thing I needed was to be indebted to some guy Romero employed.
“Are you going to get fired for talking to me?” I asked.
The guy scoffed. “I doubt it, but it’s not like I care. You looked like you could use one.”
And as if my earlier thought had summoned him, footsteps approached, drawing my attention to the man who seemed to command my body and soul. Two years away clearly hadn’t changed that.
He looked damn good for someone brushing up to their forties. From ten feet away, I couldn’t even make out the subtle creases near his eyes. It was no wonder all the women in the city were drawn to him. Wherever he went, women fawned over him and men looked like they wanted to be him. Wealth and sex appeal tended to do that.
Romero crossed his arms over his chest, looking like a tiger ready to pounce. His scrutinizing gaze went from me to the guy at my right. His voice was low and throbbed with menace in a way I hadn’t heard before. “You don’t speak to her. Don’t go near her or you’ll find out what’s worse than being fired.”
I gawked at Romero, stepping forward, but was pinned in place by the violence in his eyes. “You don’t have to fire him, he was just offering me a smoke.”
“Smoking will affect your stamina, you know that.”
