Page 70 of A New Days Don

“Something about this feels off,” I state, a shifting in my gut makes me open my dashboard and place a handgun on my seat for easy access.

“Agreed. I will meet you with Caleb.” Ren tells me.

“Raphael and Adriano do not leave Mila’s side for anything. I want their eyes on her and updates.” I order. Ren hums distractedly as he presumably texts them the updates, “Why would the phone suddenly be on?”

“Raphael messaged me. Mila is on the move right now.” Ren notes, and the world around me turns red with fury.

“Tell them to get her back to that house. I don’t care what the hell they have to do. I will explain everything to her.” I snap, and Ren grunts his understanding.

“Mila’s headed in the same direction as us.” Ren notes, and I immediately pull up her location, cursing under my breath when I see that she is only a couple of blocks behind me. I let off the gas, prepared to pull her over, distract her, or send her home. She is not putting herself in danger again. This distance she insisted on putting between us ends today.

Mila’s cruiser speeds past me, and I depress the gas, keeping up with her as she makes her way to a trap. She doesn’t even realize it, but then again, how could she? She has been a cop for a couple of years, but she doesn’t realize this city was built on an empire of vile turpitude.

“I’m behind her. We are almost to the location. I want everyone to be on her the moment she steps out of the car. She does not go inside.” I growl, ready to terrify her back to her home if I have to.

“Yes, sir.”

We pull onto a poorly paved driveway and drive until we reach what looks to be a crack house.

I have barely slammed my car into park before I am out and running for Mila in her cruiser. I grab my gun from my waistband, keeping it at my side in case. Mila chews on one of her nails as she looks up to the aged house, clearly debating if she should go in.

The answer is no, you shouldn’t go in. You shouldn’t even be here.

Reaching out, I rap on the window, and Mila jumps, her big cerulean eyes landing on me in an instant. Her worry lines melt away the moment she meets my gaze, and I couldn’t feel more fucking proud that I do that for her, but now is not the time to bask in the power she gives me.

Mila opens the door before stepping out, “What are you doing here?”

Her voice is firm, the sharp edges make my lips quirk, “I am saving you from a tragic mistake. Get back in your cruiser and go home.”

When her eyes narrow, I feel relief wash over me. She isn’t afraid of me. I don’t want to have this argument, especially as my men start to approach us, but I will as long as she keeps looking at me the way she is. Angry, but still trusting.

I can work with anger. The cold, emotionless betrayal she felt the day she saw who I was underneath the fine veneer of a businessman broke me a little bit. This emotion she shows me? This gives me all the hope I need.

“Like hell. If you are here to hurt another innocent person, I swear to God.” Mila growls, pressing her finger into my chest. One of the men behind me snorts, most likely Ren.

“Hardly innocent.” Adriano murmurs, and I shoot him a glare over my shoulder. These men better shut the fuck up if they don’t want a bullet in each of their skulls.

I return an amused look back to Mila, who is still glaring at me, my chest warming where her finger presses into the fabric of my shirt, “I don’t hurt innocent people.”

Mila huffs out a laugh, her eyes drifting from mine to the men who stand behind me. There is a moment of uncertainty that crosses her features, and my fingers flex on my gun at my side. My blood pumps hot at the thought of any of them trying to intimidate her.

“Turn around and give them a minute,” Ren growls under his breath. The sound of feet shifting above gravel fills the air, and my beautiful woman looks at me again.

“I beg to differ.” She growls, and I laugh humorlessly.

“Fabio was nothing but a piece of shit who spent the last half a decade cheating on his new bride with women he left barely breathing by the time he was done before he conspired to kill my father.” I tell her, raising a brow in challenge as her face falls, “Is that what you call a good, innocent man?”

She shifts with discomfort, the wind breezing through her beautiful, inky ponytail. Goosebumps pepper her exposed skin as she stammers, “N-no, but that isn’t for you to judge.”

“No? Because I can assure you, the justice system doesn’t dole out the kind of righteousness that I do.” Each word is cold and calculated. She knows as well as I do that they let her and many other women and men who have been assaulted and killed in the name of fair judgment and investigation.

“What is all this? And why are you here?” She asks, her voice softening as the exhaustion from the last week of working during the day and investigating in secret all night catches up to her.

“This, sweetheart, is a trap.” I muse, and she takes a step away from me. My free hand tightens into a bruising fist, my knuckles popping in an attempt to stop myself from closing the two feet of distance she has put between us, “A trap set up by that anonymous texter of yours. The one you keep foolishly sending little bits of information about yourself for locations and evidence.”

By the end, my voice is hard, almost scolding.

Mila goes to look away from me, but I don’t let her. I hold her chin between my thumb and forefinger in a firm grip, and her cheeks flush pink. Her soft skin and warmth against my fingers make my head spin. I may sneak into her room late at night to wrap myself in her warmth and calm her racing mind, but I’m an addict, and every minute I am not touching her is a minute too long without her.