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Slowly she looked up.
Then Hallie saw Cristiano’s expression. The fire in his dark eyes. The cold fury that threatened imminent death for the man who’d scared her.
“I’m fine. Really.” Putting her hands on his taut arm, she said hurriedly, “I hardly own anything. All my clothes would fit in a single duffel bag. It’s just family photos and an old quilt...” She realized she was babbling and took a deep breath. “He didn’t hurt me. He never threatened the baby...”
His voice was low and deadly. “He tried to force himself on you.”
“I got away. Everything’s fine, we’re all fine—”
“I’m not fine,” Cristiano bit out, and got out of the vehicle. He looked back at her, his handsome face as implacable as granite. “Which apartment number?”
“Promise you won’t hurt him—”
“His number,” he ground out.
“Four C,” she whispered.
His face was half-hidden in shadow in the gleam from the neon sign of a nearby bar. “Wait here.”
He slammed the car door.
Hallie’s wait seemed to last forever. She nervously watched the minutes pass by on the dashboard. She stroked her baby’s cheek as he smiled up at her from the reverse-facing baby seat. “It’s fine,” she reassured Jack, who in response lifted his chubby arm to bat blindly at the giraffe toy dangling from the handle of his car seat.
Oh, she was being ridiculous. Most likely the two men were having a civilized chat, that was all. Cristiano was likely calmly writing a check—which was, after all, what he did best—and requesting that Mervin Smith, the man who possessed the rent-controlled apartment, would kindly pack up all her things and bring them down.
Right. Not even Tess would have believed that.
Nervously she looked up at Matthews, the driver, who was still sitting at the wheel. “I don’t need to worry about what Cristiano might do, right? He wouldn’t do anything violent. Ri
ght?”
Matthews peered up through his window at the building. “Luther’s not here. That’s a good sign.”
“Luther?”
“His bodyguard.”
Hallie brightened. “That’s true.”
“But Mr. Moretti was a brawler, back when he was young. He fought his way out of the streets of Naples.”
“Oh.” She swallowed. “But that was a long time ago. I’m sure Cristiano has changed—”
“And just last year—” Matthews stroked his beard thoughtfully “—two punks tried to jump him as he was jogging real early through Central Park. He put them in the hospital. And then there was the time—”
“That’s good,” Hallie said in a strangled voice, holding up her hand sharply. “You don’t need to tell me more.”
“Glad to help,” the driver said, straightening his old-fashioned black cap. Then he sucked in his breath and got out of the vehicle.
Hallie jumped as her car door was suddenly wrenched open. She saw Mervin, with dried ketchup still on his chin and his too-tight T-shirt pulling up over his huge belly, on his knees on the sidewalk. He looked terrified.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry, Hallie—”
“Miss Hatfield,” Cristiano corrected coldly, standing behind the man like a dark angel.
“Miss Hatfield,” the man repeated desperately. “I brought down your stuff. Everything is there, totally perfect, I swear—”
“Thank you,” she said anxiously. Her eyes lifted to Cristiano’s. Even after what her landlord had done to her, she’d never wanted him humiliated like this. “It’s all right now.”
