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Seriously. Who wants that?
“I’ll go alone.”
“Allegra.” Santo exhales and pushes to his feet. “Pack your things. You and Raul will leave in thirty minutes.”
“But—”
“Do it.” When Santo frowns down at me, my big brother is gone and the mob boss is back. Laying down the law. “This conversation is over. I need you gone while I deal with this threat, and I need to be sure you are safe. Your presence is distracting.”
Ouch.
My eyes blur as I stare at my half-painted toes. The floorboards creak as Santo leaves the room, and I waste precious minutes relearning how to breathe.
Raul. Weeks alone withRaul.
My brother may be a famous criminal, but—surprise, surprise—he is also a huge asshole.
* * *
It’s weird seeing Raul drive. Two hours into the journey, I huddle in the front passenger seat in silence, watching the doctor’s hands flex on the steering wheel. Our headlights are alone on this stretch of highway, swooping in two ghostly beams along the tarmac.
We’ve been following the coast road all night, the ocean glimmering in the moonlight. This car smells like leather and the pine air freshener dangling from the mirror, and for a fancy vehicle, the heaters work like crap.
Usually, Santo’s inner circle have drivers to take us everywhere—all the better to scheme together in the back. But the safe houses are top secret, so dear Dr Ossani is having a very long night. The dashboard clock says it’s 02:58am.
“You need another coffee?” I should nap or listen to a podcast, but I can’t resist needling this man. Now that we’re thrown together with no escape in sight, Raul is an itch I can’t scratch. “We could find an all night diner; get you good and caffeinated. Or would you prefer a sugar high?”
The doctor stares at the road as he says, “I’m fine.”
Ugh.
The car engine is quiet as we zoom along the coast road, the mountains on one side and the ocean on the other. The moon is full tonight, waxy and cratered.
“I bet you hate this.”
Shit.
Shut up, Allegra. Shut the hell up.
“Hm?” Raul glances over at me, his handsome face pinched with fatigue. With his wavy dark blond hair, black-framed glasses and square chin, Dr Ossani looks like he belongs on a movie set, not driving a mafia princess to locations unknown. “What do you mean?”
See, this is why I need to learn to chase myself into bed well before midnight every night. I need my full eight hours or I get weak and slip up. Say stupid shit.
“Nothing.” My nails are glossy as I examine them, smoothed over with a fresh coat of nude paint. At least I finished all ten fingers before Santo dropped a bomb on my head. My feet didn’t get so lucky.
The car is quiet. Raul grips the steering wheel hard, his knuckles bloodless.
“You think I hate this? Following your brother’s orders?”
Nope. “Forget I said anything.” Fiddling with the dials, I settle back in my seat, warm air wheezing from the car heaters. My head aches like a bitch as I close my eyes, body swaying as we round a bend.
This night sucks so badly, and I really don’t want to think about spending the holidays avoiding this man, hundreds of miles from the only family I have. Sent away for being a distraction.
“Allegra.”
It’s tricky to roll my eyes while they’re closed, but I manage it. “Yes, doc?”
There’s a long pause, and I’ve nearly drifted off when he finally speaks. Raul’s voice is deep and rich, and a single word from him always makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. Beneath my sweatshirt and tartan blanket, my traitorous nipples harden.
