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“He won’t hurt her.” IneedHolly to get this. “Santo’s a cold motherfucker, but he won’t hurt an innocent woman. She’ll get a nice cushy stay at the mansion for a few weeks, complete with room service and all the movies she can watch, then once the Governor agrees to our demands, she’ll be dropped back on her daddy’s doorstep without a scratch on her. I swear it.”
Holly’s chin wobbles. Her lips press together, and she looks so damn overwhelmed. Well, Jesus, who can blame her? Her life has been nothing but danger and mayhem for weeks, the poor thing.
I risk stroking one fingertip over her cheek, and wait for her to meet my eyes. “I promise,” I tell her. “Trust me.”
And I will never renege on my promises to this woman. My word has always been gold, but with Holly? I’d rather slit my own throat than lie or disappoint her. I’d rather never speak another word in my life than lead her wrong.
As she stares up at me, eyes flitting between mine, trying desperately to read me—I gaze back, laying myself bare to her. Showing her my whole crooked soul.
What’s left of it, anyway.
When Holly finally nods, I’m too wrung out to feel triumphant. I lean back in my seat and stare blindly at the world whipping past outside.
* * *
A soft knock drifts through the pounding of my headache. I scowl at the door to my suite, spinning a glass of whiskey in my hands, my limbs sprawled in the leather armchair that Holly told me once she daydreamed about.
That was so long ago. Decades, it feels like, not days.
“What?” I grunt.
I’m not in the mood to debrief with Santo. Not tonight. Yeah, he’s the boss, but his antics have cost meeverything—and though I know on some level that it’s not fair to blame him, that I’m a grown man who makes his own choices…
Fuck, I’m just not in the mood.
I tip back my glass, the whiskey burning my throat.
“Um.” A hesitant voice floats through the door. Afemalevoice, and Christ knows Allegra and Leah don’t ever tiptoe around or sound unsure. “Diego?”
“Yeah.” I’ve already launched out of my chair, tossing back the last of my drink and flinging the glass at the bed. It hits the covers and rolls onto the rug with a muffled thump, and my legs are like jelly as I lunge for the door. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
When I wrench it open, she’s there. Blonde hair damp and a little darker from a shower, her little body wrapped up in a soft-looking white robe and blue pajama pants.
Holly. My Holly. Something deep inside my chest settles down, purring like a soothed house cat just from having her near.
Does she need something? Is she hungry?
“You can snack whenever you want,” I say, like an idiot. “The kitchens are always open, so take whatever. That goes for Ruth, too.”
“Um,” Holly says. “Thank you?”
She tilts her head, her expression bemused, and now we’re just standing in this plush corridor together in strained silence. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“So…” I scratch my beard, frowning down at the maid. Because why is she here? Seriously? The way Holly looked at me in the back of that car, you’d think she’d never want to lay eyes on me again. “Did you and Ruth get settled in okay?”
I guess if she needs a pair of hands to lump the furniture around or whatever, I’m game. I only had a few mouthfuls of that whiskey before I threw it at the bed.
So glad no one saw that. What is wrong with me?
“Yes. I mean, it’s way nicer here than our crappy little apartment. The heating works, for a start, and there’s no damp on the walls. So that’s an upgrade, and way better for the baby.”
Holly fiddles with the belt of her robe as she speaks, watching me carefully. I swallow hard and listen, leaning against the door frame, soaking up every word.
Every sentence, every tidbit, every glance from her is precious. And this is all I have now. This is all I’ll ever have.
“Diego?”
I grunt a reply, my temples pounding as I stare down at the love of my life. How long will they stay with us? Will I get to see her with Ruth’s baby? I bet she’ll look like an angel when she holds the little mite. Like one of Santo’s fancy paintings of goddesses or whatever.
