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I raised a brow and scribbled my response.
Speak for yourself.
I couldn’t help myself. Something about him tipped the scales of my control after months of perfect restraint.
Shadow dimmed the turquoise slivers in his eyes. “Believe me, I am. There is absolutely nothing civilized about me.”
Shocked by the intensity of his response, I stared as he rose from his seat. Expecting him to leave, I was surprised yet again when he went to the counter to retrieve my coffee and bagel. I’d been so consumed with our exchange that I hadn’t heard the barista call my name.
The stranger placed my food in front of me, lifting his thumb to his perfect lips and sucking at a dab of cream cheese while his cobalt stare pinned me to my seat.
“Enjoy your breakfast,” he murmured before casually prowling away.
I was left utterly flabbergasted after one of the strangest encounters of my life. Aside from the odd topic of our brief conversation, he never batted an eye at my lack of verbal communication. As if he’d already known. But how? Did he know who I was?
I was suddenly kicking myself for not asking his name. My eyes returned to his retreating form as he passed through the café door, then reappeared outside the shop window. In an instant, Umberto was toe-to-toe with the man, challenging him with the same energy as an angry rhino.
Had Umberto seen the man talking to me? No, because if he had, he would have come in and confronted the man immediately. If not that, why was he so angry? My jailor had been distracted, and I’m sure that added to his irritability, but it was still unusual for him to be so confrontational.
My entire body tensed as I watched the two square off. Umberto was huge, but the stranger didn’t seem remotely bothered. If I’d had to guess, I would have said defending himself against angry goons was an everyday occurrence. He was the picture of cool indifference, which only seemed to enrage Umberto even further.
My father’s watchdog sneered as he spoke, lifting his hand to point a finger into the man’s chest. Before he could make contact, and seemingly out of nowhere, the man’s fists whipped out in a series of punches so vicious and lightning fast that Umberto dropped like a leaden weight to the ground. He didn’t even get in a single strike.
The stranger spit onto his unconscious opponent, then instantly resumed an air of serene passivity as though the last ten seconds had never happened. He smoothed back his black wavy hair with a steady hand, turned, and pinned me with a breathtaking stare before disappearing down the sidewalk.
As if I needed another reason to hate the Mafia life I’d been born into.
Ruthless ambition and callous irreverence to anyone in their paths were innate qualities of all made men. I didn’t know who the stranger was, but he was just as bad as the rest of them. Maybe worse.
There is absolutely nothing civilized about me.
I shivered at his remembered words, then hurried outside to check on my hapless bodyguard. Umberto was out cold on the New York City sidewalk. For the first time in six months, I had a rare opportunity to slip away and disappear into the city. I could run. Go to my cousin’s and tell her everything.
And what about Sante? Where would that leave him?
Alone. Abandoned. I couldn’t do it. There was no point in pretending running without him was even an option.
Taking a deep breath, I squatted down and patted Umberto’s cheek, shaking him until he roused with a series of muttered curses.
“Fuckin’ pikey. The fuck he go?” He glared up and down the street.
I ignored his question and helped him to his feet. He wiped at his bloody nose with the back of his sleeve, and I left him to gather my things back inside the shop. I abandoned my uneaten food and ignored the curious stares of everyone in the café. I hadn’t been the only one to watch the scene unfold.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he grumbled as soon as I returned outside. His voice was muffled, and I absently wondered if his nose had been broken. Not that it mattered to me. As one of my father’s lackeys, he probably deserved far worse.
I followed him to the car, curious about the mysterious stranger and mildly disappointed that I’d been robbed of my coffee routine. At least the morning hadn’t been boring, that was for certain.
* * *
“Jesus, Berto,”my brother blurted when we returned home. “What the hell happened to you?” Sante looked me over to ensure I was unharmed before returning his attention to my bloody guard.
Umberto just grunted and stomped off toward the bathroom.
I took out my pad and explained.
Just a little altercation on the street.
Sante shook his head. “That guy never could back down. Such a hothead.”
