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“Go on. Take it.”
I pinch the ribbon between my finger and thumb, lifting it. It dangles in the air. Are those real black sea pearls set into its curving handle? The bit at the bottom that fits into the lock is shaped in a flame, its top breaking into two tips.
I run a finger over the metal. “It almost looks like angel wings.”
“There are no angels at Fire. Only sex-obsessed devils—” He pauses, eyeing the blush rising in my face. “Never mind. You’ll be fine. You only have to deliver this package.” From the seat beside him, he lifts a rectangle the size of a brick, wrapped in brown paper. He slides the package across the table as he did the key. “A man will meet you by the first-floor elevator.”
“How will I know which man is the right man?”
“You’ll recognize his face. He’s the Head of State.”
The Head of State? Is he serious? I look up from the package to Antonio’s stoic face. He’s not joking.
I lift the package. It’s lighter than I anticipated. I know better than to ask what’s inside. They pay me for my discretion. I hold it in my palm, my fingers curling around it.
I have questions that do need to be asked if I’m going to succeed in this mission. “What do I wear? What time do I go? Do I just deliver and leave, or am I supposed to fit in somehow?”
His gaze travels from my lips to my full hips. “You’ll fit in fine. Just wear something sexy. Red would look good on you.”
“Sexy?” I think of my wardrobe of jeans and sweats and casual tops. I took the job at the pharmacy right out of school. My grandmother is my roommate. Caring for her is my only social event at the moment. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I have that.”
“My sister, Emilia. She left a few dresses in her bedroom upstairs. There’s a red gown with a slit up the side. She brought it back here to store it. Didn’t want it at her house.” His eyes meet mine and the anger, the hardness in him returns. A mean smile curls at his lips. “Said she couldn’t part with it because she has wonderful and terrible memories of that dress.”
Something tugs at the back of my mind. A memory of some story Nonna was telling me months ago over a pizza Margherita I’d made for us. A red gown. A brother who touched his sister where he shouldn’t have. The revenge of a Bachman husband.
I can’t stop the loud, gasping intake of breath that rushes into my lungs. I’d written off Nonna’s story as town gossip and completely forgotten about it, but now…
The real devil sits across from me. Antonio Accardi. Rumors fly around the village about the man who taunted his sister, Emilia, when she lived here with him, touching her where he shouldn’t, and of how her new husband, Liam Bachman, cut off Antonio’s hand in revenge.
I blurt the words out. “It’s true?”
“It’s true. Liam didn’t like the story my sister told him. And now, I have this.” He waves at me with the shiny hook.
I nod, looking away from him and the hook I just polished.
Why had I not put this together before? Antonio Accardi, the oldest brother who touched his sister’s breasts, then when her husband Liam found out about it, he came to this mansion, maybe even in this room where I sit now, and… cut… this man’s hand off of his body.
A shiver runs through me, my spine tingling. I polished that hook…
Heat washes over my skin. The prickles are back. The spacious room suddenly seems very small.
Still… there’s something in his gaze, the way his tone was softened by my kindness. He can’t be all bad behind those hard green eyes, can he?
I stand, clearing my throat. “We all make mistakes, I suppose.” My knees feel weak. “May I go get the dress?”
“Yes. Why don’t you call it a day. Head home early and get ready. I’ll have one of our cars pick you up at seven.”
Seven. Nonna goes to bed early, but at seven, she’ll still be awake. “I care for my grandmother, and I’d prefer not to leave the house at night until I have her tucked safely in her bed. Would it be alright to make it eight? Please?” I ask.
He nods. “Fine. She’s lucky to have you.”
“Thank you.” See… he’s not all bad. I leave the cloth on the table. My hands are shaking too bad to pick it up. I clutch the package in the other hand, my palms growing damp against the brown paper packaging.
My fingers curl around the polished banister, a lingering lemon scent in the air. I grip it for support as I make my way up to Emilia Accardis’ old bedroom. This is where he may have touched her. Hurt people hurt people. What went on within these walls after their mother died? I’ve heard their father is a harsh man. Without a loving parent… no child comes out unscathed, but still…
I’ve taken a job working for one monster in the hopes of gaining protection from another. Now, I have to deliver a package to the Bachman club, a place run by dangerous men.
Hand-cutting-off kind of men.
