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We drove winding roads on our way to meet Jameson and his crew. “Isn’t the Irish mafia sweet? Jameson sweet?”
Enzo scoffed. “Jameson isn’t sweet, nor are the Irish. Don’t let their jovial demeanors fool you. They can be vicious bastards.”
“What are we even doing for them?” I grasped my pistol on my thigh. When Enzo told me to bring it, I knew he wasn’t sure what would happen either.
“Who the hell knows.”
We pulled up to the bottom of a long driveway at an address Jameson had jotted down in sloppy and rushed chicken scratch. Enzo looked out the window and crumpled the paper in his hand. When he got out of the car, he met with Jameson and his group. My mouth dropped open at the amount of guns and close combat weapons, like brass knuckles and a baseball bat.What the hell are we doing?I got out of the car to wolf whistles. Jameson hushed up his men and flashed me a smile. I dropped my gaze.
“Wait, why did we bring a broad with us?” one of the men behind him quipped.
“Who do you think he’s going to let in?” Jameson gestured to the house on the hill.
Enzo stiffened. “I brought Gia to watch our backs while we handle shit, not be the face.”
Jameson swung his arm around Enzo, squeezing him. “You know what I did for you? Right?”
Enzo’s lips twisted into a frown, and I knew he wasn’t comfortable entering unknown territory with me at the front of the pack. I pulled him back toward the car. “I’m fine. I’ve done worse.” I shrugged.
He pulled me into him, kissing me so damn hard I thought I might become one with him. But I knew why he’d done it. He wanted Jameson to know I was owned, and that was confirmed when he glanced at the Irishman as he released me from his grasp.
My heels spread rocks as I made my way up the gravel walkway, stones crunching beneath each step. I put my hand on the gold knocker, rubbing my fingers along it before announcing my arrival. The men hid on either side of me, in the shadows created by the home’s sharp angles. I waited. I looked at my phone before tucking it back into my bra. Just when I turned to ask the men what I was supposed to do, I heard footsteps on the other side of the door. Locks twisted and the door slid open. A middle-aged man answered.
“Can I help you?” He narrowed his eyes at me before letting them drop down and hover on my chest.
“Can I use your phone? My car broke down at the bottom of the hill.”
The man stared at me for a moment, peering down the hill toward the road before stepping aside and waving me in. I glanced sideways at Enzo, who was being held back by Jameson. I expected them to jump in sooner, and my heartbeat quickened in my ears. The man looked behind me before closing the door and locking it. I swallowed hard and clumsily leaned my back against the door to steady myself so I could turn the lock as I bent down to slip off my shoes.
“My phone’s back here,” the man said as he motioned me down a long, dark hallway.
There was practically a runway of red flags leading to the man in the silk bathrobe, but I didn’t show him how nervous he made me. I followed him with sure steps as I felt for the reassurance on my thigh.
When we got to the kitchen, he unplugged his phone from the charger to hand it to me, but ripped it away at the last moment. “Who sent you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Broad like you didn’t get herself stranded in the middle ofmynowhere. No one comes this way unless they have reason to.” He stepped into me and put one hand on my pistol and the other between my legs. “Could you be a debt repayment?” The man’s graying mustache covered most of his upper lip. I leaned away from him as his fingers dug into the flesh of my thigh. “If you tell me who sent you, I’ll know who owes me what. Then I'll decide how much you’re worth.”
Come on, Enzo.
Just as the man went to take my pistol from my thigh, the sounds of guns cocking echoed around me. The men came in, guns drawn. Enzo was at the front of the pack, his revolver aimed and his finger on the trigger when he saw the man’s hands on me.
“Get your fucking hands off her,” Enzo hissed.
“The O’Riley brothers,” the man said.
“In the flesh,” Jameson quipped. “We got business to discuss.”
“Hanging with the Italians?” the man asked with a laugh.
“Long time friends, is all,” Jameson said.
Enzo rolled his eyes. He motioned me over to him and I went to his side, where I felt safe.
“We ain’t paying,” Jameson said, “and we’re gonna need you to forget the little debt we owe you.”
“You owe me two hundred grand, Jameson. I am not just ‘forgetting’ that. Your gambling problem is a you problem.” The man turned his attention to me. “But maybe...an arrangement—”
