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Closing my eyes, I shut out my father. “I’m at a friend’s apartment in Wrigleyville. I think it will be another half hour to an hour.”
“I’ll pick you up in an hour. Text me the address.” He ends the call before I can even process what he says.
“Franco will take you, let him know when you’re ready. You better sell this for all you’re worth.” It’s a warning.
The moment the door is closed behind him, I roll off my bed and run for the bathroom. I haven’t washed my hair in several days, too anxious to do anything but the basics.
In the shower, I’m once again thankful for the hair removal package I thought was an insult from the woman who was going to be my mother-in-law. I can’t imagine trying to shave my legs while my hands are shaking as badly as they are soaping up my hair.
I’m proud of how quickly I’m ready. My makeup isn’t amazing. I learned some tricks from Carina Parker, the Don of the Outfit’s daughter. A part of me wishes I were a better friend to her. If I were, she might be able to tell me how to hide this bruise. My father discouraged me being her friend. He thought she was a bad influence with how she liked to dress like an anime character and all the makeup she wore.
I think he also knew how much I admired Carina and wanted to be like her and her sister, Celia. They were brave enough not to care what others thought of them. And when I called on Carina for help, she gave it to me without asking any questions. Not even when she came to the funeral for Eddie and she had to know I used the things she taught me that had nothing to do with makeup.
It takes a minute to find an apartment building in Wrigleyville for Franco to drop me off at to text Manuel. I have Franco drop me off almost fifteen minutes early from the scheduled time for Manuel to pick me up. I’m walking the length of the sidewalk in front of the building when he pulls to the sidewalk only minutes after I got out of the car. Was he waiting? Did he see Franco dropping me off?
He’s out of the car and around to open the door for me. I don’t know why it surprises me so much—or makes my tummy twist with something different from nerves. He’s wearing a cut-to-fit-him silk black suit. The gun is still on his hip, not hidden well below the jacket. As I step close to him to get in, I inhale the scent of him deep into my lungs. Immediately, I’m back in that night, on my knees for him. My entire body is tight and aching with longing.
Shame hits me. Does he know? The smile playing on his beautifully molded lips says he does. He closes the door and goes around to the driver’s door. I’m not used to being allowed in the front seat. Odd how different it feels.
The car is a Mercedes Maybach, large and roomy—or it is until he gets in. He’s broad with enough muscles they clearly flex. Yet he’s not muscle-bound, like someone who cared about reps and knew his percentage of body fat.
When he slides inside, everything shrinks around me until it’s almost claustrophobic. The scent of his cologne teases my senses. I can’t place all the notes, leather, something green like moss or grass fresh from rain.
My throat, tight with fear, keeps me from so much as nodding at him. I’m trying to figure out where we’re going. It isn’t until he drives into the parking garage, I realize where we are. This is the building the Levin family owns. It’s a freaking brothel. Okay, half is a brothel while the other half is where the underworld of the city lives. Everyone from yakuza to the Outfit had soldiers living here.
When he turns off the car, his hand goes to open the door. I shake my head. “I’m not going in there. If I’m seen here…”
An eyebrow lifts. “We need somewhere private to talk. That is a bruise on your cheek, correct?”
I nod.
“From your father.” It’s not a question.
Since it’s not a question, I don’t bother answering.
He sighs. “As badly as I want to, I’m not going to fuck you. We need to be able to speak freely without anyone overhearing what I have to say.”
The raw words shock me. What shocks me even more is my body’s reaction. My core floods, and my nipples tighten with need. No freaking way.
I’m trying to figure out an argument against getting out of the car. I can’t come up with one. And I sure as hell can’t tell him Iwanthim to fuck me. This man terrifies me…but not because I fear him physically. Deep down in the marrow of my bones, I fear he’s going to take my heart and rip it to shreds.
I get out of the car when he opens my door. He stays close, the heat from him as thick as a touch brushing against me with every step.
Entering the elevator, he scans a card he takes out of his inner pocket. Once scanned, buttons light up for him to press. Huh, not all the buttons light up. He presses the eleven button. The doors close, and we begin moving.
I can feel his eyes on me. It’s unnerving the way he doesn’t say anything, just watches me. I don’t dare look up from the floor until the elevator doors open.
A few doors down from the elevator, he stops. He uses the same card he used to scan into the elevator and presses it against the black plastic on the door and it lifts, revealing an old-fashioned key in the lock.
He opens the door then stands back for me to enter first. It looks like a model apartment or a very expensive hotel suite. The living room is large. I can see a kitchen through one side of the living room, and on the other side is a hallway I’m guessing leads to the bedroom.
Tossing his keys onto an entry table, he nods at the leather sofa. “Have a seat. Do you want anything to drink?”
My knees are weak as I sink onto the sofa. I shake my head. “No, thank you.”
I’m studying my hands as he sits across from me in a large leather wing-back chair. “Why did your father strike you?”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I don’t know how to answer the question. Lie to him and follow the orders of my father. But he’ll know I’m lying—I’m not good at it.
