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Zeus nods. "I know. Zephyr, take some soldiers and set up cameras at the shipping yard. Orion, see if you can find out who made the backdoor offer. We aren't losing this port."
No piece of shit bratva are getting a foothold in our territory either.
Chapter 13
LUCIA
I get a text from Atlas, but it's not what I expect.
Atlas:Want to check out a bar on the east side with me?
Lucia:Sure. When?
Atlas:Tonight. I'm on my way back to your place.
Lucia:I'll make dinner.
I love cooking for Atlas. He's so appreciative, regardless of what I make, and I like keeping him to myself. I miss cooking for other people.
Letting others into my personal space is hard for me though. Maybe I'll invite Willow and Barry for dinner after I move into the new place.
I don't have to open myself up to close friendship to have work colleagues over. If you asked her, I bet Willow would say we are friends already anyway.
We're not. We can't be. She knows nothing about the real me.
My heart stutters at the thought. Because if that is true of Willow, it is equally true of Atlas. He doesn't know where I come from and that cannot change, but there's so much more I'm keeping from him.
Is it worth changing that to keep him in my life?
The weight of my secrets has never felt so heavy. Can I make myself tell him about losing the baby at least? I don't have to reveal that my dead husband was mafia.
Most regular people would never even consider that possibility anyway.
~ ~ ~
I'm finishing the last touches on my electric skillet lasagna when the door to my apartment opens.
"Gamó."
A smile plays around my lips. I've figured out that meansfuckin Greek.
Him saying it like that tells me that my current attire is having the effect I planned. I'm wearing a pair of black panties, no bra, and a frilly bib apron.
It is from a Halloween costume I wore the year before last. Sheer white organza, it is not a practical apron, but serves its purpose. Cooking naked isn't safe.
Pretending nonchalance my body is far from feeling, I sprinkle the fresh basil leaves over the top of the lasagna. Atlas starts whistling and after a couple of bars, I recognize the song. "Centerfold."
I'm already wet. Cooking naked waiting for my lover to show up will do that to me, but that whistling? It has me gushing slick onto my inner thighs. It takes everything inside me not to turn around. Swaying my bottom side to side, I put the lid back on the electric skillet and turn off the heat so the lasagna can rest.
Strong hands land on my hips sending jolts of electric energy through me, before sliding up to cup my breasts.
"I like this." Making circles with his palms, he rubs my sensitive flesh through the slippery organza.
My nipples perk under his ministrations. "I like that," I say throatily.
What this man does to me with a simple touch.
"Do you need to turn anything off?"
