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“I’m headed to La Belle Maison to meet friends for dinner. Last-minute invite.”
“I’ll follow you, Ms. O’Malley.”
“Thank you.”
It takes thirty minutes to get there, but I have great parking karma and find a spot almost immediately. There’s one right behind me, so Afonso pulls in. I hesitate because I’m not sure if I should get out. He answers that by walking straight to my door and opening it.
“I’ll go inside and do a sweep of the place.”
“Oh, all right. I think I’m the first one here. I’m a little early. I’ll wait at the bar.”
Shit. I hope he doesn’t plan to stay in there all night. I walk to the door, and he opens it for me. But he immediately steps past me and looks around, taking in practically every person. He nods, and I head to the bar, where I order a drink. He heads back out to the car. I sip my drink before paying the bartender. I make my way toward the back door and out to the terrace. I look back over my shoulder, something telling me to. Just as I step outside, I spot Gabriele.
What the fuck? I dart outside, hoping he doesn’t see me. What’s he doing here? Is it a coincidence, or did Afonso tell him I was coming here? Where was he that he managed to get here so soon after I did?
I hurry across the terrace to the little gate. I push it open and look back again. I’m certain I see Gabriele approaching the door to the terrace. I can’t see his face, but I can’t think of any guy who’d be as tall, broad shouldered, and muscular as him unless they play for the NFL. I’m tempted to run down the street, but that’ll attract attention and leave me winded. When I get onto the street, I blend into a clump of people probably headed to the subway. I look over my shoulder before I dart inside the Polish Mob’s hangout, and I can still see Gabriele since he’s so tall.
Him following me and the ridiculous danger I’m putting myself in stirs something within. The risk permeates the fog of determination I felt earlier. I should wait for him, explain what I’m doing, face his anger, then try to convince him to help me. I should abandon this altogether, knowing what I’m doing is beyond stupid. I can’t believe my friend actually suggested this. I’m having major second thoughts. This is drunk girl in college walking home alone at three a.m. level belief in my immortality.
If I were in a movie, I’d deserve to get caught and lord only knows what else. But there’s a thrill in Gabriele following me that is so utterly inappropriate for right now. I can’t help it. I caught his expression when I glanced back. It’s exciting.
It’s quiet in here. Like makes me nervous quiet. Is this place a front for the Nowakowskis? The one time I’ve been here was for a friend’s going away party, and someone recommended it to him. I spot the hallway to the bathroom and make a beeline for it. I just get into the shadows when an arm wraps around my waist and yanks me back. I know that scent.
ChapterSeven
Gabriele
I follow her down the hallway, certain she knows I’m there. Does she realize how soon she’ll come to a dead end? That this hallway doesn’t go anywhere? I watch her freeze as she discovers what I already know. She continues to stare at the wall as I walk up behind her. The door she must be looking for is hidden.
“I could have told you there is no way out, but you ran from me. You knew I followed you. I think you wanted me to chase you.”
She says nothing, but I sense her anxiety. I reach past her and push the women’s restroom door open. She steps in, and I’m on her heels. I sweep my gaze under the stalls, satisfied we’re alone.
“Look at me.”
It’s not a request. She hesitates for only a second before she spins around. I encroach, backing her against the wall without touching her. All the possessiveness I felt when I saw Tyler floods back exponentially stronger. Every ounce of need to protect her thrums through my blood. She doesn’t know what she’s started.
“Is that what you’re into?”
She stares up at me, unable or unwilling to say anything. That’s fine. I’ll keep doing the talking.
“That’s a dangerous game you play, letting a man follow you down some dark and deserted hallway.”
“You.”
It’s more like a puff of air than a word.
“Me what?”
“Not a man. You. I let you follow me.”
“Why? You don’t know me well enough to trust me following you like this.”
“About this, I do. Gabriele, you are many things that terrify me. But I have never been scared that you’ll hurt me.”
“I won’t. But can I say the same for you? Are you going to knife me? Lead me to men who’ll try to kill me?”
Hurt fills her expression before she shakes her head. But why else would she come to a place known for the Polish Mob? If she’s here, she must know that.
