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“Okay over there?” he asks, glancing at me.
“Yeah,” I answer, leaning back on the seat. “Can I ask you about Savage?”
Michael nods. “Go ahead. Can’t promise I’ll answer everything. He’s very private. Not everything is for everyone.”
I dip my head. “What’s his real name? I mean, I’m sure his parents didn’t name him that.”
Michael does a double take. “You don’t know who he is?”
I shake my head.Am I supposed to?“No. Who is he?”
“Joseph Benavelli the third.”
Leaning forward quickly, I face Michael, mouth agape. “What?! No way!” Of course, I’ve heard of Joseph Benavelli.Everyonehas heard of the Benavelli family. Before he died, the father was in the papers often, the cops trying to pin every crime under the sun on him, but he always got off. After his death, the Benavelli family has been off the radar and out of the papers, probably why I didn’t recognize the son. I remember what the father looked like because I saw his face on the front pages often. I don’t recall seeing Savage in the papers before or after his father died.
“Yes, way,” Michael says with a laugh. “He took over for his father after he died.”
It takes a while to hit me, but it does. I gave myself to fucking Joseph Benavelli the third, the head of a dangerous crime family. I gave myself to a criminal. Internally, I’m losing my shit, but I don’t let it show. We’ve made a deal; I can’t go back on it now.
When we pull up to my rundown apartment, Michael looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “You safe here?”
Gazing around, I try to look at it through a stranger’s eyes. While the neighborhood looks rough, it’s not bad. There are bad people, of course, like there are bad people everywhere, but we know everyone and they know me and Cris. So yeah, I’m safe here.
“Safe enough,” I tell him with a shrug and get out. We’re up on the third floor because of Cris’s paranoia about someone breaking in through the windows, which is funny considering his line of work.
I shove against the weighted door after I unlock it, one that Cris had installed to stop intruders, but what it really does is hinder me from getting in quickly since I’m not strong. Michael helps me, pushing on the weight like it’s nothing. Guess it won’t stop everybody.
I stand in the middle of the room and look around. For a year, what must I absolutely take with me? What can I live without for a while? My laptop is a must, as well as my schoolbooks. Makeup, because of course I need it. A bunch of my clothes, even my club ‘fits. Never know when I’ll get the chance to paint the town with my nonsense, even if I have to go home to Savage at the end of the night.
Going home to him doesn’t sound like such a terrible idea, even with my initial apprehension. He’s hot as fuck—even with the scars—tall, muscular, that growly voice and bad attitude justscreamsBig Dick Energy. Sucking on him at the end of the night might be right up my alley.
Going to my bedroom and pulling out my old, battered luggage, I roll my clothes neatly and pack them away. An old trick I learned from an old classmate that was military. He said when you roll your clothes, you have more room to pack. Since I tend to over-pack, that little life hack has saved me a lot of space. I don’t go a lot of places, but when I do, rolling and over-packing are my middle names. Grabbing a handful of briefs and panties, I toss them alongside my rolled-up masterpieces.
I pack some shoes in an extra bag then take that and my makeup case to the door where the rest of my things are. Thoughts of what I’m doing run through my mind. It’s insane to think that I belong to a mafia boss because of my brother. Saving Cris’s life could endanger my own. If he weren’t my brother and I didn’t love him, I wouldn’t have given myself to the head of a mafia family.
Looking around once more to make sure I have everything, I almost kick myself when I remember my mirror. Well, notmymirror. My mother’s mirror. She had a cute gold handheld mirror that was the only thing I thought to grab before I moved in with Cris and all their stuff was either sold or given away.
The memories attached to the mirror are what I’m really after. I can remember my mother using it to fix her makeup and hair before her and my dad went on a date and using it as a microphone when we used to sing around the house. The mirror holds the best memories of my mother—I won’t leave it behind.
Grabbing that, I take in my little room. It’s been home for the past eight years. Although Cris promised us we’d move, this has been my home. Even though I know he didn’t want to be saddled with me and he barely likes me, he did the best he could with what he had. Maybe with me gone, he’ll have a better time and can live the life he’s always wanted.
With a heavy heart, I make my way out to Michael. He has the handles of my suitcase and makeup case in either hand and my school bag slung over his shoulder. I grab my duffle bag and hold my mother’s mirror to my chest. “I’m ready.”
That’s a lie. I’m not ready at all. The Benavelli family is dangerous. While there hasn’t been much buzz in the papers about them in years, the rumor mill says otherwise. I’m not sure exactly what they’re into, but word is he has Italian mafia ties. I wish I had known before I offered myself that it was the same man that could have me killed at a moment’s notice. Ishouldhave known he had power if he could kidnap a person and not bat an eye, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. Now the deal is done and I’m more than a little terrified.
We drive back to the office in silence, Michael probably giving me time to myself so I can adjust to my new reality.
The ride up to Savage’s office is quiet as well. Michael instructed me to leave my things in the car since he would be taking us home when he’s off. We make our way to Savage’s office and enter when he tells us to.
And there he is. The most imposing man I’ve ever seen. Am I afraid about being his for a year? You bet your ass I am. He’s huge, scary, and can choke you out if you threaten to call the cops. But there’s something else about him that makes me feel like I’m not really in any danger.
He motions for me to have a seat in a chair in front of his desk and Michael takes up sentry beside the door like Captor, whose name I still don’t know. Whipping around, I give him the once over and when my eyes land back on his face, I see a slight smirk on his lips. “What’s your name, handsome?”
Barking a laugh, he answers me. “Quin. Good to meet you.”
“If you hadn’t pulled a gun on me, I’d say the same.”
“If I wanted to kill you, little one, I would have.” When he sees the scowl on my face, he smiles widely at me. “I call you ‘little one’ because of your age this time.”
