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I can sell those routes to your father, who can capitalize on raiding his goods. That way, we all win. Your father lets me back in on his good books, and you protect your little secret.”
“But... what if I’m caught?”
“How can Felix Carlisi ever catch on to you, poor, innocent, lovely, young Emily Jackson...
That’s the deal. Spy on Felix, and I protect you. Say no, and I’ll take the bounty on your head.”
“Fuck you,” I say through gritted teeth. On the one hand, I faced certain death.
On the other, a slim chance of survival. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
Chapter 3
FELIX
NomatterhowhardI try, I can't get her out of my mind.
Now, I rush through the day, finish my business earlier, and wander into The White Rabbit almost daily.
The first few times I returned, she ignored me. Not in the I - didn't - notice- you manner, but more of I know you're here, but I'm playing hard to get.
I let her carry on this charade for however long she wanted, but now, I'm losing my patience.
Today, I'm just about done. I watch as a group of low-rung soldiers try to flirt with her. I smile when I notice she ignores them too.
But then I see it. A signal. She twirls her hair around her fingers and looks at me out the corner of her eye.
It's like a floodgate opened. I can't believe I don't even know this girl's name, and now here I am, walking up to her with a smile, ready to make my move.
"Why'd you ignore me?" I ask her out of curiosity.
She arches her perfectly shaped eyebrow at me, seeming amused.
"Maybe I wasn't interested," she says, leaning back onto the counter and crossing her arms over her chest.
Her breasts push up against the fabric of her white shirt, making me want to reach out and touch them.
"Is that so?" I reply, stepping even closer to her. I can see the vein pulsing in her neck, and I know she's affected by my proximity.
"Maybe," she repeats, her eyes flickering down to my lips before meeting my gaze again.
I reach out a hand and tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, letting my fingertips brush against her cheek.
"You're lying," I say, leaning in and whispering, "Have dinner with me. Tonight."
She looked at the clock behind her. "I would," she says, "but I don't even know your name."
I smile at her, "I don't know yours either."
"Emily Jackson," she says.
"Felix Carlisi," I offer. "I thought you were Italian."
"Why?" she asks, looking at me quizzically.
"I heard you speaking Italian that night with the intruder, and you are a true beauty.
The kind of rare flower only Italy has to offer."
