I blink past my sex-hazed view around her place, getting my shit together so I can bring her back to my place. I look around for any signs of foul play.
“Seriously, what are you doing?” Mia asks. She’s holding my hand as I check her locks, check her windows, make sure the security cameras I’ve got trained on her are in place.
“I don’t trust that douchebag.”
“Davo? He’s harmless.”
“Right.”
“I’ve got an easy solution for that if you’re worried about me,” she says in that low, seductive purr I feel straight to my groin.
“Oh?”
Everything’s kosher. We’re good to go.
“Just let me stay at your place tonight.”
Right. The perfect solution and my utter ruin.
She’s so damn innocent and naïve. “Anyone could see us. Someone at the college, for example.”
Someone keeping tabs on me from Calabria.
She looks as if she’s trying to decide between pouting and agreeing, but a sharp look from me and she pulls her lower lip back in her mouth, nodding.
“Yes, sir.”
Good girl.
“You come to my place with me for dinner, then you come back here tonight.”
She nods again. “Sounds good.”
“I’ll go first, so we don’t rouse suspicion.”
She nods, but I can tell she’s reluctant to be separated from me.
Good girl.
It’s stupid as fuck, but as I walk from her place to mine, I tell myself I can do this. Keep my hands off her. Be the protector she needs, not just another fuck trying to get in her pants.
I take note of everything as I leave and head back to my place. The solid locks on her door, fire alarm in working order, the halls neatly swept. Though she lives in a nice place, the buildings like this in Boston are old, needing constant upkeep.
But she’s safe.
I trot up the stairs and don’t even answer Michele when she calls from her balcony. Maybe if I pretend not to hear her she’ll go away.
I’m prepared to tell Emilio to fuck off when I get to my place, but he isn’t there either. We’re wide and clear. I whip out my phone and scroll to my video feed. I watch as Mia tosses things into a bag, a smile on her face. Damn, she’s beautiful. So innocent. And the way she fucking responded to my discipline… God.
I’ll have to find a movie. A hobby. A craft, for Christ’s sake, anything that doesn’t involve my dick and her tight little body.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I pull out the little packages of fresh ravioli I bought at a shop down the street, hand cut this morning. Bread, olive oil, and herbs. I’m stripping basil off a plant by my door when the bell rings. I’ve watched her every step of the way.
“Come on up,” I say, and push the buzzer. I wipe my hands on a dishtowel and go to the door to meet her. I open the door, when my phone rings in my pocket.
Jesus Christ.
Piero.
He doesn’t like to wait.
I walk down the steps to Mia while I answer the phone.
“Ciao, capo.”
“Ciao, figlio.”
Son.
My conscience stabs me. I tug Mia’s hand, but she doesn’t budge. What the hell?
“How’s my daughter?” Piero asks.
“Doing well,” I say. “Made it to all her classes.”
“Staying out of trouble?”
I grimace, but nod. Oh, I’ll make sure she stays the hell out of trouble. I can’t make it sound too perfect, though.
“Yes, sir. So far, anyway. Had a few questionable friends, but I made my presence known and I don’t think they’ll be causing problems.”
He chuckles. He approves of my methods, I tell myself.
Well, most of them.
Jesus, probably almost none of them.
“Thank you, son. You have no idea how much I appreciate what you’re doing.”
If he had any idea.
I hear a woman’s voice drifting over from next door. She’s talking to Mia, and she doesn’t know I’m here. I walk toward Mia.
“Of course, boss. And how’s my mother?”
I need to turn the subject away from Mia before he can hear the guilt over the phone four thousand miles away.
He tells me she’s good, but I’m only half-listening. Mia’s cheeks are flushed pink, and she’s frozen in place. I exit the door and look to where she is, to find Michele on the balcony. Glaring.
Great.
I give Michele a wave, take Mia by the hand, and yank her inside.
“Good, good, sir,” I say to Piero. I give Mia a warning look, pointing to the phone, but she’s obviously distracted. I put my finger to her lips. Her eyes go wide.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Anything you need, son, you call me. That daughter of mine knows how to find trouble, but I sent you because I know you’ll take good care of her.”
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
I. Am. A. Douche.
I hang up the phone and stick it in my pocket. She shoves my finger away.
What the hell is this?
“Don’t do that to me,” she says. I slam the door behind her and press her back to it. My pulse races from the phone call. I’m so fucking wound up. I lean in on my forearm, caging her in.