Which was the reason for the pit in my stomach, my clammy hands and the reason I’d almost left the seedy diner about a hundred times.
Then I thought about last night. About how I couldn’t even say a single word, how I couldn’t refuse the man essentially holding me hostage. If I didn’t do something, we’d be married. He’d control the rest of my life. I’d turn into something I didn’t recognize.
I’d turn into the villain.
So I was here, at a seedy diner, waiting for a man who had a husky voice and a need to put Cristian and everyone involved with him behind bars. I’d been nursing a stale cup of coffee for the past fifteen minutes, staring at the door, half expecting Cristian to walk through. Or worse, Felix. He was the one who did his dirty work.
My eyes shot up when I heard the now familiar squeak of the door. The man walking through was wearing a shitty suit, and scanned the empty diner until his eyes found mine.
Behind him was a woman. Pretty. Hispanic. Short and curvy. Her features were delicate, but she looked tough. Able to handle herself in any situation. Her expression was harsh, in direct conflict with those delicate features, eyes narrowed, full lips flattened into a grimace. Her back was straight, legs spread out into a masculine stance. She was much younger than Detective Greg Harris. I didn’t know why I’d expected him to be younger. I’d found him through an article that was over a decade old.
He must’ve been at least fifty. If not older. His black hair was streaked with white, deep lines creasing his tanned face. He was tall. Hulking. Muscled but still with a stomach that protruded over his belt. His eyes looked tired. That’s how I’d describe the man. Yes, he was strong, weathered, handsome even, in a rugged and hard kind of way. But something about him seemed weary, like he was dragging the weight of the world along with him.
I stood when they approached, my heart fluttering. All of the fight, the hatred that had driven me here, fizzled out as the reality of what I was doing set in.
“Ms. Sienna.” Greg Harris extended his hand.
I shook it, gripping firmly. This man was my life raft. I’d chosen this path, I had to commit to it.
“Nice to meet you, Detective Harris,” I said, wondering if I was telling the truth.
“Greg, please,” he replied, trying to smile. He probably didn’t do that often since it looked uncomfortable on his face. “This is my partner, Lucia.” He moved ever so slightly to give me a better view of the woman.
She didn’t return my smile, nor did she hold out her hand for me. Her demeanor wasn’t exactly hostile, but I sensed she was wary of me. The feeling was mutual. There was a reason the Catalano family had been operating for this long, committing crimes, killing people. Cristian had connections with the police. That’s why I’d only found one article where anyone in law enforcement acknowledged who he was. The only inkling that Greg Harris was not on the payroll.
“Why don’t we sit?” he invited when I realized we were still standing awkwardly.
My gaze went to the entrance, still expecting Felix to walk through the doors. When it remained empty, I sat.
We waited in silence as the waitress poured them coffee, while Greg Harris ordered eggs, over easy, bacon and pancakes. It surprised me that his mind was on breakfast, but I figured it was less suspicious if someone ate.
“So you have information on Cristian Romano,” he said once the waitress left.
Straight talk. I appreciated that.
I figured I would return the favor, so I launched into the story of how I got involved with Cristian. I left out the part where I willingly left a restaurant with him, fucked him for hours and didn’t get his name.
I figured that they didn’t need those sordid details.
“He’s threatened two very innocent people,” I added once I was done. “Though I may not be savvy to the inner workings of his organization, I don’t think it’s an empty threat.”
“It’s not,” Greg retorted, voice hard, his plate of food untouched in front of him. “Cristian Romano does not make empty threats. If he finds out about this meeting, your friend and her son are dead.”
I hid my flinch at his no nonsense, frosty tone. I knew this, but hearing it out loud from someone who knew a lot about Cristian made it all the more concerning.
“Exactly.” I forced the word past my dry throat. “So I have no idea whether I can trust you. But I don’t have any other options.”
“Your only other option is to marry him,” Lucia finally spoke, voice flat.
My eyes went to her. She’d made it clear she didn’t like me, her expression was tight, displeased. As women, we could convey dislike without a fucking word. And she didn’t need to say a thing to communicate that she found me lacking. Could she see something? That I wasn’t entirely convinced what I was doing was the right thing? That the idea of marrying Cristian wasn’t as utterly despicable as it should’ve been?