“I’m going to make you can offer. You’re free to deny it, but if you do, I can’t promise that I’ll leave you alone, not after what you did.”
“Sounds like I don’t have much of a choice. What’s the offer?”
“I can’t go into details—don’t give me that look—but the basic idea is this. I need you to pose as my girlfriend so that you can find a piece of information I want. In exchange, I’ll help you find your cousin, and I won’t kill you.” He pauses for several beats of my heart while he sips his coffee and my head’s a dizzy spectacle of conflicting thoughts. “This is your one chance, Gracie. Take my deal and do this job for me and I’ll give you what you want and let you go on your merry little way. You can go drug some other mafia boss for all I care. I’ll even give you a day to think about it. But if you turn me down, I can’t promise you’ll be safe.” He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest and I want to scream.
This isn’t a choice. This is fucking blackmail.
I can’t deny him and he knows it. I’m at his mercy, and even if I wanted to turn around and walk, he’d never allow it—he already said way too much to let me leave still breathing. The only shot I have is to trust that he’ll uphold the bargain after I do this job, whatever the hell it is, and pray I can make it out alive on the other end.
And maybe, just maybe, for argument’s sake at least, maybe he really will give me what I want, what I’ve worked so hard for, what I’ve sacrificed for and fought for. I’ve come this far and done more in the past few months than I ever dreamed I would, and this isn’t all that much further.
I can play girlfriend. I can cozy up to—whoever, I don’t know—and find out whatever he needs. I can be his little spy if that’s what it takes.
I was willing to drug a mafia Don. So why not pretend to date his brother?
“I want to think about it,” I say even though we both know there’s no real question here.
He shrugs and sips his coffee again. The man is maddening and it’s like his every gesture is designed to elicit the maximum amount of rage from my body.
“You’ll work tonight and come stay here again after your shift. In the morning, you’ll give me an answer. Do you understand?”
“I understand.” I move from side to side in my chair. “Uh, but one more thing.”
“Don’t get greedy. I’m already being generous.”
I can feel my cheeks flushing has I tug on a loose curl, pull it straight, and release it again.
“I need fresh clothes.” I feel like a little fucking kid asking my mom for new jeans for school and it’s absolutely humiliating.
“Don’t worry, little thief. While you’re living under my roof, I’ll take care of you.” He takes another bite of his food and gestures with his fork. “I suggest you get something to eat. I’m going to work you hard while you’re mine.”
I shiver and turn away. I don’t doubt he will.
Chapter 4
Calvino
I sit at the bar of Crystal Lake scrolling through messages on my phone, a glass of whiskey at my elbow, the pounding sound of pulsing music making my skin jump and crawl, as Raven works her body and dances on the main stage. A group of drunk guys on a bachelor party weekend throws small bills in her direction, and Raven suctions them up and makes them disappear into her tiny thong like a fucking pro.
“Slow night tonight,” Diego says as he stretches and sighs, leaning his back against the bar, clutching a beer in his right hand. He takes a long pull and sighs. “I’m surprised to see the girl back on the floor.” He eyes me sideways and my jaw flexes. I don’t need his shit tonight.
I grunt at him. “Don’t worry about her.”
“Hard not to worry after what I saw.”
“Forget you saw anything, that’d be safer for everyone.”
Diego chuckles. “Come on, Cal. What the fuck are you playing at?”
I force myself to grin at him and shrug, releasing some of my pent-up anger. Diego’s been my friend since high school and there’s nobody in this world I trust more—except I can’t tell him a thing about my plan, not without taking some risk, and I’m the sort of man that controls the situation and bends risk to my own needs, not the other way around. I refuse to be at the world’s mercy, riding time and circumstance like a piece of mindless flotsam.
“Just trust me when I say the girl’s on a tight leash and whatever you think you saw last night didn’t happen.”