“You look like you need help,” she says and bites her lip as she looks away.
I laugh as I sit back. “Don’t misunderstand the situation, Mirella. I may need physical therapy right now, but I am not weak. I won’t go easy on you.”
“Good,” she says, glaring now. “I won’t go easy on you, either.”
I grin in response, excitement pulsing. “I’ll send my brother in to gather your things. We’ll leave right now.”
Her eyes go wide. “Right now? This second? I just got out of the shower. I’m not even dressed or packed or anything.”
“You can dress and pack now. We’ll wait.”
“But—”
I push back and get to my feet. It’s like struggling up a long slope on a broken bicycle, but I manage it. “No arguments. Go dress and pack. You have ten minutes, and if you’re not ready when time’s up, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you downstairs.”
Her jaw works as she pushes back from the table. “You couldn’t even if you wanted to.”
“I could. It might break me, but I will drag you to that car, kicking and screaming. Now go get dressed and packed, mafia princess. And welcome to the Bruno Famiglia.”
Her jaw works and there’s a deep loathing in her eyes. I don’t know if it’s directed at me, but I understand she has a complicated relationship with her father, and I suspect she dislikes everyone in his line of work.
Fine, okay, that’s understandable.
She can hate me all she wants, but she will help me.
She will obey.
From here on out, she’s my employee.
She works for me.
And she will learn to listen.
I fetch Gavino from the hallway. He seems surprised that she’s coming along, but accepts it. I time Mirella as Gavino paces around (“Kind of a depressing little place, huh?”) and she emerges from the back with exactly thirty seconds to spare.
Smart girl.
She lugs a heavy suitcase and drops it at my feet. “That’s the first one,” she says and brings out two more. “You can carry one if you want.”
Fucking hell.
Gavino barks a laugh, highly amused, and hefts two bags. He looks at me expectantly. “You got it?”
I stoop and pick it up. It’s one of those with wheels and I drag it behind me as I limp back into the hall. It’s hell, but this time I swallow my pride and take the damn elevator.
Mirella follows silently. She takes the bag when we reach the parking lot and gets in the car without complaint.
Nobody speaks as we drive to Villa Bruno.
Chapter 3
Mirella
I think I’ve lost my mind.
No, I don’t think, I definitely know.
I went insane.
I’m crazy now, apparently.
Because only a crazy person would follow a visibly injured mafia bastard into his car and agree to live in his house for two months. No amount of money is worth that risk.
But when he touched me in the kitchen, even that brief little contact of his fingers on my wrist, it was like coming awake in the middle of the night, wide awake after an intense and confusing dream. I saw him suddenly, clear as anything: handsome, so fucking handsome, with muscular arms and a broad chest, beautiful in a sharp and intense sort of way, the kind of man that dominates a room with his silent presence, but in so much pain. He was sweating, out of breath, and working hard not to show how badly he was hurting.
Stupid and proud.
I caved because of that pride. He wasn’t going to give up, not anytime soon. The money helped too. The thought of my mother with three hundred thousand dollars makes me almost able to ignore the fact that I’m throwing myself into hell. It makes the suffering that’s coming a little easier to swallow.
At least Villa Bruno is beautiful. It’s set back from town on the edge of the desert behind high white-washed walls with armed guards patrolling the interior. The main house is a modernist mixture of glass and wood and natural stone, made to blend in with the surrounding landscape like it’s been camouflaged from the outside world. When we arrive, two girls are standing outside waiting with that massive guy, Nico, from the coffee shop.
The first girl comes to the car door and helps Fynn out. She’s got dark hair and a bright smile, and I see the resemblance right away. “This is Karah, my sister,” Fynn says, nodding to her.
I shake her hand. “I’m Mirella, the physical therapist.”
“Nice to meet you,” Karah says, beaming, and gestures at Nico. “You met my husband already.”
“Charmed,” Nico rumbles.
“And this is my sister-in-law and Casso’s wife, Olivia.”
“Hello,” Olivia says. She’s a pretty girl with brown skin and brown eyes and her hair’s pulled up into a bun. I’m pretty sure she’s in the early months of pregnancy and just starting to show, but I know better than to ask. “Nice to meet you.”