“You bet right. You see this?” He taps the ragged scar on his cheek. Jeez, the blade must’ve come so close to his eye. “Looking like an ugly motherfucker comes in handy sometimes. It’s easy for people to believe I’m an animal, Holly, and they’re right to think that. They know instinctively what I’m capable of.”
My tongue gets stuck in my throat as I swallow. He’s threatening me. Why does that hurt so badly? I cough, then say: “I don’t think you’re ugly. Mean-looking, maybe, but not ugly.”
Cedrone huffs and leans back.
And what am I doing, trying to butter up the mobster? Sure, I meant every word, but that won’t save me now. The truth is my only hope.
Selective truths.
“I’d have to be the biggest fool alive to spy on Mr De Rossi,” I tell him, cutting to the chase as I crinkle my maid dress in damp fists. Cedrone can see that I’m nervous, but who cares? Only an idiot wouldn’t be scared of this man. “I can’t think of a worse idea. If I did that and got caught, I’d deserve everything that was coming to me—and I’d hate every second. I’d be the worst mole ever.”
The enforcer grunts, watching me closely. Trying to sniff out the tiniest lie, but he won’t find one here.
I push on, desperation making me chatty.
“One time, when we were teenagers, everyone in the neighborhood threw a surprise party for my sister Ruth, but they didn’t tell me even though I’d have helped them out with it. Baked her a cake and found a good location and all that. I’d have been super helpful, but they knew I can’t lie to save my life.”
“Never?” the enforcer asks, dark eyes gleaming in the lamplight.
“Nope.” Lord help me, it’s true.
“Then tell me something, Holly. Are you afraid of me?”
Uh,duh. Diego Cedrone is a brutal mafia enforcer with blood on his hands. He could pick his teeth with my bones, and we both know it. There is only one correct answer here, but somehow, those aren’t the words that come out.
“S-sometimes,” I say.
If he stares at me any harder, he’ll forget how to blink. “Only sometimes?”
“Um. Yes. Like—like right now, when you’re questioning me and threatening me and scowling like that… yes. You’re obviously very scary. I’m not an idiot. But other times…” I chew on my bottom lip, my belly squirming with nerves. “Other times you seem… nice.”
“Nice,” Cedrone repeats flatly. Does he always fill the room like this? Does he always take up all the air?
“Safe,” I say. “Like last night, when you helped me with the ladder. The other men here, I keep my distance and try to avoid their eyes. But with you, it’s different, and I have this daydream of us where we’re—”
Aaah!
I break off, face hot with embarrassment, and make a mental note to drown myself in whatever cheap alcohol I can find the second I get home to Ruth.IfI get home.
I’ve been stressed for too long. I’ve finally snapped.
And it’s this stale, warm room, and the overwhelming presence of this man. His spicy scent and the constant threat of death. It’s all short-circuiting my brain and making me hazy, too ready to blurt out my secrets; too ready to do anything he says.
I can’t believe I said that.
“Tell me,” Cedrone commands, and his chair groans as he shoves to his feet. The enforcer prowls to the far corner of the room, raking a hand through his dark hair, then strides back. He stops right in front of me, looming over me with his face in shadow. “Finish your sentence, Holly.”
His voice is so deep. I canfeelit rumbling through me.
“I’m… we’re…”
Am I really going to do this? Really going to blurt out my pathetic daydreams to my lethal crush? It’s so humiliating, so desperate, and yet a tiny, mercenary voice in my brain whispers that maybe this confession will mean that when the time comes, my death will be quick. And isn’t it better to talk aboutthisthan about the mole?
It’s not like I’m lying. I really do think about this sometimes, especially when I’m bored dusting all the sculptures.
“Holly, I am not a patient man.”
No kidding. The enforcer’s practically vibrating with tension, a tendon standing taut in his neck. My shoulders ache from peering up at him.