“A cop came by a few weeks ago, trying to get in on my game. When I questioned him, he told me he was after this Russian, to break open the slave ring. So I called him. Brought her to a meeting place, so she could be questioned and taken care of.”
“Oh my God. That poor girl.” Fresh tears smart my eyes.
I go soft and moony for Carlo. He was a hero. Protecting the weak. Getting that woman to safety. He has so much more honor than I gave him credit for.
My role as mafia princess has always been to turn a blind eye, ask nothing, see nothing. Accept the wealth that came from my father’s dealings.
Getting involved with Carlo makes me question whether I can continue doing so for the rest of my life. To willingly choose to go on, knowing he deals in the shadowy side of business. Hearing he’s as much a hero in his business dealings as he is with me comes as a relief.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry I assumed the worst. It’s just— you didn’t want to have sex with me when you came home last night. And then when I smelled the perfume…”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He rubs his forehead. “Summer, this girl was in bad shape. She had track marks running up both arms, like they kept her constantly drugged, and…” He breaks off, looking sickened.
“What?” My voice comes out as no more than a croak.
He presses his lips together, his nostrils flaring.
“Carlo, what?”
He shakes his head. “She was barely dressed. She had on this little teddy and a G-string, and her back and ass were all marked up.”
My stomach twists as I suddenly understand where his thoughts are headed. He’s comparing what we do with the abuse this woman endured.
“Carlo, that’s different.”
He starts the car and pulls out into traffic, as if he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.
“Carlo, are you telling me you couldn’t have sex with me last night because…” I struggled for the right words. “We’re different. You know that, right?”
A furrow deepens between his brows as he watches the traffic with more intent than necessary.
“Carlo?”
He rubs the back of his neck, still not looking at me.
“You don’t think—” I give an exasperated sigh. “Carlo, she also had sex forced on her, do you think every guy who has sex is wrong, too?”
Carlo’s eyebrows shoot up, and he finally glances over. Something in the set of his shoulders eases. “God, it just...disturbed me.”
“Well, of course it did. It disturbs me just hearing about it.” I reach out and touch his knee. “Please tell me you’re not going to shut off your dominance now because you saw an example of abuse.”
He parks on the street in front of a popular breakfast joint then turns to look at me. His expression is still troubled, but he leans forward and kisses my forehead. “Thanks, principessa.”
“I’m sorry, I overreacted. I’m embarrassed now.”
He shrugs. “All good. You were upset. I can take a punch or two. You have bad history that way, so you jumped to a conclusion. But I meant it when I said I’m not that guy. Do you believe me?”
I want to. So badly. I want to trust this guy with my whole heart. Why is it so terrifying? But he’s waiting for an answer, so I nod.
“Please don’t run off again without giving me a chance to explain myself. And for fuck’s sake, don’t open the door on a moving car. You scared the shit out of me.”
“I’m sorry.” I squeeze his hand, grateful for the man who already seems to hold my entire world together. “Are you going to punish me?”
His eyes crinkle at my obvious attempt to push him back into his dominant role. “I guess I’d better.”
He pushes open the door and meets me on the sidewalk, taking my hand. “What did I tell you would happen if you slapped me again?”
My pulse kicks up another notch, heat pooling between my legs. “You said you’d put a plug in my ass and stand me in a corner.”
A smile twists on his lips. “You paid attention.” He sounds pleased.
With that thrilling consequence hanging over me, I have no idea how I’ll make it through breakfast, but Carlo’s in a rare, sharing mood, so I use it to probe into his past.
After we’ve ordered our food, I ask, “Do you miss your family back home?”
Carlo nods. “I miss…nothing and everything. I mean, I’m happy here. This is my home now. But my mother probably doesn’t know I’m alive or dead.”
I work to swallow, realizing the enormity of that. How I’d ache to see my mom if I had to stay in hiding.
“Your poor mom.”
He nods. “Every year on her birthday I send flowers.” He shrugs. “I guess I hope she knows they’re from me. That I’m alive. But I can’t make contact otherwise.”