Chapter 18CANDI

Chapter 18

CANDI

"What would you do if I bought into your delusion and believed all the stuff that comes out of your mouth?" I have no trouble believing he wants my body and even less trouble admitting I want his too.

But no way can he really want me, Candi Brigliano, the real woman with all my baggage and history, not the fantasy dancing the pole on a stage.

"Celebrate," he says with complete earnestness.

Shut up heart, we are not that naive. "Well, it's not going to happen."

"You're not afraid of me."

I don't say anything because that is not a lie, no matter how last girl standing in a horror movie that makes me.

"Salvatore's guy had to sedate Bianca to get her back to his place," he says, mentioning my best friend and the capo she's now married to. "Derian didn't need to do that with you."

"If that's your measure of success, your bar is set too low." I do nothing to curb the sarcasm rolling off me. "That fact does not earn you, or your men, a gold star. If Derian or Mario had drugged me, they'd be facing way worse payback than what I'm planning."

"We are so well matched," he croons.

I roll my eyes. "Because I'm planning to make them pay? A penchant for payback is not a romantic thing to have in common."

"Agree to disagree."

I squash the smile trying to curve my lips upward. This guy. "So, this kidnapping thing is somehow normal in your world? Like your stranger marriages?"

" Arranged marriages. And no, not really. Severu blackmailed Catalina into marrying him. Miceli signed a blood contract with Róise after Boss Shaughnessy offered her as guarantor of an alliance," he muses. "No, kidnapping is pretty rare actually."

"Is that supposed to make me feel special?"

"You are special. You're my person."

Maybe if I ignore him, he'll stop saying stuff like that. Arguing hasn't done the trick.

"I terrify most people just by breathing in the same vicinity as them," he informs me, like it's some kind of secret.

Newsflash. It's not.

"Tell me something I don't know." I mean, his punishment for breaking the no-touch rule is to cut off hands. "You're a scary guy."

"But not to you." His voice just oozes satisfaction.

Not sure what I'm going to say, because I can't really deny it, can I? I open my mouth to reply, but a yawn cracks my jaw instead.

Angelo hops to his feet with me still in his arms. "You need your rest."

"I wish. This is fun and all," I say with exhaustion blunted sarcasm. "But my mom and sister will be worried sick if I don't go home tonight."

And if we aren't going to do the nasty, I have no legitimate reason to stay. Most people would question my thought process for thinking sex with my kidnapper would be one.

But they don't live in my head. Only I do.

And tired, or not, I really wish we were going to have sex.

"I had Mario text them from your phone." Angelo leans down to turn off the gas fire, barely jostling me.

"No way is my mom going to believe that text is from me." We have our own way of communicating through text. "She's probably already called the cops."

Mom expects certain abbreviations from me. And when I text after work, there's a code word I use to prove it's me and I'm not texting under duress.

Carrying me out of the living room, Angelo says, "Pull your phone out of my pocket and check for yourself."

"That sounds like the beginning of a cheesy pickup line."

His laughter makes me smile. Who knew a deadly assassin could sound so joyful . Apparently, that's what I give him.

Which, if I let myself believe it, is a heady thought.

Me, Candi Brigliano, exotic dancer still working to get my associates degree, makes the deadliest man in New York happy.

"Which pocket?" I ask.

"The right one."

Reaching for my phone is too physically awkward to be sexy, even when my fingers brush along an erection of impressive proportions.

Angelo sucks in his breath and stops dead in the middle of the hall, which is really more like a hotel lobby. It even has a grand marble staircase wider at the bottom than at the top with decorative rails going up both sides.

I guess rich people call this a foyer. I call it big enough to hold our whole apartment.

"Fuck, amate ." He closes his eyes, like he's trying to regain his control.

Pretending his instant reaction to me isn't the absolute catnip it is to my kitty, I fish my phone from his pocket. I might do a little extra touching along the rigid length than necessary.

I can't drum up even a little surprise or self-condemnation when instead of trying to dial 911, I actually do what Angelo says and check the text stream with my mom.

Every text is more unbelievable than the last.

Stunned by how Mario not only uses my abbreviations but the code word too, I look up at Angelo. "How?"

"I watch over you."

"But the code word…we only talk about that in the apartment."

His smile is like a naughty boy getting caught as he nods in agreement.

How? He's got my apartment bugged?

Unsure how I feel about that and fully aware that my first reaction isn't absolute dismay, I say, "Mario told my mom I was going home with you."

"And she was neither surprised, nor upset by that news." Angelo doesn't even try to hide how pleased he is by that.

If he's been listening in on our conversations, he knows I've been talking about him to her for weeks. Mom's one of the reasons I ventured into the VIP section to ask if the mafioso wanted a lap dance.

She says I need to go for it.

Of course, she doesn't know he's in the Cosa Nostra, or that he's cut men's hands off on my behalf. She wouldn't get it.

All she knows is that he's not like the other punters and I really, really, really wanted him to ask me out.

So, she buys the story Mario sells in the text stream that's supposed to be from me like it's a 50% off sale in the meat department.

"Mario told her that it's late, so I'm staying over at your place." He'd even sent a picture of the mansion with me in front of it.

I have no idea how he managed that feat of doctored photography, but it worked. Mom is not worried at all. Mario-me even told her to go to bed and get some sleep, just like I would have done, if I really had been staying over with a guy I wanted to get to know better.

Like that's ever happened before.

Mom's last text makes my heart squeeze in my chest.

Mom : He must be something really special to have made it past your barriers of mistrust where men are concerned. I'm so happy for you, honey. But you tell him if he hurts you, he'll have me to answer to .

Mom uses the voice to text function because of her arthritis and I can hear her voice in my head as I read the words.

"Am I?" Angelo asks.

I look up from my phone. "Are you what?"

"Something really special."

"According to you, you're my soulmate," I remind him.

He leans down and presses his forehead to mine. "I want to know what I am according to you ."

"You know," I grumble. "You were listening."

He lifts his head so our eyes can meet. "Does that bother you?"

"Would it matter if it did?" That it doesn't is definitely a me problem. "I know you've been stalking me, but Mario's ability to impersonate me is next level."

"I told him what to say in the texts." Angelo makes it sound like that's the most normal thing in the world.

It's not.

"But how did you know what to say?" I press.

I mean, there's stalking and there's stalking . Right?

He starts toward the stairs, showing no strain from carrying me. "You leave your phone in your locker when you dance."

I don't ask how he got into the locker or the phone. A semi-decent lockpick would open the locker and my phone is an off-brand piece of crap that's at least five generations old. It would be a piece of cake for a guy like him.

"Okay, but how did you know that I've talked about you to my mom and sister?" Will he admit to bugging the apartment?

He squeezes me tighter, like he thinks I'm going to leap from his arms. "Do you really want the answer to that?"

"Yes," I say firmly. "I want to know."

Apparently being stalked and kidnapped is not a dealbreaker for me. Because I am in possession of my phone, but making no effort to call 911 while he carries me upstairs. To the guest room?

Not sure if I want the answer to be yes , or no to that.

"I have camera feeds inside your apartment and out in the hallway."

Camera feeds? As in he has been watching me not merely listening? He said he watched me, but I didn't think he meant it like that.

"Uh, that's clinical grade obsession right there."

"Maybe, but you've figured out by now my brain doesn't work like other people's." It's not a question.

And he's right. No way would your average person think dismemberment a reasonable reaction to a punter overstepping.

"I think my brain has a twist too," I admit. "Ronnie would never have had to pay for his assault on me. Now, maybe he'll think twice about trying to molest another woman."

"He won't have long to do that thinking." Angelo's voice drips menace.

"What do you mean?"

"He didn't just touch you. He tried to rape you."

"Most people wouldn't see it that way."

"I'm not most people." He stops on the landing.

It's not some small patch of carpet at the top of the wide marble staircase. No, it's a whole other room, with chairs and flowers in a vase on the table against the wall that runs between two open hallways.

Does this place have wings like some medieval castle? "Killing people must pay well."

"Generational wealth, but yeah, it pays pretty well when your boss is the godfather."

Generational wealth? Who is this guy? And why is he so obsessed with me ?

Focusing on something besides my sudden attack of insecurity, I say, "Those cameras would have to have sound for you to know all the things you do."

Which are in a word, embarrassing. I say stuff to my mom and sister I wouldn't even admit to Bianca. She's got no clue about my crush on the mafia assassin. Mom and Cookie are the only two people on the planet that get to see the softer side I hide under my prickly exterior.

"Yes."

I fist his shirt. "Now is not the time to clam up on me. How did you get cameras into my apartment?"