Chapter 22

When I awaken, the day is streaming through the windows. Which is unusual. I sit up abruptly and look around. Slate is beside me, snoring heavily, an arm over his eyes. I smirk as I look at him while he's unguarded.

Normally, he's up before the sun, chasing the day. The scent of cooking breakfast rouses me. But today, he'd slept in. He stayed with me.

Last night's events and the overwhelming panic attack I had come rushing back to me, and I lie back, still watching him as he sleeps soundly.

He snorts, and I fight a laugh.

Not that I didn't enjoy what had gone on between us; it was that I did. It frightened me. It makes me face who I'm becoming with him. At any moment, he could toss me out and decide he's done playing, and I'd be left with the aftermath of him.

I could leave him. Run while his guard is down. The thought makes my heart race. But not with anticipation. With worry.

Things with him feel deeper and rawer than I've ever felt before. He's becoming someone I can't see my days without in the future, and I don't know what that means for me. For us. Or if he's on the same page.

His words had been so heavy and there was a desire in each frantic breath to go further. He was teetering on the edge of something dangerous and dark, barely hanging onto the ledge. I'd been ready to jump in after him, and it scared me.

I hadn't expected him to release me from the table, but he leaped and set me free. That has to mean something, right? I could tell it was the first time he'd broken character because he'd been afraid. It shone on his face like the barest emotion.

There's also the nagging thought of what he's capable of. He could also kill me easily. He'd compartmentalize what he'd done and go on with his life and I'd be but a blip on his journey through the world as the reaper.

I decide to get up and seize the day. Getting dressed as I wait for the Keurig to make me a cup of coffee, I let my mind clear.

I spend the morning toiling away, milking the goats as Slate taught me a week ago. I muck the stalls so that Slate can have the morning off, and I'm collecting eggs when I see something strange sticking out from beneath one of the hens.

It looks like it's a piece of paper. I narrow my gaze at it, plucking it out and unfolding it.

There's a stamp of some kind. It looks like a crest. One could argue it's the stamp of a king. It looks regal, with a lion in the middle and golden filigree decorating the space surrounding it. The lion has something in its mouth, something dead. Blood drips from the dead animal, and the lion stares front-facing, eyes full of darkness.

There are two words, and it's definitely Italian. "Stiamo arrivando."

I don't know what it means, or how it got here. I wonder if maybe Slate dropped it and has been looking for it. I pocket it and move on to collect more eggs, steering clear of Herman the asshole since he's behaving for the moment. Thank god.

When I get inside, Slate comes rushing out of the bedroom with a gun in hand. I startle but securely hold the eggs so I don't drop them.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asks breathlessly. His eyes are edging on panic.

He thought I ran.

Something heavy burns in my chest, and I ignore it as I put all my eggs into the carton on the counter before stepping toward him. My hand lowers his that holds the weapon.

"I was tending the animals," I tell him.

His breathing hasn't stopped heaving heavily, and I know he feels the same way I had felt last night.

I grapple with what to do and how to fix this before he spirals. An idea pops into my head, one that warms my center at the thought.

I don't know if it'll work. I don't know if it'll backfire. But one never knows until they try.

I drop to my knees before him, looking down. Submission seems to be the way I feel most cared about, and it's what also seems to give him something in return.

"I thought you left me," he says. With my eyes downcast, he has the confidence to speak.

"I'm sorry, Daddy." A thrill races inside my veins.

When his hand comes down and runs through my hair, I nearly groan at the feel.

"I wanted you to have a morning off," I admit, lifting my eyes to his when he reaches down and tips my chin toward him.

"You're too perfect for words, Brynne."

I gape at him, words not coming to me to give him in return.

He puts his gun behind his back, putting his hand out to help me stand.

"Oh, I found something of yours," I tell him, and he narrows his eyes at me before leaning in and pecking my cheek with a light kiss.

My heart soars, but I ignore it.

I'm ignoring a lot this morning.

I pull out the paper from my pocket and hand it over.

Turning back, I make him coffee for once. When he normally makes mine. "I figured you dropped it and one of the hens picked it up," I say nonchalantly.

In a flash, I'm turned around. He's breathing erratically, eyes shifting to hold mine. "Where did you find this?"

I bristle but try to get the words out. His grip on my arm is so tight I can feel the shake in his hands. "In the chicken coop, under one of the hens."

"Get in the basement, now!" he orders, getting his gun out as he ushers me downstairs.

Whatever is on that note isn't anything I thought it was. He's obviously distressed about whatever its meaning is.

"Slate, wait…" he lifts me over his shoulder, carrying me down the stairs as I squeal. "What does it say?" I ask.

He drops me to the basement floor, onto my feet. "Do not make a sound. No matter what you hear. Come and lock the door." He hands me a gun. "Aim to kill."

I nod, fear licking at my resolve.

He rushes up the stairs. The door slams and I run up to ensure it's locked. It is.

I get to the bottom of the steps and aim my weapon, breathing picking up with each moment that ticks past.

Whatever was on that paper, whoever it was from, it's not good. It appears it's from the life he ran from. His old life.

* * *

It's been an hour,and Slate hasn't come back. I've been standing as still as I can with my gun trained on the door. My arms are burning, and tears are falling down my cheeks. I haven't heard a thing, but that makes me more anxious. What if something happened to him?

I've fought with myself the entire time I've been standing here. Arguing back and forth inside my head about leaving the basement. But he was adamant I stay put.

The door unlocks and bursts open, and my finger finds the trigger instinctively.

"Gun down, bunny. It's only me," Slate says with a grin, and it's what breaks me fully.

I lose my hold on my emotions and sob, sagging down on the bottom step as my arms thank me for the relief.

He comes to the step behind me, sitting and pulling me into his lap.

"Shh, hey. I'm alright. It's okay. We're fine." His comfort does nothing to stop the tears, however.

"What was on that paper, Slate?"

He sighs, his hand flexing on my thigh where his arm has wrapped around my body. "It was from my family."

I lift my brows, as if to say and.

"It says: we are coming."

"And what does that mean?" I ask. "And don't lie. I know you were scared. You looked the part."

He closes his eyes briefly, and I wonder what emotion he's just veiled from me. "Not afraid. Just…uncomfortable with the idea that you were out there with men like those in my family lurking through the woods."

I narrow my gaze. "But I slept next to you. Are they worse than you?"

He smirks arrogantly. "None are worse than me, bunny. I was the enforcer."

The cogs in my brain click into place, everything coming together full circle. "You are in the mob!"

He shakes his head in disbelief, but his answering smirk tells me I'm not wrong.

"My name is Ardesia Ricci. I am the Underboss and enforcer for the Ricci family."

Anyone who's anyone has heard of the Ricci family. They're one of the five mob families based in New York. I was obsessed with anything mob-related growing up, thinking that everything about how the men on GoodFellas lived looked dangerous yet glamorous.

Once I got older, however, I realized just how fucked up some of the things are that those families do.

I stand, moving out of his lap.

"Well, I used to be the Underboss…" He trails off.

I narrow my gaze, looking for more answers.

He clears his throat. "It's a long story."

I wave my gun in the air, and he winces as if he thinks I'm unable to compose myself with the weapon.

"How about you give that to me, hmm?" he asks.

I realize the power I have with it in my hands. I look at it contemplatively before pointing it at him.

He snarls, darkness covering his eyes.

"How about you tell me who the fuck you are?"

"I told you," he says, not bothering to lift his hands in defense. Men like him are used to being on the other end of the barrel. It seems he'd come down unarmed. And that's his problem, not mine.

"You know I'm an excellent shot, so don't test me. What do you mean you used to be the Underboss?"

He rubs at his temples. "My brother, our boss, the Don, died. He was readying me to take his place when I left."

"You ran," I realize.

The accusation makes him growl, but he doesn't deny it.

"You did. And now they've found you and I'm in the middle of some kind of mob bullshit. How the fuck do I get myself into these situations?" I'm talking to myself, but he rolls his eyes, sitting back as if he's unfazed by the gun pointed at him.

"You are the only bunny I've ever seen who seems drawn to danger," he says.

I try to hide my reaction to his words. Everything this man says makes me want to never leave this cabin. But I have to. I need to get away from him before I get into the crossfire of whatever is going to happen between him and his family.

"Why wouldn't they just take you back? Why send the message?" I ask.

He only grins. "Because we Italians are nothing if not showmen. They're giving me the chance to come in on my own. Before they come and take me in, which could end in blood."

I gasp. "That's my fucking cue, then." I start up the stairs to pass him, but he stands.

"Where do you think you're going?" His commanding voice makes my breathing hitch.

"I didn't sign up for this."

He snickers. "Yeah, you signed up to nearly die in the wilderness. Makes perfect sense. How is it you're going to get home?"

I shrug. "I'll figure it out."

He's right, though. My call button to get in touch with the show was in my equipment bag. There's no way off this fucking island without him.

"Are you going to them?" I ask.

He reaches down and touches my face. "If you weren't here, I wouldn't. I'd let it come to a fight and bury every single one of whoever Enzo sends to retrieve me behind the barn."

"But because I'm here?" I ask, hating the way I melt in his hand.

"Because you're here, bunny, I'll go in peacefully."

I lick my lips. "Will you take me home?"

"If it's what you wish." Sadness fills every crevice of his eyes, and my heart tugs in my chest.

Do I want to go home?

I can't very well take up with a mobster.

You already have been.

I didn't know! I argue back with the voice in my head.

Slate sits on the steps, pulling me down to straddle his lap.

A heavy sigh leaves him as his massive hands grip my hips and make me forget all my worries.

"I like you with a weapon in your hands," he admits.

I lift the gun, pressing the barrel to his temple. "Even when it's aimed at you?"

"Especially when it's aimed at me."

I laugh, shaking my head. "Why? That makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense. It means you're strong enough to take me on if you need to, Brynne. There's a darkness that lives in me. One that I sometimes can't control. You'd be able to stand your ground and go toe-to-toe with the reaper, and many have gone before you that couldn't."

Pride wells in my chest as he uses his grip on my hips to grind my body across his obvious erection.

I moan, letting the gun slide from his temple and dangle it over his shoulder.

"You really do like me with a weapon."

He smirks, leaning forward, hovering over my lips. "You have no idea. You should've seen the state of my cock when I got home after you shot me."

He breaks my laugh off with his lips, and I swallow his answering groan.

I don't know what comes next. This is an adventure I didn't plan for. But the best things in life aren't planned sometimes. Right?