Chapter 12

12

JACK

I 'm late getting to Bettino's. Something came up at work, is how I'll explain it to Serena. Concerning myself with what to tell her or anyone else, the desire to protect her is its own worry. I won't tell her that the problem at work was a second cousin we caught trying to roll over on the entire Marino organization to save his own ass because he got caught embezzling from his father-in-law's company. That's what he thought was a smart decision—steal from the wife's family, betray his own.

Fact is, he doesn't know enough to do any damage—he was never more than a distant cousin my dad never trusted enough to hire.

I gave him a choice, man to man. He decided to turn himself in to the cops on embezzlement. His wife has wisely filed for divorce and custody of their kids. He knows to serve his time, keep his head down and my name out of his mouth. My dad would have shot him in the head gleefully in front of a room full of assembled family and friends to make an example. I make my own examples.

He's too weak to harm me or mine. He's no threat and is headed to the state penitentiary on a plea deal that'll put him away for ten years minimum. His kids'll be teenagers and want nothing to do with him by the time he gets out. That's punishment enough to my mind.

I enter through the back office as usual. Instead of going straight through to the bar, I pause, see Serena sitting in the guest chair in front of the desk where I've watched her clean and repair wounds using the surface as a makeshift operating table. She sits on her hands, feet on the floor. She isn't curled up, doesn't lounge in the chair or light up with the playful smile I look forward to.

I feel my pulse speed up, a chill that is something like worry settling over my shoulders. I want to kneel beside her, take her hands, demand to know what's wrong. Don't be dramatic—I scold myself—just wait and see. I've never had trouble keeping quiet before when the situation calls for it. Now I'm spending more time forcing my questions back than I am listening.

With a sigh that makes her shoulders sag, she finally decides to tell me what's bothering her.

"I got a note in my box today, you know the one we have to keep our aprons and crap."

Serena removes one hand from beneath her thigh to bring out a yellow square sticky note. I take it and scan the words.

"Paid in full," I read aloud, waiting for her to tell me what the problem is.

"Did you, do it?"

"Did I pay off your father's debt?" I ask, repeating her question, making up my mind rapidly. "No. I've been against you having any responsibility for his debts pretty much all along, remember? Why would I go and make it easier on him?"

"To help me," she says, stating the obvious.

She doesn't' get that I wouldn't need to lift a finger to have that debt forgiven, to make sure Philly never lends another cent to that fool. Maybe I'd have to make a phone call to ensure no one this side of the river will let him place a wager of any sort. I don't need to worry about financing the losses of a small-time loser. The money she was so worried about is insignificant in an operation this size.

"I didn't," I say truthfully. "If I had, I'd make sure you know all about it so I could be your hero, right?"

"You've got the ego for it," she says, her voice lighter. She looks relieved. Her shoulders and mouth are less tense all at once.

"You were worried I went behind your back," I say. She gives a shy nod, a little embarrassed for doubting.

"Either Philly figured out that you did more than enough first aid to pay off the wager or he decided to clear it off the books in good faith because you've kept to a payment schedule."

"That seems too warm and fuzzy for Philly," she says dubiously.

"I won't disagree, but when you factor in the help you gave his only son who's about to be a father in his own right, that makes people sentimental. Chalk it up to gratitude."

"What will I do now?" she says, her voice smaller than I expect it to be.

"Come on. We talked about this. I know you're not asking my advice. You're here because you're tough and loyal and stubborn. You're not a woman who needs my suggestions."

"I'm not asking you to decide my fate or something. I can walk out of here tonight, free and clear. Is that what I'm going to do? Never look back?"

"I can offer you a job patching up my guys when they need it," I say.

I realize I'm stalling. Because what can I offer her? She isn't going to jump at the chance to be my mistress, have a nice apartment and time to study nursing. She won't agree to be kept. She deserves a true response from me.

"I want you around, and you don't have to dig out bullets," I admit.

"If I'm not stitching up cuts, what's my job description?" she says, and I'd think she was teasing me if I couldn't tell she was a little breathless waiting for my answer.

"You don't need a job in my organization, Serena. Your father's debt is paid. You're free."

She nods slowly. "I'm free."

"You are. You can go whenever you want." She looks at me, a question burning in her eyes. "What is it you want?"

I don't hesitate. "Not to let you go," I tell her. "I want to wake up with you in my arms, make you say my name when you're helpless and clinging to me—" I break off, my voice ragged. She puts her hand out, reaches for me. I take her fingers in mine. Even that small touch makes my body flare and harden. "I want you, Serena."

"To keep me," she says softly.

"To keep you," I repeat.

I still hold her hand. She gets to her feet and steps in toward me, lets me gather her against my chest. I feel like a great crack opens down my sternum, the dread that she would refuse me and walk away had been so deep that it seems to have split me apart.

"Stay with me," I say to her, raw and more afraid than I'd like to admit.

"Why can't I walk away from you?" she answers in a soft voice, as if struck by the wonder of it.

"Probably the same reason I can't walk away from you," I say, taking her lips, tonguing every sweet curve of her mouth, leaving her gasping.

"I meant to tell you goodbye tonight," she says, her voice shaky and thin.

"I know, baby," I say, and I realize I've backed her up to the wall, pinned her with my body. I rock against her, let her feel the friction of my hardness notched just where she wants it. She whimpers, spreads her legs for me. I could have her right here against the wall in the back of a bar. Needy, she's restless in my arms, wants more as she rubs her body against mine.

"Take me home, Jack," she pleads.

Home.

She knows we're going to my apartment. Excitement roars through me. Serena calling my place ‘home' probably doesn't have the kind of meaning to her that I felt when it landed. Either way, I like it way too much and have to admit, if only to myself, that I want her there. I'm mad as hell she had to give up having her own place so she could dump her wages into the bottomless pit of her father's gambling debts. She deserves independence and choices, the chance to go and do whatever she wants, to find herself. But here I am, tempted to try and keep her all to myself.

She could move in with me. We could be together all the time. She'd wake up in my arms. I could have her with me, make her laugh, remind her to take a break from studying so I can rub her shoulders and coax her into watching some action movie on Netflix. I want every single day with her, to be able to have her anytime I want.

By the time she's seated in my car, a shudder rolls through me, a delicious promise of having her all night long at my apartment. On the way there, we don't bother with small talk. She and I both know where we're headed. We're on our way home.