Chapter Nine

Celine

Stefano had left. I assumed to go back to work. Alone again, I opened the new phone and plugged it in to get a full charge. While I booted up my computer, I popped my first birth control pill and grabbed a slice of cold pizza.

I chewed as I checked my student portal. I had a message from Professor Kyte. He was concerned because I hadn't picked up my piece. He was under the assumption I'd be finishing the project at home.

I recalled Ian saying I wouldn't be attending school anymore. My father could stop paying, but neither he nor Ian could pull me out of college, could they?

What was I thinking? Of course, they could. They'd found a way to make me Ian's wife without my knowledge, set me up with an internship that never really existed, and tried to kidnap me in the middle of a public parking lot.

I was screwed. Ian had men at the house. He could have his goons watching for me at school. If they'd been following me at all, then they knew my routine. My stomach cramped, and a rush of adrenaline surged through my system. My hands began to tremble. Inhale. Slowly exhale.

Presley was a spitfire. Her fuck you and fuck off attitude would make a man like Ian crazy, and he was certifiable. I rushed to my phone and hit the power button hoping I had enough of a charge to make a call.

Nerves jittered as I scrolled through the mandatory prompts for setup. My anxiety spiked. Move three body parts. Find three pink things.

With pressure burning in my chest, I rushed to my backpack and dumped the contents on the bed.

Pink pen, pink sunglasses.Tears swam in my eyes. I hated this. I hated that I couldn't control my body's reaction to fear.

I wanted to scream, but there were workers on the lower floors. The building vibrated with their machines and hammering. Returning to the crate by the window, I watched the progress line on the phone slowly move to the right.

Finally. Thank god I had an enhanced memory, and phone numbers stuck in my head. I entered Presley's number, saved her in my contacts, and hit the call button.

She rejected the call. "Oh no, today is not the day to be bitchy, Presley." She sent me to voicemail because I'd come across as an unknown number on her phone. My thumbs flew across the keypad.

Unknown: It's me. Can you talk?

Presley: Who is me?

Unknown: Celine.

Presley: Your number isn't connecting. CALL ME. NOW!

I hit the call button. She answered on the first ring.

"Are you fucking married? What happened? Where are you? Who the fuck is this guy Ian?"

He'd already dived into my life and found Presley. A new level of fear soured in my gut. Had I gone to Presley for help, he could have us both. Not intentionally, but I'd brought the Irish mafia to her doorstep.

"When did you talk to him?"

As if she didn't hear me, she kept firing questions. "I know it's not the same guy from the gala, the one who bid on your painting, because you said that guy was young and hot. Are you in trouble? Because I called bullshit on him when he said he was your husband. I called the freaking cops on him, but now, I've got an officer up my ass, asking about you and this asshole Ian. But in a weird way, like he's looking for you, but I'm getting the creep vibe. Celine, are you going to talk to me?"

Did she breathe?

"Pres, yes on pretty much everything." I pulled my knees to my chest. "Yes, I'm married. Yes, I'm in trouble. And yes, Ian is my husband."

"What! You married some rich douche with an entourage of hot as fuck muscle? I mean, I'm not gonna lie. He's a dick, and his friends were too, but he's hot, in a scary as hell way."

"No, I didn't marry him, but legally we're married. Listen. I'll explain everything, but Ian is dangerous. You need to be careful. Stay away from him."

"Where are you?"

I closed my eyes as a tear clung to my lashes. "I'm with Stef. I can't tell you where, and it's best if you don't know. Presley, they don't know anything about you and me except that we meet for coffee before the start of classes. If they come to you again, tell them anything to distance yourself from me. Tell them that we were never really close, that you just felt sorry for me."

My words hurt because they rang with truth.

"Don't trust the police. Especially don't trust my father." I gave her the abridged version of the story. I wasn't going to tell anyone about the notebook, about the mafia, Irish or Italian, and I wasn't going to tell her where I was.

"Celine, come stay with me." Notes of concern softened her tone. "The house has a security system and a video doorbell. We'd see anyone before we opened the door."

"I'm safe with Stef. I promise." I stared out the darkened window and watched for a motorcycle or an SUV to come down the road. "Presley, it's not safe for me to leave where I am because Ian is looking for me. I hate to ask, but I need a favor. I need my project from Professor Kyte's class."

"Of course. Give me your number. It didn't come through on your call or text. I'll bring it to you."

"I can't. It's complicated, but I'm in sort of a safehouse."

"And I can't have your number?" She sounded concerned or maybe she was annoyed.

"It's not my phone. My dad can track mine, so I'm using one of Stef's. But I'll call you tomorrow night. Can you just take the painting to LB Consorzio? It's the bank where Stef works. It's downtown." I could tell her it was only a few blocks from me, but I didn't want her trying to find me. "Be careful."

"You know you sound crazy, right?"

I had therapists who'd agree with her assessment. "Trust me, I was content with my panic attacks and paintings."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to paint." And I was going to hope Stefano's mafia people could find something in the notebook to give me leverage against my father.

After my phone call with Presley, I made a cup of tea and a bag of microwave popcorn. I wanted to call Marie but decided to wait until tomorrow when there was a better chance of my father being at the office. I sent Professor Kyte an email, letting him know Presley would pick up my project, and I promised I'd keep him abreast of my progress.

I opened the duffel bag and neatly piled my clothes into the crate I'd used for a chair. Then I showered and changed into jeans and my Eminence U hoodie.

Banging sounded on the floor below me. Workers were here late. I closed my laptop. Stefano had been gone for more than a couple of hours. Outside the open window, night had fallen. I turned off all the lights and crawled onto the bed.

Living with my father, I'd become accustomed to being alone. I preferred it because to be in the same room with him had me riding the sharp edge of fear. I'd changed with Stefano. Traded my anxiety for arousal. And without Stefano here, I was lonely.

I burrowed my nose into his pillow, steeped in his scent, and closed my eyes. Heat bloomed in my breasts. With the weight of my memory, my skin still burned from his bruising grip, those strong fingers holding my hips as his thick, erect cock pushed inside me.

My skin tingled remembering the abrasion of his whiskers on my breasts, my belly, and between my legs. In my mind, I could hear him asking me if I was wet. I missed the sound of his voice, and the answer would be yes.

Footfalls echoed outside the door. He was home. I scrambled off the bed, rushed across the room, and threw open the door.

"Oh, sorry," I rushed to say. "I thought— I thought you were Stefano."

Carmine leaned against the door across the hall and smiled. I remembered him. Stefano's best friend. Grease stains marred the bottom of the brown bag in his hand. The bag was emitting the most heavenly scent of fries. "Hey, Angel. He's downstairs seeing to a few details while the crews are still here."

I tucked my hair behind my ear, nervous as his gaze skimmed down my body and quickly returned to my face.

"I guess I'll just wait for him."

"Are you hungry?" He held up the bag.

"No, I'll wait for Stef."

Carmine took two steps and crossed the hall. "I'll wait with you."

A flare of adrenaline mainlined into my veins. Instantly, my pulse rabbited, sending a nervous energy into my extremities. "No." Panic sharpened my voice. "I'll… I'll just wait for Stefano."

I backed into the apartment, slowly closing the door.

"Are you sure? The fries are from Jay Swings. I'll share. Although they can't compare to your cookies." He pointed to the floor. "We can eat here in the hallway. Stef should be up in a couple of minutes."

Carmine plopped down to the floor on his side of the hall, stretched his legs out, and opened the bag of food. He handed me a paper tray of fries.

This was Stef's best friend. Small steps.

I left the door ajar, released a calming exhale, and swallowed down my trepidation.

"Thanks." I grabbed the fries and slid down the wall opposite him. I kept my knees bent to my chest and set the fries next to me.

"How are you doing?" he asked. "I mean, not about the shit with Byrne. You're safe here, but I know this is sort of like house arrest." Carmine laughed. "I've been there. It sucks."

I hesitantly smiled as I chewed. "House arrest would mean I couldn't leave. And that I'd have meals brought in." I plucked another fry from the basket. "Plus, people in prison have limited access to phone and internet."

So, technically, he was right. I couldn't leave, I ate food brought in since there was no kitchen, and I had to be careful because my deranged father and maniacal husband—even the word husband sounded horrible in my head—could track me.

"House arrest," I agreed. "How long do you think my sentence will be?" I assumed he was working on the notebook with Emilio since he was there at the mafia meeting and went with me and Stefano to retrieve it.

"Stef is—" He seemed to be searching for the right words as he stuffed fries into his mouth. "Stef is committed. My brother Emilio is a cyber guru. And your boyfriend is a beast."

A riot of nerves went barreling through my belly when he referred to Stefano as my boyfriend.

"Emilio will find the connections we need. Once he does, Stef will deal with Byrne and your father." He smiled and one eyebrow rose into his forehead. "I want to know how your painting ended up in the terminator's room."

"The terminator?"

Carmine laughed. "Yeah. Not that you need to worry about him. Stef doesn't have a mercurial temperament. In his purpose, he's predictable. He's not going to stop. He can't be bargained with. No fear or remorse." The elevator doors opened. "Speak of the devil."

Stefano stepped out, and his gaze locked on mine. I stood as he strode down the corridor. Black jeans hugged his strong thighs. The black T-shirt he wore beneath his black leather jacket molded to the sculpted muscles of his chest. Black on black on black.

Whiskers darkened his face, lines creased the corners of his eyes, eyes burning with a white-tipped flame of hunger. And he had my notebook in his hand.

"Are you okay?" His soft tone belied the firm line of his mouth and the determined glint in his eyes.

Liquid heat flooded through me. Time apart melted away. He was here and pulling me into his arms. Those strong hands, the ones I'd become obsessed with having on my body, slid along the pleats of my spine. Warm breath caressed my neck.

"She's hungry and bored," Carmine said and laughed. His door opened then closed, leaving us alone in the quiet corridor. I no longer heard the hammering or construction on the floors below us.

"I'm sorry I was gone longer than I expected." He kept his arm around me as we reentered the apartment.

"I don't expect you to entertain me." I offered the basket of fries to him as I sat on the end of the bed.

"Emilio made a copy. I wanted you to have this back." He handed me the notebook.

"Thank you." I set it aside.

He glanced around, presumably for a place to sit, then opted to lean against the wall.

"You need furniture," I said.

"It hasn't been a priority. But I'll make arrangements to have some things brought in. Give me a couple of days."

"I'm not complaining." I had no expectations.

I considered Carmine's observations about being on house arrest. I'd spent my life on house arrest. A self-imposed prison, but those invisible bars kept people out. But I could see myself becoming co-dependent on Stefano. I didn't want him to become my new coping mechanism.

"What am I going to do, Stef? I can't hide in your apartment forever. At some point, I'm going to have to leave. I already have enough issues. I'll turn into someone who has a dozen cats and talks to her plants."

"Come on. You need to get out of here for a little while. Put your shoes on and grab a jacket."

"Is it safe?" I didn't care. I desperately wanted a change of scenery. I grabbed my shoes from the crate.

"Angel, you're always safe with me."

Right. He carried a gun and a knife and reeked of intimidation. Only someone as arrogant as Ian Byrne or as narcissistic as my father would challenge Stef. Hence my concern. I didn't want Stef caught up in whatever had me in the clutches of the Irish mafia. Yet, I'd put him here when I'd called him.

"What if Ian sees us?" I bent, put on my shoes, and tied the laces. "He's dangerous." I'd never be able to live with myself if something happened to this beautifully terrifying man.

Stef sat on the bed and pulled me onto his lap. "Yes, Ian is dangerous, but he isn't foolish. He won't make a move against me until he feels he has enough support to take on Marco. He doesn't."

"Why would you risk your family for me?"

I wasn't fishing for validation, notes of love, or declarations of unending devotion. Just an understanding of how he was connected to my father and Ian, and how we ended up lovers, hiding in his apartment.

"My family is always at risk. Angel, I didn't know who you were the night of the gala. I attended to confront your father. Someone is pulling his strings to interrupt my business. It's not Byrne. The issues we have with the Irish began with Ian's brother Patrick."

"I gave you the notebook. I've told you everything I know about Ian and my father." Almost everything. There was still one piece of information I hadn't shared. I wasn't sure I could. My throat tightened, and my heart raced with the thought of vocalizing my deepest fears, the memories that carved out my heart, and created a deep hole of fear and anxiety.

Maybe I'd gravitated toward Stef because of the things that made him dangerous. When confronted at the gala, I'd seen fear on my father's face. I wanted to be cloaked in Stefano's shadow. Now I was here, safe with him. I sank my fingers into his hair, combing the silken waves from his face. Tonight, those whiskey-colored eyes glowed with embers of fire.

He took my breath. His strong arms held me, and his muscular thighs flexed beneath my ass. One hand absently caressed my leg, his fingers running along my inner thigh. An answering heat pulsed between my legs.

I slid my mouth against his, parted my lips, and welcomed his velvety tongue. I kissed him until I was breathless, kissed him as his hands gripped me tighter, and pulled me closer. Our mouths meshed, tasting, nipping, then sliding together again and again.

My tongue communicated what I felt for him, my burning need to be with him. Licking along the seam, my spit left his lips wet with a glossy coat.

Our foreheads pressed together. "If I fuck you now, I'm keeping you in bed the rest of the night."

"Okay." I kissed him again, and his chuckle rumbled into my mouth.

"I want to show you something."

"Good. I want to see it." Because his cock was a masterpiece. Thick and long, with a smooth and spongy dome. I loved the way it pillowed against my tongue, and I loved the taste of him. My mouth salivated for more kissing, more of him, more everything.

I shifted on his lap, grinding my ass against the rock-solid bulge of his cock beneath the fly of his jeans.

He lifted me from his lap. "Come on."

He grabbed his motorcycle helmet and held his other hand out to me.

"Are we going for a ride?" I couldn't keep the excitement from my voice.

"Adrenaline, a beautiful woman on the back of my bike, your hands on me. Sounds good, sì?"

A wide smile found my mouth. "Yes."

He led me out of the apartment and down to the elevator. However, we stopped at the fourth floor.

"When the building is complete, there will be the two apartments on the top floor. Ours and Carmine's. You'll meet Lorenzo when he arrives in a few weeks. He is a close friend. Part of my crew. There are six units each on the second and third floors."

Our footfalls echoed in the quiet corridor. "The building is yours and you rent apartments? Like a mafia landlord?"

He laughed. "The building is mine. The men who live here all work for me. The apartment is conducive to having them at my disposal."

I nodded as if it all made sense to me. It didn't, but I'd assume whoever lived in the building was akin to live-in help. Like nannies and housekeepers. Room and board, weekends off. Although I wasn't sure what hours mafia men kept. Banking hours if they all worked at the bank.

"Anna and Dante have apartments on this floor," he said. "This is a special unit. It's been repurposed."

"For what?"

He smiled, entered a keycode, and opened the door. "For you."

The heavy scent of fresh paint permeated the room. Stefano flipped a switch. I sucked in a sharp inhale as overhead lighting brightened the massive open room.

"What have you done?" I spun in a slow circle and covered my mouth with my hands.

Paints, canvases, and brushes lined the open shelves along one wall. Large windows faced the north. Perfect placement for consistent lighting. Tarps covered the flooring beneath whitewashed bricks. Wooden art storage racks, easels, and drop cloths filled an open supply closet next to a steel counter and huge utility sink.

"The painting is done. Cabinets are being installed in the morning." Stefano's voice whispered against my ear as one arm snaked around my waist and the other across my chest.

"It's magical." I curled my fingers around his forearm and leaned against his chest.

His lips found my neck. "I want to watch you paint, Angel." His hand covered my breast, teasing my nipple with his palm. "I want to be a part of your world."

I spun in his arms and stared into his eyes. He wanted to be in mine. I knew I should be scared to be a part of his, but I couldn't stop the hypnotic pull into this sensual seduction.

"An angel with tears in her eyes." I only realized I was crying when he wiped my cheek with his thumb. "Belissima." With a soft touch, he slid his thumb across my lip. "Open."

I did, and he slid his thumb over my teeth, into my mouth, and pressed against my tongue.

"Suck."

I sealed my lips and sucked, swirling my tongue around his thumb.

"I have dreams about your mouth. I wake imagining your lips wrapped around my cock, your spit soaking my balls, your finger fucking my ass."

My eyes widened, and I lost suction on his thumb as I exhaled a shaky breath. "Do you want me to do that?"

He smiled, dropped his hand, and pressed his lips to my forehead. "Yes, Angel. Trust me. I'm going to show you how good it feels when I fuck this perfect ass." He gripped my butt and squeezed. "First, I want this ass on the back of my bike."

I leaned back and smiled. "Thank you."

"I want you to be happy, Celine. I want you to stay with me."

I stilled at his confession, his words mirroring my thoughts. "When I'm with you, I can't imagine leaving."

His mouth found mine again, this time with a slow touch of lips, subtle and soft with emotion. When he parted, his hands were in my hair, gently rubbing the strands between his fingers.

"Ready to go for a ride?"

I nodded. After a last glance at the studio, he flipped off the lights, plunging the room into blackness. I held my breath, letting the moment last just a moment longer.

I'd had my mother and my security stolen from me, my freedom threatened, and my life endangered.

Yet, this man not only held my hand in his, but he held my heart and my future.

Stefano

Celine's arms wrapped around my waist as I leaned with the bike into the curve. Her thighs braced my hips, and her chest rested against my back. As the bike righted, she lifted her right hand from my waist. She bent her index finger and straightened her middle finger to make half a heart. I mimicked the shape with my left hand and formed a heart by touching our fingers together. Then she retightened her hold on me, and I rolled the throttle.

The streets were deserted as we weaved down the road, feeling the wind on our face, and the blur of asphalt beneath the tires. Her fingers slid along my abs, brushed against my groin, and teased my dick to the point of pain because leaning forward, there was no room for the stretch of my erection. I'd been hard since I'd seen her in the hall, licking salt from her fingertips.

We rode down Washington Street and pulled into the parking lot of the skate park. I stopped along the sidewalk, killed the engine, and held the motorcycle as she climbed off. She lifted the helmet from her head and used her fingers to comb her hair.

Leaving the helmet with the bike, I linked our hands. A concrete pathway weaved through the trees. The night was quiet. Technically, the park was closed. However, streetlamps kept the walkways lit and created shadows in the denser foliage.

I released her hand and pulled my cigarettes from the pocket of my jacket.

"Why does Ian want me?" She lifted her gaze to my face. "I mean, wouldn't there need to be a good reason? He says my father owed him a debt. But that would mean I'd hold some value to him."

I flipped my lighter, touched the flame to the cigarette, and inhaled. The paper sizzled, and the tobacco burned. "Maybe he wants leverage over your father."

"I'd have to hold value to my father. Trust me. I don't."

We made our way to the playground. Celine sat on the rubber seat of a swing and used her foot to barely sway back and forth. I sat near her on the base of a climbing fort.

"Stef?" She gripped the chains of the swing. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "The night of the gala we talked about our moms." She glanced at me through her fringe of long, feathering lashes, her blue eyes heavy with emotion.

"I remember."

"Do you know how your mom died?"

"She was sick. We weren't allowed to talk about her. Because my father couldn't live without her, he refused to grieve her death. He turned hard. They called him ruthless." I shrugged. "He had to be. Real power can't be given. It must be taken. My father had power, and he had enemies. Now, he's dead, too."

"I had my first panic attack the day after my mother died." Her voice softened, transported back to a memory. "When they started, everyone, including the counselors believed the death of my mother caused my anxiety. But that's not the reason."

I stayed quiet, not wanting to interrupt. Something was on her mind. Something about her mom.

"There might be a reason my dad owed a debt to the Irish." Her lips trembled. "My mom was murdered."

I dropped my cigarette, stomped on it, and rushed to squat in front of her. "Angel," I whispered and brushed her tears from her cheek.

"He killed her." Her big, beautiful eyes glistened. "I think it was my fault." Shallow breaths gusted over her quivering lips. "Shit," she stammered. "I can't keep letting him control my emotions. I can't be afraid of him anymore." She clawed at the collar of her hoodie. "I hate that I can't even talk about it." Her gaze lifted to the sky. "Please, let me get through this."

I took both of her hands in mine and led her to where I'd sat on the climbing fort. I scooted to the back, leaned against the wall, widened my legs, and pulled her down between my thighs. With her back to my chest, I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tightly.

"Breathe with me, Angel." I took deep, slow breaths, letting her feel the rise and fall of my chest. "I've got you. I'm always going to have you. Right here, with me." I pressed my lips to her temple. "You don't have to fight alone. You have me now."

For a few minutes, she just let me hold her.

"When I was ten, I'd gotten really sick. My iron levels dropped, and they were worried about anemia. I found out later, both my parents donated blood because they were worried I'd need a transfusion. They put me on a registry because they thought I'd need a bone marrow transplant."

Her fingers traced patterns on my arm as she talked. I leaned my head back against the molded plastic frame of the fort, closed my eyes, and listened to the cadence of her voice. She spoke quietly.

"After that, they fought a lot. I'd sit in my closet, but I'd still hear my father yelling, and my mother crying. He was so angry at her. At the time, I knew it was my fault. They'd been fine before I went into the hospital. I mean, they were never overly affectionate, but they didn't fight. They were never the same after I got sick. Not that never lasted very long."

I flipped my hand over, and she slid her fingers along mine until we were palm to palm. "Children have a way of making everything their fault. Whatever happened with your parents wasn't your fault."

"I know that now. I've been cursed with an enhanced memory. I think she had an affair, and he found out. I remember him calling her a lying bitch. She'd denied lying to him, kept saying it was a mistake, and that it only happened once. Then she cried as she told him she loved him.

"He said she ruined his life, and that she'd trapped him in marriage. I know they got married when she found out she was pregnant with me. She said it was a surprise, but maybe she got pregnant on purpose. Maybe he didn't want either one of us. I guess he couldn't forgive her because two weeks later, she was gone."

I held her a little tighter. "What happened?"

A tear fell from her face and landed on our joined hands.

"My father had taken me to school that day. He said my mom had been tired, and he was letting her sleep late. I didn't see her that morning, which never happened. My mom never overslept. She did yoga every morning. Then had a cup of ginger tea."

"Something you do for your mom now."

She nodded. "I remember rushing home from school. I wanted to show her a drawing of a cat I'd done. It was an abstract cat."

I heard the smile in her voice.

"I was proud of that cat. I ran through the house looking for her. Their bedroom was torn apart. All of her drawers had been dumped on the bed. I was ten. I had no idea what had happened.

"Marie was in the kitchen. I asked her where my mom was, but she didn't know. I can still hear her telling me that she hadn't seen her all day. Marie is always there to put breakfast on the table, but that day my father had asked her to come after lunch.

"My dad and two men were in his office. His files were strewn across his desk and the floor. I had the picture of the cat in my hand when I asked him where she was. He was so pissed. We were all tiptoeing around him. He said she was gone. Then he told me to get the fuck out of his sight. I'd known I'd done something to make him angry. He'd become so cold."

Her body quivered as she exhaled.

"I went to my room. I can hear my father in his office through the vents. That's how I heard most of the names in my notebook. He asked one of the men if the situation had been handled. He told my dad there had been an accident, and the problem was at the bottom of the lake."

"Fuck." I didn't need her to finish the story to know the ending. Emilio had found the information online.

"My mom didn't come home that night. She never came home. The next morning, I went down to breakfast. Marie was crying, and my father was comforting her. When she saw me, she broke into sobs. My mother's car had gone off the road."

She swiveled her head to look at me. Her glassy eyes brightened with her tears.

"My mom was at the bottom of the lake."

"Fuck, Angel. I'm sorry."

"They said she'd been drinking. They lied. My father lied about everything."

She sat up and pivoted toward me.

"My father is corrupt, but I don't think anything else he's done comes close to murder. I know he killed my mom. He knew she was in the lake. What if she hadn't been sleeping? Maybe he'd already killed her. I think he'd already killed her when he took me to school and told Marie to come in late. Then he had those men take her and put her in the lake."

I pulled another cigarette from my pack. "You think he killed her because she cheated. Why not just get a divorce?"

"The fights were bad. Maybe he accidentally killed her. He knows the law."

Once I'd lit the cigarette, she settled against my chest again.

"Maybe he planned on staging a crime scene. I don't know why he had their room torn apart."

"They must have been searching for something that involved them both if they were going through his office, too. Maybe there was more to his anger than infidelity." I thought of Giada. Luca hadn't been in love with her, but Marco shouldn't have slept with her. The ultimate betrayal came with the truth about Savio. The boy wasn't Luca's, but our father's.

I swallowed the bitter taste of guilt. Thinking back now, I could see Luca had begun to pull away from the family as Giada became more important to our father. Unless Luca wanted to live with the constant reminders of Giada's treachery, he'd had to leave.

"Do you know who she slept with outside of her marriage? Maybe your father was betrayed by a friend. Or a business associate?"

She scrambled onto her knees and faced me. "I was too young to understand the dynamics, but everything makes sense now. If there was a connection to my father, their name could be in the notebook." She plucked my cigarette from my fingers and took a hit before I could snatch it back.

"Hey, now."

She coughed. "Oh, they taste much better on your tongue."

I drew off the cigarette, exhaled, then slanted my mouth over hers. She licked into my mouth, curled her tongue around mine, and sucked. Then she pushed off me, torn between talking and kissing.

"Stef, Ian said my father owed a debt. But he said it was long overdue. Think about it. My dad is the district attorney, but back then he was in the prosecutor's office. Who were those men in his office? I know I'm making big jumps here, but back then my dad made plea deals for thugs all the time. Someone helped him stage my mom's death as an accident. Who would do that?"

"Someone outside the law." I tapped my fingers on my thigh.

She sank her teeth into her lip.

"What are you thinking?" I asked her.

"Not that I think you would ever kill someone, but you're in the mafia, so you probably know someone who would."

My gut clenched. "Some people, unfortunately make choices that get them into trouble. There are always consequences to every decision. I work outside the law. Justice can't always be served by the legal system. Justice isn't murder. Someone needs to hold your father accountable for what happened to your mother." I stared intently into her eyes. "The law failed her. He failed you. I won't."

She was quiet for a moment. Wind whistled through the trees. The faint sound of a random vehicle echoed through the park. "But you work at the bank. What do you do there?"

"I'm not a typical banker. Your father and those unknown associates owe a debt. I'm going to make them pay."

"What will you do to him?"

"Do you really want to know?" I lifted a hand and tucked a tendril of her hair behind her ear. "I won't lie to you."

"Would you have someone kill him?"

"No. I don't have others fight my battles." Emotions burned in my throat. I couldn't hide, not from her. I wanted her to trust me, even the darkest needs that festered deep inside. The need for vengeance, and the beauty of blood atonement. "This is personal. I want to look into his eyes as he's held accountable for his transgressions. We all have a day of reckoning. Your father's is here."

"The law will never punish him."

"No, but I will." I touched her cheek. "But not if it will hurt you."

She swallowed. Then she softly spoke. "I want you to make him pay for what he did. What about Ian?"

"He's a fucking dead man."