Chapter 9

I sit outside of the meeting, Rossi in the chair across the hall from me. I'm not sure why I'm here. After the luncheon, I got booted from the room as soon as I gulped down the last bite of whatever chocolate mousse thing the waiter had brought me.

I might be trapped here in Italy, but eating things like that makes it worthwhile.

Not really. But it helps.

I was looking forward to sitting through the meeting because I was banking on listening in on what Enzo had up his sleeve next and to find out if it had to do with my uncle. The longer I'm here, the more times he disrespects me or belittles me, the more the hunger inside of me to take down the Romanos grows, deeper and deeper, overtaking my entire being. Even the need to take down Beckett is growing with each passing second.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I think back to my childhood and realize how much things have taken a turn. Growing up, my brother and I were the poor kids. The kids who came from the wrong side of the tracks with the strung-out parents. Our clothes were worn out, and we never had things our peers had, like cell phones. When my parents were well enough to come out of their house, we'd often be stared at. People would turn their noses up at my family like we were the scum of the earth.

When I walk into a room next to Enzo, everyone stops to acknowledge him. They step out of the way to make sure they aren't in his path.

My parents, although junkies, were still ten times better humans than he is. And the more days I'm here, the more I can't wait to prove that. My uncle hasn't so much as checked in with me since he jetted off back home. Natasha has sent me a few text messages, asking how I'm doing, but that's about it.

There is no one here to trust. And the more days I spend at the crew complex, the better I understand that I'd rather risk it all by trying to get out of here than spend my days the way Natasha does. What kind of life would that be? And how many times a day does she think about telling my uncle to go fuck himself? A lot, I imagine.

I've never wanted to be this girl. The one who only spoke when spoken to. The one who does as she's told and doesn't fight back. I grew up hungry and underprivileged. I learned from a young age that life is tough and I needed to be tougher. But right now, it's like I'm slowly losing every ounce of that hardness to seem obedient. I don't want to obey Enzo anymore. Soon, I won't be this girl. I won't be respected simply because of the man I'm about to marry, but because of who I am as a person. And when a man puts his hands on my body without my consent, he'll know really fast that he messed up.

But for now … I need to play this part, even if it's killing me.

"So, the wedding must be coming up?" Rossi asks nonchalantly. "Are you excited for that?"

He and Hudson don't typically say too much to me. Rossi looks to be in his mid- to late-twenties, and just like Hudson, he's very attractive. His almost-black hair falls effortlessly, and his eyes are soft and kind. I've wondered since I first met him if Rossi is his first name or if he goes by his last name—like Hudson, who everyone here calls Hercules.

"I'm not sure when the wedding is," I say. "I'm on a need-to-know basis with that."

He leans forward, giving me a slight grin. "Well, you still didn't answer my question." This time, he talks even lower. "Are you excited for the big day? I mean, you have your dress, right?"

No matter how kind this man's eyes are, I can't trust him. But he isn't stupid, and I think everyone here knows that getting married wasn't my idea, nor was it Enzo's. But instead, this wedding is a product of the greed in our families. Both thinking they'll get something out of it.

"It is what it is." I shrug, keeping my face relaxed before giving him a fake but hopefully convincing smile. "It'll be … fine."

For a moment—a split second—I see a look of sorrow on his face. But it's gone so quickly that I'm not sure it was ever there to begin with. Then, the door to the conference room opens, and Enzo struts out with Hudson right behind him.

Once again, Hudson doesn't look my way. His body is hard, and his eyes, cold and calculated.

Enzo gives me one glance, and right away, I know he's angry, though I have no idea why because I wasn't in the room. But nervousness takes over my body when his anger seems to only grow, the closer he gets to me.

Standing quickly, I run my hand over my dress to smooth it out just before he makes his way to me.

"While I was in my meeting, trying to make a deal to help out my company, you sat out here the way you just did, with your dress hiked up, making you look like a fucking whore," he growls, shocking me when he suddenly grips my chin and drags my face toward his. "What did you think, huh? That Rossi was going to want to fuck you?"

"Wh-what?" I gasp. "No! I wasn't—"

The look on Rossi's face is clear. He wants to defend me, but doesn't dare to because I'm sure he knows it'll only make this entire thing worse. So, instead, just like Hudson, he looks away. It's becoming obvious that Enzo isn't just a monster; he's a paranoid monster.

"No man rightfully wants to fuck a poor, fucking pathetic girl like you, Briar James. You are trash. And the only reason why you have these fancy clothes now is because of Beckett." His grip only tightens, and his dark eyes are nearly black as he grits his teeth.

"I could see you out the window, smiling at him. Leaning forward and trying to show him your fucking tits." His hand moves down to my neck, and he cups it. "I won't marry a fucking whore who wants to jump on every man's dick that stands before her!" He drags in a breath, his nostrils flaring.

"Maybe I should tell your uncle the deal is off," he hisses lowly. "And then he can send you back to the piece-of-shit house you were raised in since that's undoubtedly where you belong."

I don't say anything for two reasons. One, every single thing that comes to mind to say to this asshole would likely get me killed. And, two, well, to be honest, my old, filthy, rat-infested, piece-of-trash house sounds freaking lovely. To go back to the United States and get the hell away from my uncle and all of these absolute psychopaths would be wonderful. But in my gut, I know it wouldn't be that easy to just leave.

I know too much. The Romanos and Beckett—they aren't going to just let me go.

"I see the wheels in your pretty little head turning, baby girl." He grips my neck harder, making it a challenge for me to breathe. "If you think for one second that we'd let you just run off, you have another thing coming."

Rage soars through me, and my back teeth clench with anger. "I … am sorry." I force the words out. "I promise … it wasn't … what it looked like."

"Do you want my security guard to fuck you, Briar?" he growls. "Because if you ever look at him like that again, I'll make sure it's the last time you look at anyone."

He doesn't release his hold on me, but keeps his grip firm, forcing me to drag in a few breaths through my nose. Everything inside of me wants to fight. To kick him in the balls or punch him in the face. To grab the gun I know he's carrying and make it so he can never bother me again. Unfortunately, none of those things would end well for me.

"Sir," Hudson's deep, unfazed voice says, "perhaps we should get out of here. Before we have company."

Continuing to glare at me, Enzo finally releases his hold, causing me to stumble backward, but my back hits the wall, keeping me from falling at his feet.

Jerking his chin toward Hudson and Rossi, Enzo grabs my wrist. "The girl is riding with me." The command sends a chill down my body. "Alone."

My nostrils flare with fury.

When I peer at Hudson, once again, I'm met with coldness.

That day exploring Rome really did mean nothing to him.

I follow closely behind Enzo's blacked-out car, gripping my steering wheel so hard that my hand hurts. Every situation I watch Briar be thrown into, the worse it fucking gets to me. I don't know her—I have no reason to care what happens to this girl. But she's an innocent fucking woman, and no one is protecting her.

Including me. Because when it comes to the job I'm here to do, she isn't my problem.

So, why the hell do I wish she were?

"You seem really fucking tense, bro," Rossi says, but I don't look his way. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," I mutter. "Not a fucking thing, Rossi."

From the corner of my eye, I see him throw his head back.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he bites. "Why the hell are you snapping at me, Hale?" he says, surprising even me because he never uses my real last name on a job—afraid he might mess up in front of the wrong people. "This is about that girl, isn't it? You're getting too fucking personally involved with work, aren't you?"

My gaze snaps to his for a second, and I frown. "No. It's not about the girl," I growl, looking back at the car. "It's that we're doing a job and watching people get fucking hurt." I bark out the words before I can stop myself. "It's that we're here, witnessing as Beckett fucking Benson forces his niece to marry into the fucking Mafia."

I suck in a breath, telling myself to calm the fuck down. "What the hell are we doing here, Rossi? Seems like it's not a goddamn thing, to be honest." I swallow, looking at him once more. "And tell me, how the fuck are we going to get out of here alive?"

I wave my hand toward the car in front of us, where I'm sure Briar James is sitting in the passenger seat, scared to death. "How is she going to get out of here alive?"

I drag my hand down my face. "I don't know how much longer I can fucking do this. The longer this goes on, the more fucking people we're going to watch get hurt. Or worse."

He doesn't answer right away, and when I look at him, he's deep in thought.

Finally, he sighs. "I get it, man. I do. I can't tell you how many days I wake up, get dressed, and think to myself, Why the fuck am I here? I could be at home with Lila and Lanie ." He stops. "My kid is two, and I've missed half her life. Trust me, I get it. But we're so close, Hale. We're so fucking close to having enough evidence to bury the Romanos and Beckett Benson—Dr. fucking Sugar Tits—alive." Reaching over, he pats my shoulder. "When we put them away, it'll all be worth it."

"Do you really believe that?" I utter.

"I have to." He shrugs. "If not, that would mean that I've missed so much of my baby girl's life and I haven't been there for my wife for nothing. I can't let myself believe that, man. I have to believe we're making a difference here. Making the world better."

I stare at the back of Enzo's car, wondering what the fuck is going on in it. "And the girl?" I don't say her name—Briar James. I don't need to.

He sits silently for a moment. "When things go down, we both know it's going to get bad—really quickly. We will do everything in our power to get her out of here before that day comes," he says, though I know him enough to know that even he doesn't completely believe it.

Every day we're here, we risk the Romanos finding out we aren't who we say we are. We can't control when shit goes down. It's out of our hands.

And that's why I wish like hell I could get that girl the fuck out of here. Before she gets seriously hurt.

We pass the road that leads to the crew complex, and I know right away that he's taking her to his house. It's our job to make sure he gets there without being followed, but once he's there … we can't go in. And that will leave the pair of them alone.

Over my dead. Cold. Fucking. Body.

"Looks like he's taking her to his place," Rossi says with a groan. "I don't like that. Not one bit."

"Gotta call in reinforcements," I mutter, glancing at him to see if he's going to stop me.

Instead, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and brings it to his ear.

"Enzo left the meeting with the girl in tow. We have reason to believe he could hurt her." He pauses. "We're about ten minutes from his place."

Rossi listens before he inhales sharply. "Yeah. You know what to do."

Within seconds, his phone is back in his pocket, and he stares straight ahead. "Winthrop is on it."

It's just four words, but I know within a few minutes, she will be away from Enzo and safe with me.

"By the way, it's not lost on me that this is the first time since—" He stops suddenly. "This is the first time in a long, long time that you've taken notice of a female."

I shoot him a glare, knowing that if he had finished his first sentence, I would have punched him in the face. "I have not taken notice of that girl," I snarl. "I'm simply trying to protect her because she's an innocent bystander."

"Right," he utters. "Sure you are."

For someone who has been in plenty of scary situations before—from administering Narcan to her own parents, to running away from sketchy men who showed up at my house to collect debts owed from my mom and dad, to starving to the point of barely functioning—I'm not a baby when it comes to shit being thrown my way. But this right now is on a whole other level of crappiness.

There is nowhere to run. And there isn't a place I could hide where he wouldn't find me. I'm helpless. And I can't stand to feel like this.

Enzo drives toward his place—way too fast. He hasn't spoken one word since we left the meeting and he basically yanked me into his car.

I'm not a person who gets scared very often. I've made it this far in life by being strong and trying to conquer the monsters under my bed. But even I'll admit … I'm afraid of what's to come.

He's going to rape me—I know it. He's going to force me to do things that I don't want to do. And if I say no, he'll likely kill me. And I really, really don't want to die at the hands of this lunatic.

I consider telling him I have my period in hopes he's one of those men who is disgusted by that sort of thing. But what if he learns that I don't actually have it? So, instead, I just hope and pray that, once again, fate is on my side and throws something his way to distract him.

In the rearview, I see Hudson and Rossi in their SUV, hot on our tail. They can't save me from Enzo though. Even though a part of me wonders if they wish they could. Who am I kidding? Rossi might seem nice, but just like Hudson and every other man here … he's heartless.

Quickly turning the car into a driveway, he pulls in front of a gate before it opens and speeds through. We drive down the long road before a house—no, a mansion—comes into view.

"What the fuck?!" he barks out.

When I squint my eyes, I notice a few front windows have been busted out. Hitting the gas, he speeds up until we're directly in front of the building. He slams the car into park and quickly jumps out.

Without permission, I leap from the car, too, my heart pounding in my chest with fear. But not from whoever broke the windows. No. My fear is from the monster whose house this is—and knowing that I was so close to being alone with him. Again.

Within seconds, Rossi and Hudson are out of their SUV and rushing around the perimeter of the house. Guns drawn as they search for whoever did this.

Meanwhile, I'm silently thanking the person who did because they might have just saved me from whatever I was going to have to endure inside that house.

Hudson heads toward Enzo. "You and Ms. James should wait in the car. Just in case whoever did this is still on the property." His tone is icy as his gaze remains on Enzo, never looking my way.

Turning quickly, Enzo grabs my arm so tight that I know I'll have a bruise. Marching toward the SUV, he flings the door open and shoves me inside with so much force that I fall into the back seat, smashing the side of my head off of the window.

"I don't give a fuck if you get shot right now and bleed in front of me. But if you die on my watch, sweet Uncle Beckett would probably stop working with my family. So, count your lucky stars for that man," he hisses before slamming the door shut.

My head aches, and a bruise instantly begins to form on my arm as I look out the window and watch the search continue. In my mind, I picture someone jumping out of the house and shooting Enzo in the chest, killing him instantly before Hudson and Rossi shoot the perpetrator.

But in the midst of all of that, I can't help but wonder about the deal my uncle made with this man.

And what it means for me.

Half an hour later, I'm in the back of the SUV as we pull out of my fiancé's house. Luckily, he isn't in the car because, apparently, he called an emergency meeting with most of his crew to take down whoever had attacked his house, and he instructed Rossi and Hudson to take me back to the crew complex and keep watch for anything out of the ordinary.

Rossi and Hudson had searched and combed every inch of Enzo's house, but found nothing.

A security camera showed a man with a ski mask, dressed in black, approaching the house and busting out the windows. But from what I learned from eavesdropping was that, one, no one could have gotten through the gate. And, two, no car was ever shown on any surrounding cameras either.

Rossi talks in a hushed voice in the passenger seat, and I can only make out every other word now, as they seem to be discussing something they don't want me to know about. I've been here for weeks, and I've learned nothing about what sort of awful things my uncle is involved in. I came here, planning to be Nancy fucking Drew, and instead, I'm a scared baby bird.

Hudson pulls in front of the large gate and looks at the camera. Within a few seconds, the gate slowly opens, and he drives toward the crew complex. Once he parks the SUV, he and Rossi get out.

Pushing my own door open, I watch Rossi start toward the house.

"I'll head in and make sure everything in here seems fine," he calls over his shoulder.

Before I can climb out, Hudson stands between the car and the door, looking me over as his eyes narrow slightly. When he reaches for my arm, I involuntarily flinch, pulling away from him.

"I'm not going to hurt ya, Dove," he whispers, his eyes looking into mine before he reaches for my arm again. Leaning closer to me, he gently runs his thumb over the bruise. "Gonna wanna ice this. It'll be sore tomorrow. Probably already is now, huh?"

His touch has me melting to the seat. It's almost as though every single cell awakens at his fingertips. I don't openly gawk, but peer at him out of the corner of my eye. I can tell he's older than me—by how many years, I'm not sure. But it's not lost on me that after our fun outing last week, he's spent every day since treating me like a disease. One that he could die from.

"Oh, so, now, you're talking to me," I sass, my eyebrows shooting clear to my forehead. "Are you a broody, coldhearted asshole, Hudson? Or are you actually a nice, gelato-eating, sightseeing fella? Because I've got to tell you, you sure make it hard to know."

He doesn't budge. His deep, dark, mysterious energy feels as though it could swallow me whole, and I'd probably go willingly as long as I could be wrapped up in his tattooed, muscled deliciousness.

"Wouldn't be here if I was all that nice, would I, sweetheart?" His deep voice cuts through the night air. "It's time for you to go inside. You've had enough fun for one day."

For a moment, he lingers beside me. I almost dare to look right at him, but I don't bother.

Backing up, he waits for me to climb out of the seat. And once I do, he closes the door behind me and follows me inside the house.

As I trudge through the house and down the hallway to head toward my room, I feel him trailing close behind me.

"What's your favorite thing to eat?" he calls out, halting me dead in my tracks.

For a second, I stand there, wondering why he cares what I like to eat. And then I wonder if maybe I heard him wrong. But then there's my next thought. A thought that, in most cases, would be crazy. However, in these circumstances, it seems pretty normal. And that's …

Is he going to poison me?

Turning to face him, I tilt my head to the side and put a hand on my hip. "Why?"

He lazily leans his shoulder against the wall, folding his huge arms across his chest, making me take notice. "Well, it's obviously been a pretty terrible day for you. I'll have Aldo make whatever you want for dinner." He shrugs his broad shoulders. "Least we can do for you while you're here, I suppose."

My eyes narrow, and I raise a brow. "Are you planning on poisoning me? Because if you are, there's, like … one thousand other ways I'd rather die than by being killed by my favorite food."

"No." His expression grows serious. "Trust me, the people you're running with wouldn't be kind enough to end you in such a humane way." He unfolds his arms before smacking his hands together. "No, I just … assumed you could use some good food to make you feel better. When I was a kid, whenever I had a bad day, my mom would make me my favorite thing for dinner." He shrugs, clearly feeling uncomfortable. "Might sound dumb, but it helped."

There are so many things I want to ask him. Like, what's an example of a bad day for him that would prompt her to make him his favorite meal? Most of my bad days were brought on by my own parents, and they sure as hell weren't making me my favorite meals. I want to find out more about him, but instead, I just stare at him curiously.

"You tell me, what's your favorite food, Hercules?" I ask, interested in his answer while also knowing I don't really have a favorite food. I mean, I guess if I had to throw something out there, pizza would be it. Because how do you go wrong with pizza?

I figure he won't tell me. Or he'll suddenly turn cold again and walk away. But instead, he surprises me by giving me a real answer.

"Chicken Alfredo. Well, it was when I was a kid. Now, I'll admit, steak trumps carbs." He pats his stomach. "Nothing trumps a good steak. Hell, even a shitty steak isn't bad."

I never had much of a choice of what was for dinner, growing up. Most of the time, there was no dinner at all. It would usually consist of a piece of bread with some cheap peanut butter smeared on it.

For reasons I don't understand, nor do I care to, I choose just to be friendly and not ponder the reasons why Hudson Hercules runs so damn hot and cold.

"Chicken Alfredo sounds pretty damn good," I tell him honestly because just thinking about it makes my mouth water. "Also, I hate to break it to you, but nothing trumps carbs. Not even the world's most expensive steak."

"I asked for your favorite meal," he states, looking at me curiously.

I take a few steps backward, still facing him. "To be honest, I don't really have one. Well, aside from pizza or fast food. So, if it's okay, I'll eat your favorite—or ex-favorite, I should say—tonight."

"You got it." He looks down slightly, grinning. "Go rest. It'll be ready when you are."

Stretching my arms over my head, I yawn immediately, feeling the bruise and frowning. For a moment, I simply lie here, still feeling completely and utterly exhausted, even though when I look at the clock, I see I slept for a few hours.

My stomach rumbles, and I instantly recall what Hudson told me. That when I was ready, there would be chicken Alfredo waiting for me.

I move to the edge of the bed and get up before taking a look at myself in the mirror. "Oof," I grumble, running my hand over the top of my crazy-looking hair. "I look like dog shit."

Walking into my bathroom, I brush my hair and wash my face. I still look like I've been run over by a car, but it's nothing some cheesy carbs won't fix, I'm sure.

I make my way toward the hallway and walk into the dining room to find Rossi standing by a window. When he hears me approaching, he quickly turns to face me.

"Did you have a good nap?"

"I did," I admit. "Though I feel like I could probably sleep another eight hours. Ten if I'm lucky." I laugh. "But when I was promised chicken Alfredo, I said to hell with sleep."

"Aldo makes some fucking insane pasta," he says, eyes widening with excitement before he heads toward the kitchen. "I'll let him know you're ready for your dinner."

After watching him disappear into the kitchen, I take a seat at the long-ass table, all by myself. I look around, gazing down the multiple hallways in view, but no Hudson.

Minutes later, Rossi appears with a glass filled with ice and a can of Coke before setting them down in front of me, along with a napkin. "He said the food will be out in just a moment."

When I inhale through my nose, my mouth waters. "It smells out-of-this-world good."

As if my stomach can smell too, it makes an embarrassing rumble sound. But either Rossi doesn't hear or he's too polite of a guy to call me out on it. Whichever it is, I'm thankful for it.

"Where's Hudson?" I ask, trying to keep my voice unbothered before taking a sip of soda and looking around. "I figured he'd be out here, fixing to get him some pasta too."

"I think he left the complex for a few hours," he answers.

A man like Hudson Hercules undoubtedly has women flocking to him everywhere he goes. He's probably off on a booty call. Or maybe he even has a girlfriend. I mean, why wouldn't he? Look at the dude.

Rossi continues, "But don't worry; I fully intend on stuffing my face with pasta. Word on the street is, he made garlic bread too."

As if on cue, Aldo walks into the room with two heaping plates of pasta and two pieces of garlic bread on the side. And when he sets mine down before me, I'm practically salivating at the mouth.

"Enjoy, Ms. James," he says, grinning at his masterpiece before he hands Rossi one. "If you want another serving, just ring the little bell in the middle of the table."

"Thank you, Aldo," I gasp, wasting no time grabbing my fork and digging in.

The first bite is so good that I close my eyes to savor it. But when I open them, I can't stop my brain from wandering back to the man who set this all up for me.

Hudson.

And I wonder where he is right now. Or I should say … who he's with.