Chapter 5

Delilah rubbed her eyes to clear the sleep so she could see the clock. She stared at it for a minute to make sense of where the hands were. She never slept in until ten, but it made sense.

After leaving the restaurant, she'd tossed and turned most of the night, and with the time difference, her internal clock had given up and let her sleep in. Most of her adult life had been spent as an early riser. Waitressing would change all that. Luca's restaurant didn't close until eleven, and then there was the cleanup after. Her entire routine was about to be transformed into something unrecognizable.

She laid still, not ready to move yet, until someone knocked on the door. Shuffling into the living room in her oversized T-shirt and pajama pants, she said, "Coming," before looking through the peephole.

Luca was holding up a brown paper bag for her to see. "I brought you a bagel," he called through the door. "You going to open up?"

She turned the lock and pulled it open, stepping back. "Morning."

"Morning." He looked her up and down with a smirk. "Did you just wake up? What happened to the girl who got up at the crack of dawn?"

"I left her in San Diego. I'm surprised you're up. What time do you usually go to bed?"

"I don't need much sleep. I'm like a vampire."

"Vampires sleep all day."

"Right. What am I thinking of?"

"I have no idea."

"It'll come to me. Here." He handed her the bag. "I thought you'd like some breakfast."

"Thank you." She peaked inside. "Bagel?"

"With sour cream and chive spread."

She hugged it to herself. "You remembered."

"I was hoping your taste hadn't changed too much since we were kids."

"Not with this." She pulled it out and took a bite. "This is good."

"It's from the bakery two blocks away in case you need seconds. But if you don't mind, I'll need you downstairs in about an hour. I've got June here to show you the ropes."

"Yeah, no problem. I'll scarf this down and have a quick shower." When he grinned, she said, "Was there something else?"

"You enjoy yourself last night?"

"Yeah. The music was great, and the fritters were delicious. You've got a great place."

"Is that all?"

"Are you hoping I'll mention the marble in the walls that cost you a fortune?"

"I was thinking more of the company you had briefly."

"Oh." Her face puckered. "Him."

"Yeah, him. His name's Samson."

"Why didn't you come over and rescue me?"

"For one thing, I thought I already had. He asked me who you were. I made it clear you were off limits."

"Maybe you weren't as clear as you thought."

"No, he just didn't care. He's the kind of guy who takes what he wants. But I knew you could handle yourself."

"He hit on me while his date waited for him at his table."

Luca nodded slowly. "That sounds like him."

"I know he's a good-looking guy, but that doesn't explain why everyone fawns all over him."

"I may have only been attracted to his date, but even I know he's more than just good-looking. And with the charm to match, he's hard to resist."

"I didn't think so."

"Does he bother you because he reminds you of someone you know?"

"André is not Samson."

"True. Samson doesn't hide it the way André did. At least with Samson, you know what you're getting."

"And that doesn't bother anyone?"

Luca shrugged. "I don't think they care."

"I've got to say, I'm surprised you were taken by him."

Luca laughed. "I'm taken by the business he brings me. Sometimes I wonder if half my diners are hoping to get a glimpse of him. But he always behaves as though he's genuinely interested in people. If that keeps my customers happy, what more can I ask?"

"You don't care if he's a creep?"

"I wouldn't go that far. He's confident and assertive, but from what I hear, he's a decent guy."

"A decent guy, huh?"

"It's a relative term. I'm sure he has his fair share of enemies. He'd have to."

"Like a string of women he leaves in his wake?"

"I haven't heard any complaints. With a guy like Samson, they must know what they're in for."

"How many different women do you see him walk out that door with each week?"

"Hey, I never said you should date him."

"There's no chance of that. I don't date playboys."

"Oh, I see."

"See what?"

"He got under your skin like everyone else, and you don't like it."

"He got under my skin like one of those burrowing worms. When he walked in last night, he looked me right in the eye and smiled like he expected me to swoon over him."

"Let me guess, you sent him back a murderous grin?"

"There was no grin."

"If it's any consolation, I didn't think I could get any more proud of you. All the time that Samson's been coming to Carpi, I have never seen anyone turn him down."

"Then it's about time. So what does he do? Wander from place to place enjoying the perks of Daddy's money?"

"Actually, he works with the government."

"He's a government employee? No way."

"I didn't say he was an employee."

"I don't follow."

"From the pieces I've been able to put together, he's more of a free agent. He contracts to the government. And probably works with the private sector as well. I'd guess that's where his money comes from."

"What does he do?"

"That's where things get fuzzy. There's a lot of talk. Most of it has to be made up."

"Like what?"

"The word ‘superhuman' has been bandied about."

She choked on a laugh. "You have got to be kidding me. Superhuman? That's painful. No wonder he's so full of himself."

"He may not be a superhero, but he didn't get where he is by being mediocre. I have it on very good authority that it's not far from the truth. The details of his exploits often become exaggerated, but why would the government send him on a case on his own if he wasn't as capable as an entire team?"

"Good authority, huh?"

"I'm serious. I heard he took down a whole gang of drug dealers with only a spoon. A wooden one."

"If that's true then they were probably all high at the time."

Luca shook his head. "Maybe, but no matter where the line between fact and fiction lies, this guy is as close to an urban legend as you'll get."

"Then I guess I'd better make sure I don't do anything illegal around him."

"You and every criminal in this town. Once he gets you in his sights, you're finished. Whatever you do, don't draw his attention."

"Too late."

"Yeah, but the difference with you is you have no intention of falling for him. Which is good because I'd hate to have to punch him in the face. And I'd be obliged to defend your honor if he tried anything."

She nudged his elbow. "Aw, that's sweet."

"Yeah, but he'd pummel me. So it's better if you steer clear of him."

"I'm sure we could find some chink in his armor to exploit if the need arose."

"I don't know. From what I hear, that man has no weaknesses whatsoever."

"Oh, come on," Delilah scoffed. "Everyone does. Even urban legends have weaknesses. What about women? If someone really wanted to take advantage of him, surely they could find a woman to do it."

"You game to give it a go?"

"Don't be disgusting."

"You don't think you could do it?"

"Of course I could, but I wouldn't lower myself."

"Then we have nothing to worry about."

"I hope so." Delilah was suddenly worried.

"Do you know something I don't? You said you left all your trouble in California."

"I didn't mean me."

"Hey, like you, I've paid for my mistakes. You think I'm still into that stuff from when we were kids?"

"No, I'm sorry." She sighed deeply. "That's not what I meant. I know how hard you've worked to put all that behind you. I'm just being overprotective. I'm worried he'd look into your past and get suspicious."

"I'll be fine."

"Good. That's settled then. Now get out of here so I can get ready. I don't want to be late for my first day of work."

The doorbell rang, and Samson opened his eyes, trying to place the sound that had woken him. When it rang again, he pulled his phone off the nightstand and checked the time. It was almost noon.

He scrubbed a hand over his face at the third ring.

"Do you want me to get that?" A woman's voice floated to him from the living room, but before he could say no, he heard the door open.

"I'm looking for Samson," came a gruff voice.

Samson groaned, then threw back the sheet. This was the last thing he needed.

When he stood, it was too fast. Blood whooshed in his ears, and his head pounded. He'd drunk too much the night before.

"Can I tell him who's looking for him?" the woman asked.

Samson grabbed a T-shirt off the floor. He pulled it over his head and tugged at his boxer-briefs as he walked into the living room.

When he reached the door, he skirted around the blonde who'd answered.

"Dad," he said, bracing his hand on the door frame. "What are you doing here?"

His dad wore a deep frown that made his bottom lip disappear. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

He didn't hide his disdain as he eyeballed the woman wearing an oversized men's dress shirt.

"Dad, this is Kelly."

The woman's head snapped around to him.

"Uh—Sorry," he said. "I mean Kerry. Kerry, this is Arthur, my dad."

"It's Katy, actually." She harrumphed, then marched out of the room.

Samson sucked on his teeth as he listened to the banging coming from his bedroom. Then he said, "What are you doing here, Dad?"

"I thought we could have lunch together. But I can see you're busy."

"No, he's not," Katy said as she emerged from the bedroom, pulling at the hem of her dress. She shoved the strap of her purse over her arm and pushed out the door. "Don't call me," she said over her shoulder as she stomped down the hall.

Samson watched her go with little expression.

"You weren't going to call her anyway, were you?" Arthur said.

"That's none of your business."

"Are you going to invite me in?"

Samson took in a deep breath and stepped back. "You want a coffee?"

"No, thanks."

Arthur sat on a stool at the counter while Samson pressed the button on the coffee machine and waited for the whirring to stop. "Is there a particular reason you're here?"

"I can't visit my son for the sake of it?"

"Sure you can, but you never do."

Arthur pursed his lips as he looked around the apartment, pausing on the views out the large picture window of the city beyond. "Only the best for Samson."

"Here we go." Samson leaned against the counter and took a sip of his coffee, waiting for the string of disappointments.

"I don't know why you're doing this to yourself."

"What, living a good life?"

"You call this a good life?"

"Penthouse apartment, nice car, lots of friends. Yeah, I'd say so."

"Friends? You didn't even know her name."

"I knew it started with a K."

"Listen to yourself. Your great-great-grandfather didn't risk?—"

"Everything," Samson interrupted, "to make sure his son was born free just so I could turn my back on my family now."

"Not your family. It's not about me or your mom, or even your great-great-grandfather. This is about you and God. God called you."

"Please don't start with this again."

"Why? Does it make you uncomfortable? Because it should. You shouldn't even exist. Your blood line should have died in the Ottoman Empire. Do you know how many Christians they wiped out in the genocide?" Samson sighed, but his dad continued with the same words and the same inflection he used every time. "Then your grandfather nearly died in that fire. And your mo—" He cleared his throat. "After everything your mother went through to bring you into the world. God gave you to us in answer to a promise."

"I don't believe in prophesies."

"You don't have to believe it. But we prayed for years for a baby, and then we were told we would have a son."

"He had a fifty-fifty chance to get that right."

"What about saying that our child would be great?"

"What about it?"

"You think you're so successful, and that all of this opulence you live in, is down to natural talent?"

"Why not? It's what the rest of the world thinks."

"What the rest of the world thinks is not important. What's important is what you think."

"You want to know what I think?"

"Yes."

Samson's anger was bubbling to the surface, but he couldn't afford to let it out. Not in front of his dad. "Forget it."

"No, I want to know."

"I said forget it."

"No!" Arthur slammed his hand on the counter and stood. "Tell me what you think is so much more important than following God's plan for your life!"

Samson threw his mug into the sink. It smashed, and coffee splashed everywhere. "If you knew the stuff I've done in my life," Samson shouted, "you'd understand that God—if He exists—has no more interest in a guy like me. Yeah, I bring home a girl whose name I can't remember. I drink too much, I drive too fast, and I take risks every day that could cost me my life. And do you want to know why I do all of that?"

His dad was silent.

"Because I am useless to a God who is perfect. Maybe when I was born He had some grand scheme for my life, but not anymore. I messed that up a long time ago. You might have some convoluted idea that I matter to Him, but I have too much blood on my hands now. So just drop it."

When he finished speaking, he turned away to hide his emotions. He hadn't meant to let that out, but he was tired of listening to the same arguments over and over again. His dad expected something from him he couldn't give.

"All have sinned and fall?—"

"Don't." Samson's anger had cooled to ice. "Just go."

A chair scraped on the floor as he stared at the broken pieces of the mug until he heard the door shut. Then his shoulders sagged, and he buried his face in his hands.

He had let everyone down who mattered to him. His family and his God.

Never in his life had he ever doubted God's existence. But the only way he could save himself from utter despair was to stop caring about anything. Including himself.