Page 5 of Thief of my Heart

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” I took another swig of beer.

She sighed like she was dealing with a little kid and started to unwrap her dish. “I’ll find out eventually. We don’t keep secrets in our house.”

I hoped to God that wasn’t true.

“I guess it’s not that surprising you’re here,” she went on. “My nonno does like to take in strays. Feeds them and everything. Drives my grandmother crazy.”

She brought the dish to the convection oven in the corner, and I enjoyed another view of her tiny waist and the flare of her perfect, too fucking grabbable ass. It was distracting enough that being compared to a neighborhood mongrel barely bothered me. Jesus.

“Last year, he found a dog under the River Parkway,” she said as she put the casserole dish in to warm. “Brought it home. Let it sleep in the living room by the fireplace.”

I walked closer and leaned against the counter. She was near enough that I caught another whiff of her perfume—some kind of flowery soap blended with scents of home cooking. Better than anything I’d smelled in a long time.

“He sounds like a stand-up guy,” I said. “Guess I’m lucky he’s taking a chance on me too. I promise I won’t piss on your leg.”

I crossed my arms and enjoyed the way her eyes popped a bit when she stole a look at my biceps. Then she snorted and went back to fiddling with the oven.

I scowled and slid toward her just because I could.

“I wouldn’t get too excited,” she said. “That dog ran off again two months later. My brother found it back on the Parkway, killed by a driver.”

She turned, then started a little when she realized how close we were. Her tits brushed my forearms, nipples slightly visible through her shirt. From this height, I also had a very nice view of her cleavage, which framed a few necklaces, including a cross dangling across her clavicle and another saint’s pendant nestled between her breasts.

Lucky motherfucker.

So she was a church girl. No real surprise. Most of the neighborhood was, in one way or another. We all grew up going to Mass with our aunties, taking communion, maybe even going to confession to have our sins forgiven.

Me, I was a long way past forgiveness. But something told me Lea Zola was a little better than the average sinner. She was pure in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time.

And God knew I wanted to dirty her up.

She glanced around the room, as if the garbage bag of clothes and empty wallet on the table would tell her something more about me. “Some animals go back to what they came from. Even if it’s bad for them.”

When she looked back at me, her green eyes felt like darts, and my chest was the bullseye.

She had perfect aim.

I took another thick swallow of beer. Did she think I was that dog on its way back to where it really belonged? And if that was the case, why didn’t she think that place was here? The Bronx was my home.

Wasn’t it?

She walked to the door, pausing as she opened it. Her eyes found mine again, bright with something else I recognized. Curiosity. The kind that got good girls like her in trouble with bad men like me.

Fuck, I wanted to invite her to stay.

But Mattias Zola had only given me four rules to follow.

And this here was the most important one.

“I’ll let him know he’s got dinner when he gets back,” I told her.

Lea shook her head. “Don’t bother. He’ll come home looking for his wife when he’s ready to eat. That’s for you.”

At that, I had nothing to say. Did that mean she had come here with the express purpose of feeding me dinner? Why would she do that for someone she never knew? Someone she had expressly been forbidden to meet? Someone who, for all she knew, was a hardened criminal legitimately capable of doing her harm.

“I—er?—”

“Thanks is fine, Michael.” Those green eyes dragged down my body so slowly, it set me on fire. “Have a good night.”

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