Page 42 of Protected By the Mafia

Anger sparked in her chest. Felicity popped open her purse, reached inside, and set her phone in her lap. Then the key. Then the lip balm she’d transferred over from her old purse. Then she shoved the hand-sized bag at him and snapped, “Check for yourself, asshole.”

The driver took her purse and jammed his hand inside, feeling around without care for the material.

Something about the sight made her stomach turn, so Felicity scooped up her things and pushed the door open. “You know what? Keep the change. I’ll stay here until my fiancé’s off work.” She fumbled a bit to keep from dropping the key and lip balm as she stood, and it did not escape her notice that her driver made no attempt to call her back.

Felicity stomped up to the sidewalk with her awkward armload, further frustrated by the fact that she had no pockets. She had chosen a cute, modest enough dress for the day’s outing, and like most dresses it lacked pockets. That was the whole reason Cristiano had shown her the selection of different sized ladies purses he had apparently also acquired for her, in addition to the clothes and shoes.

She felt a flicker of guilt at the realization that she’d just essentially thrown away a gift from him. Her eyes tracked the movement of the cab as it turned out of the drive, and out of sight. No, Cristiano would understand her reason when she explained it. That was probably the only part of this entire thing he would easily understand, in fact. So she took a breath, succumbed to her limitations, and did what she could to secure the smaller items in her bra. Thank goodness I could wear a bra with this dress!

Phone in hand, Felicity squared her shoulders and proceeded to march into the office.

Her ex-landlord’s head lifted from whatever magazine he was reading as the door closed behind her, and his eyes widened for a split-second. “Felicity,” he said, sitting straighter. “Did you need something?”

Is he not going to say anything about it? She glanced around the space that she’d always tried to avoid. The office wasn’t large. It was essentially rectangular in shape, and the only seating available were a pair of old but matching chairs in front of the also old desk behind which the suspicious man sat. There was an interior door she’d always thought led to some kind of supply or utility room, and as always, it was closed. She stepped properly in front of the desk, choosing not to sit, and stared across at the older man. “You called my friend in California, told her I’m late on rent, when we both know you were paid. Don’t try to say you didn’t get my notice.”

“We haven’t seen you around lately—”

“Except the thing is, I recently told her a real whopper of a lie that involved you. I never expected the two of you to talk, joke’s on me, but she says you owned it, and I need to know why.” Felicity dragged in a breath to keep from letting her words run too fast. “What man in his right mind, let alone businessman, takes responsibility for things that if they were true could land him and his livelihood in a massive world of hurt? You should be angry! You should be the one making demands for answers from me!”

Chuck smacked his magazine on the desktop. “What makes you think I’m not angry?”

Felicity jumped; her mouth clamping shut.

“I had some smart-mouthed Californian law student threatening to sue me up my ass for shit that hadn’t even been reported to me, you’re damn right I’m angry.” He leaned forward, resting his swollen hands on the desk. “Now sit the fuck down. We have things to talk about.”

Her hands tightened around her phone. We. He’d used that word earlier, and she’d missed it. She licked her lips and kept her feet firmly planted. “You said ‘we.’ You said ‘we haven’t seen you.’ Who’s the other person? Or who are the other people? What’s—”

Chuck stepped around his desk. “Felicity, I don’t know what you’ve been up to lately, but your paranoia’s gone off the charts,” he said as he approached.

Felicity shuffled back, nearly toppling backward over one of the chairs. “What are you doing? Stay away from me.”

“You’ve really lost it, Felicity,” Chuck said. “It makes me sad. I thought you were one of the good ones. Thought you might make it out of this place.” His arm shot out and he latched onto her wrist. “It’s good you came back. We need to get you upstairs and settled.”

Felicity jerked on her arm, succeeding only in inadvertently tossing her phone onto the seat of the chair that had almost upended her. “I’m not going anywhere with you, let me go!”

He grunted, his grip tightening. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” He stepped closer, crowding her, and tried to physically turn her toward the interior door.

Felicity opened her mouth with the intent to scream and pray that someone in the nearest apartments actually called for help. But as she drew a breath, the office door swung open.

Chuck turned quickly, adjusting to hide the view of his grip of her arm and squeezing tight as if in warning. “Abby. Something you need?”

Felicity blinked, momentarily startled speechless at the sight of the unfamiliar female. She was almost exotically pretty with long, black hair against paler skin and perfectly complimentary blue eyes. Felicity was sure she would have remembered seeing the woman on the property before and she found herself hesitating, just for a second, to speak up. Was it possible this person was also a threat to her?

Chuck’s grip was unyielding on her wrist, surely already bruising, and Felicity ground her teeth. She had not come here to be re-victimized, dammit.

“I was hoping for a copy of my move-in receipt,” the woman Chuck had referred to as Abby said after a beat.

“You paid online.”

“Yes,” she said, “but my employer’s covering my moving costs and they want paper copies. I don’t have a printer yet.”

Felicity hurried to speak over whatever shit Chuck might say next. “Gee, Chuck, I guess you have to let go of me and do your damn job now. Like right fucking now.”

Chuck’s fingers pressed into her wrist so tightly she felt his dull nails bite into her skin. He twisted to glare at her over his shoulder, nostrils flaring.

Abby shifted her weight, her braided hair emphasizing the movement. “Sorry, is there a problem here?”

“No—”

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