Page 44 of Protected By the Mafia

She knew that. But she had no way to leave. She was forced to stay and wait for Cristiano.

Felicity stood in front of her door, phone in hand, feeling half her natural size and utterly incompetent. Her entire arm hurt thanks to crashing into the damn wall like a graceless buffoon, as did her ankles from the way she’d had to throw herself around just to land there. Neither hurt as much as her pride, which was funny, because she hadn’t been sure she’d had much of that to start with. But apparently, she had, and the ease with which Chuck had pushed her into submission and then himself been dropped to the floor made it feel like she was the one who’d wound up beneath someone’s foot.

I’m so stupid.

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming home.” The too-close voice of her least favorite neighbor jarred Felicity out of her unintentional pity party and she spun around, finding him standing almost directly behind her. For once, no cigarette hung from his mouth, but as always, he’d left his own door open when he’d ambled across the hall.

Felicity frowned and pulled her arms closer to herself on reflex. “What do you want, Matt?” It was a dumb question. She knew what he wanted. She just wasn’t in the headspace to deal with him.

He smiled, his gaze wandering slowly over her. “That’s a new dress. What’re we celebrating?”

She really wanted to smack him. In the face, while she held her sturdy new phone in her hand. Maybe step on his nasty toes, too, and break them so thoroughly he never walked right again. It was arguably possible some of her anger in this moment wasn’t his fault. He had, however, never failed to miss a perceived opportunity to make inappropriate and expressly undesired sexual comments to her and she was sick and tired of hearing them. So she clenched both hands around her phone and snapped, “We are not celebrating anything. This is the very last time I will tell you, Matt, back off and leave me the hell alone. Just because we’ve shared a hallway for the last year doesn’t mean you have the right to anything with me. I am sick of telling you no. I am sick of having to worry about running into you. I am sick of smelling your tobacco smoke because you can’t be bothered to lean out one of your exterior windows. And I am goddamn sick of that leer on your face and the way you can hardly look away from my boobs. Go back inside or go back to your life, whatever, but leave me out of it!”

For a singular moment, Felicity was proud of herself again. Despite the rush of heat to her face at having half-shouted the last of what she’d said, she was proud of herself for finally giving him the response he really deserved.

Then Matt lifted his dark, beady eyes to hers. He wasn’t leering this time, or even scowling. He looked almost dead inside. He stepped closer, crowding her back against her closed and locked door. “That’s a great idea. Just go back to my life. Without a single taste of the sweet little cunt under that skirt.” He huffed out a breath. “Nope. For so many reasons, nope.”

Fear skittered down her spine. He was well inside her personal space now and Felicity was all too aware of her disadvantage. She opened her mouth—to scream, or tell him off again, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter.

Matt shot out an arm and locked his hand around her throat, pressing hard enough to choke off her air supply. “Why don’t we go inside before anyone else sees you, and you can make up for all the mean things you’ve said to me.” He used the hand at her throat to pull her forward, ignoring her one-handed attempt at clawing at his arm and leaning in until she could smell the old, residual tobacco on his breath. “Maybe if you suck me real good, I’ll—”

Felicity forgot about trying to breathe when a handgun entered her line of sight, pressed up to Matt’s temple. She saw Matt’s eyes blow wide and his grip immediately loosened.

“Get your goddamn hands off her or I paint this disgusting hallway with your fucking brain matter.” Cristiano’s furious voice was like a chorus of angels in her ears. From the way Matt paled and threw himself backward, he may not have heard something quite as wonderful.

Felicity sucked in a gasping breath, one hand instinctively lifting to her throat as if to rub away the lingering discomfort.

“F-fuck, man!” Matt exclaimed.

Cristiano ignored him and turned to her, his stare dropping immediately to her neck and the wound on her raised wrist. He stepped into her space and gently ghosted his fingers over the outside of her wrist. “Did he do this?”

It probably wasn’t healthy to react the way she did to his question, or the timbre of his voice when he spoke. All Felicity could do was hope the inappropriate heat that suddenly sparked inside her wasn’t obvious on her face somehow, because she wasn’t about to hide from him. Not when all she wanted to do was fall into his arms. “That was … Chuck.” She licked her lips, knowing she needed to say more and not wanting to get into it in the hallway. “Can we go home? I want to go home.”

Only when Cristiano extended his gun behind him, aimed at a slight angle but directly toward Matt, did Felicity realize Matt had tried to slink away. Cristiano didn’t otherwise acknowledge the man, moving his free hand to cup her cheek and bending down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Yeah, baby.” He pulled her against him, his arm locking around her, and she had to turn her head sideways to see what might happen next.

“Wh-what the fuck,” Matt stammered, “I-I didn’t know! I swear I didn’t—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Cristiano maneuvered enough to straighten his arm. “I’ll be coming back for you. So you can choose whether you crawl back into that rat’s nest of an apartment and cower in fear, or throw yourself out a window to avoid what’s coming. But know that if you choose to run, I will find you.”

Felicity watched as Matt plastered himself against the far wall, stare riveted for once on something other than her.

Then Cristiano tucked his gun away, at his back, and scooped Felicity off her feet. He turned, holding her to his chest, and walked them back to the slowly breaking elevator. She didn’t even feel jostled when he adjusted to press the button for the ground floor, then the button to close the doors. He put his back to the far wall and held her tighter.

Her throat constricted as she quickly became aware of the tension in his body. It was her fault. She was sure it was her fault, because she’d made a series of increasingly moronic decisions. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. It wasn’t her intention to whisper, but when she spoke, she realized whispering was the best she could offer at the moment, anyway.

Cristiano bent down and kissed her head, then let his lips trail to her cheek, before finally straightening. “I’d rather you didn’t decide to do dangerous things without talking them over with me first, at least,” he said. He, too, spoke in something like a whisper. “That doesn’t mean you owe me an apology. You’re not my prisoner, Felicity.”

She let her eyes close, the elevator jolting around them. “I know. But I … I worried you. So I’m sorry.” She wanted to say scared. It felt like she might have scared him. But she hesitated to give voice to that word. It might also have been her imagination, her adrenaline-fueled fantasy.

Cristiano blew out a breath. “The way I felt when I got your text was not ‘worried’,” he said as he walked them out of the elevator. “If I’d thought my car could handle it, I would have driven straight through every fucking obstacle between us.” He walked them to the parking lot, his grip unwavering. “This place is dangerous for you, Foxglove. And as much as I appreciate you wanting to take some initiative, I will set this whole goddamn building on fire with everyone in it before I’ll let you walk into a bad situation.” He came to a stop beside his car and carefully set her back on her feet, moving both hands to her hips to hold her against him. “Do you understand?”

Felicity smiled. “Well, I’m sorry I made you feel that.” The more she talked, the easier it was getting.

Cristiano grunted and leaned in, capturing her lips in a hard kiss. It was wet and demanding and promised things that would definitely not be happening in the parking lot. Then he reached behind her and pulled open the passenger door. “Get in.”

She licked her lips, nodded, and ducked into the car. She was still catching her breath by the time Cristiano was pulling his own door shut behind him.

“What happened to your purse?” he asked.

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