Page 57 of Protected By the Mafia

Abigail laughed again and set the paper on their table. “Fine, fine. I’m not so desperate to spend money.” She flattened her palm over the check. “But let me be clear, I did not put that jerk on his knees so someone else could owe me one. I did it because someone needed to, and I could.”

Cristiano curled his arm around Felicity’s shoulders. “Which makes me all the more grateful.”

Abigail straightened, grinning, and looked again at Felicity. “Congratulations on your engagement. Good luck with that one.” She motioned to Cristiano, paused to add a proper parting sentiment, and slipped away.

He gathered up the two checks, waited for Felicity to polish off her diner mocha, and said, “I’m surprised you didn’t exchange numbers.”

Felicity looked up at him, confusion wrinkling her brow. “I’m not going to date her.”

Cristiano gave her a look. “Sharing is not one of my eccentricities.” He leaned close and whispered as someone settled in the booth behind them. “You’re allowed to have friends, Felicity.”

“Oh. Right.” She obligingly followed him out of the booth, and finally mumbled, “Well, you know, that’s not really been going so great for me lately, so….”

He frowned but waited until he had paid the set of bills and a healthy cumulative tip—more out of appreciation for the occasion than the service—before continuing the conversation. With a hand at the small of her back, he pushed the interior glass door open and quietly said, “Once the current job is done, how do you feel about taking a trip out to California? We can aim for a long weekend, and you can patch that up.”

Felicity stopped so abruptly he nearly hauled her off her feet with his momentum alone. She blinked up at him with wide, rapidly watering eyes. “You would—we could—do that?”

He cupped her face, heedless of the door they stood in front of. “I would do any goddamn thing for you, baby. That’s nothing.”

Her tears spilled over as a smile lifted her lips. “That’s not nothing,” she whispered. “Not to me.”

eighteen

Kidnapped, Again

The majority of a week had passed since Felicity had been introduced to Cristiano’s cousins. It was Thursday again, and she found herself finishing up another emotional appointment with Dr. Laura while her original escort was missing-in-action. Not that she blamed him. He had multiple people leaning on him for support and expecting him to find every single one of their enemies every single time he went out. She was the only one who saw how frustrated it made him when what was supposed to have been a promising lead inevitably fell through.

Three times in the past week, Cristiano had thought he’d been closing in on Tristán. Yet, as of that morning when she had stepped into Dr. Laura’s office, Tristán remained the elusive boogeyman he’d become since his escape. She had suggested trying to reach out to him herself, acting as a lure. She despised the idea—merely saying the words made her want to be sick—but for Cristiano, and her new family, she was willing to suck it up. Cristiano had refused outright. He’d even threatened to lock her in the bedroom again if she tried.

If that would get him to stay in there with her for an entire day, she’d probably do it.

Felicity hesitated at the sight of a man she didn’t know in the lobby. Dr. Laura had another patient to prepare for this time, so she hadn’t walked out with her, and for the moment they were alone. Was this the patient? Or her replacement escort?

He stood at about six feet tall by her estimation, had buzzcut brown hair and striking amber eyes that might have been alluring if his overall expression didn’t look so … angry. Plus, there were the cliché facial tattoos. Two teardrops under one eye, seemingly random numbers in large print on his forehead, and something she couldn’t as easily identify on his opposite cheek. It almost looked like a pair of splatter marks.

Her stomach dropped. Oh crap. Those weren’t splatter marks. They were ink blots.

The stranger raked his gaze over her briefly, lips curling in a sneer. And when he spoke, he spoke with all the attitude his expression exuded. “Lookit you, all dressed up like you’re some kinda princess.” He scoffed. “You’re gonna come with me now, princess, real quiet-like.”

Felicity’s fingers clutched over the strap of her newest purse. She was definitely going to ask Dr. Laura if she could switch days. Thursdays were clearly not working out for her. Felicity licked her lips. “I’m not in the habit of going places with strange, rude men.” Arguably a lie, but it felt valid.

The stranger narrowed his eyes at her and pulled a gun from his waistband. “You’re under the mistaken impression I’m askin’ nice,” he said. He raised the gun, aimed it at her, then swung it toward the open hall. “I’ll kill your shrink, every other dumbass that enters this building, and then you. In that order. Or you can spare them and come along with me.” He thumbed something she assumed to be the safety. “Decide now, princess.”

Felicity pulled both her lips between her teeth and bit down, hard, in an effort to keep herself from trembling. There was no choice to be made, after all. She couldn’t condemn who-knew-how-many innocent people in the hopes that Cristiano or one of his people happened to show up before a bullet with her name on it kissed her skull. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay, just, please don’t shoot…”

He waved the pistol at her. “Leave the fuckin’ bag.”

“Bag?” Her gaze dropped to the purse, realizing he had to have meant that. “Okay,” she said again. She forced herself to unclench and slowly stepped to the side in order to set her purse, as it was, down on the floor. Out of the way. She wanted to do something clever like they did in movies and somehow sneak her phone into her hand as she straightened, but the fact was she was not that girl. Her phone was somewhere, loose, in the main pocket of the purse and she could definitely not slip her hand inside even to grab whatever was on top without being caught. So she didn’t try. It seemed the smartest way to remain bullet-free.

The guy with the gun grabbed her by the wrist that had mostly healed up and pressed his weapon against her temple. “’s a real pretty ring you got, princess,” he said, barely glancing at the diamond adorning her finger.

Fresh fear churned inside her. Not the ring. She couldn’t let him take Cristiano’s mother’s ring.

He smirked, the expression entirely depraved, and this close Felicity could see he even had a tattoo on the inside of his lower lip. “You wanna keep that fancy ring, I bet.” It wasn’t a question, so she only nodded carefully. His smirk vanished into a hard glare. “Then you cooperate with every fucking thing I say startin’ now, understand? Otherwise I’ll shove that pretty diamond down your spoiled rotten throat, then tape your mouth shut so you can’t puke it back up.”

He’s insane. She kept the realization to herself and, as carefully as the first time, nodded again.

“Good. Now c’mon.” He turned, jerking her with him, just as the door opened.

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