Page 29 of Protected By the Mafia

He was right. She knew he was. She watched him continue to the fridge, surely needing to grab something quick for a real lunch so he could get back to whatever he was supposed to be doing. She closed her eyes for a moment and pulled in a long breath. I’m only in hiding in the first place because of them. And for as much as she was appreciating the benefits, the reality of having had to be kidnapped for her own protection, losing her job, her apartment, and lying to her best friend was a damn lot. All on top of, well, everything else.

Cristiano had already turned on the stovetop grill and was setting the second of what looked like a pair of grilled cheeses onto the flat surface.

“I want to know,” Felicity said.

He glanced over at her, studied her for a moment, then set a sheet on top of the sandwiches to help them cook the way he wanted. While they were frying, he turned and leaned his hip against the opposite side of the counter. “By the end of the week, Manny will be dead. I can’t say exactly what day or exactly what way it’ll go down, but the end result will be the same.”

Felicity drew a deep breath. She wasn’t surprised, other than to hear him so certain about his ability to effectively murder a prisoner from the outside.

Cristiano’s brow pinched. It wasn’t a glare, but something that looked more like hesitation. “Aracely and Armando Senior are dead. It won’t be on the news tonight.”

She felt something that time. It wasn’t pain, not like it should have been, but more like regret at the way things had gone. Sadness for the lives they’d lived more than for the lives lost. Later, when she was alone again, she’d let herself dwell on that reaction and worry about what it said about her. Instead, she carefully moved up to the island seating. “Were you there for it?” She didn’t know why she needed to know that, or any detail, but it felt significant somehow.

Cristiano inclined his head. “I brought a team,” he said. “The plan was to question them and search for Tristán. But the plan was also to make sure they were dead when we left.” He paused to flip the sandwiches. The aroma of the melting, baked cheese and frying bread billowed through the kitchen when he lifted the cover. He grabbed plates quickly, turned off the heat, and left them to sit when he looked at her again. “I hadn’t intended on killing either of them myself. I wanted to, after what you told me, but I didn’t think I could justify it.”

She swallowed some conflicting responses to that. A little guilt, a little inappropriate arousal. Undeniable appreciation. “You’re talking like it didn’t go down that way.”

He scooped the sandwiches onto the plates and rounded the island, setting one in front of her. Then he sat down and spun her to face him. “Senior gave me an opportunity,” he said. “So I used his own belt and I let off some steam. I cracked him across the face from every angle, then gave him a few across the thighs and chest.”

Felicity pulled her lips between her teeth, old wounds aching in her memory at his words. She was honestly amazed she didn’t have outward facial scars from the number of times her face had been the victim of Armando Sr.’s lashings. She did have a couple of small, light lines that would pass as stretch marks if they were in the right places or ran the proper direction. Instead they were sideways on her thighs and diagonal across her butt.

Cristiano pulled her hands into his. “Then I strangled him. With these hands.”

Her gaze dropped to their joined hands at his prompting. For a single second, she thought she might see something new or different. She certainly thought he expected her to. She didn’t. All she saw were Cristiano’s large, strong hands holding onto hers. His hands were faintly calloused, which one could argue made no sense for his level of wealth, but she was well aware he’d worked hard for his life.

And for mine.

She squeezed his hands and smiled across at him. “You don’t look any different to me.”

He released a quiet breath and indicated her sandwich. “Eat before it gets cold.”

She pulled her plate closer, took her first bite, and she was chewing the deliciously cheesy creation as her gaze wandered back to the man at her side. And she finally noticed something. “Actually,” she said after she swallowed, “maybe you do. Were you wearing that when you left this morning?” She would’ve sworn his shirt had been black, not dark gray.

He snorted, as though he were trying not to laugh. “Now you notice? We gotta work on your observational skills, Foxglove.”

She pouted at him. “I was distracted. So?” She took another bite of his latest masterpiece. She could be happy marrying this man for his skills in the kitchen alone and she dearly hoped he never asked her something that forced her to admit that.

He grinned over at her for a quick second before his expression sobered. “Hazards of the job,” he said. “We have a couple locations in Trenton. I cleaned up before we left town.”

She mulled that over for a minute. “I suppose that makes sense.” She would have to come to terms with the idea of him occasionally showering elsewhere, probably. Another minute of comfortable eating passed. “Will you teach me … more about what you do?”

Cristiano licked his fingers clean and angled to face her, scowling.

“I don’t mean killing!” She lowered her last bite. “I just want to know what it is you do. Generally speaking. Are you always the guy they send to lean on relatives of your enemies? Do you always have to spend days interrogating gangsters? I don’t need gruesome details. I just want to understand a little better, I guess.”

His expression softened and Cristiano leaned in to press a kiss to her temple. “Yeah. I can tell you about that, over time.” He paused, watching her finish off her sandwich. “I want you to think about something while I’m out today, too.”

She gave him a curious look, her mouth full.

“The family has a psychotherapist on tap,” he said. “She’s good, and she knows how to keep a secret. She’s been on payroll since I was a kid. I’ve been to her a few times, years ago.”

Felicity’s eyes widened. “You have your own therapist?”

His lips twitched. “Well it sounds crazy when you say it that way.” He scooped up their plates. “You’ve got a lot of shit to unpack about what your family’s put you through, and now what mine’s putting you through. So if you think you’re open to it, I’ll take you to see her.”

That was what he wanted her to think about. Felicity scrunched up her lips. “Have you slept with her before?”

He laughed, set the plates in the sink, and faced her again. “She was friends with my mom,” he said. He leaned closer, heat blazing in his eyes. “I may have a tendency to look outside my generation, but which way do you think that tendency runs?”

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