Page 88 of Demons

“I can’t help it,” I replied as another sob broke free.

His hold on me tightened, and a wild look came over his face. “You can’t cry.”

Well, too bad. I was going to. I buried my face in his shirt. I had just gotten him, and I was going to lose him. Over a stupid mean girl who hadn’t grown up.

“I won’t go to prison,” he said, pressing his lips to the top of my head.

“Yes, you will,” I cried.

“No, I won’t. She signed an NDA before ever being allowed onto this property. And even if she hadn’t, she knows not to say a word. She knows … what would happen to her if she did.”

I sniffled and blinked, staring at his chest, waiting for him to explain. He didn’t. He started walking again.

Dread settled over me. The foreshadowing that you could taste and wished you couldn’t, knowing that there was a part of you that had accepted some of the truth deep down, but feared the full disclosure would be too much, weighed heavy on my chest.

“What would happen to her?” I asked the words.

He didn’t slow or stop walking. His beautiful face was tense, but the emotions I’d seen earlier were no longer present. He was back in control.

“What happens when you piss off the Southern Mafia. No one wants to do that.”

• Forty •

“When I get locked in a place inside, you are what brings me out.”

Capri

Neither of us had said a word. He’d put me in his truck, then taken me back to his house. Once we were there I had gotten out of the truck quickly. When he had walked over to me, I had stepped back and held up both hands, stopping him from picking me up again.

I needed some space.

Stepping inside, I walked to the living room. Its brightness, high ceiling, tall windows overlooking the back patio, and sparkling blue pool—it was all so at odds with the heaviness in my chest.

I had already started to wonder. Question things. This wasn’t the shock I was sure he thought it might be. It was that I needed a moment to digest it. See if there was any answer to how I was going to move forward now that I knew.

I was going to talk to him about my needing to serve dinner at the homeless shelter tomorrow night. I’d missed the last week and first of this week. They needed me there. There weren’t enough volunteers. I hadn’t been at the nursing home on Saturday to read to them either. I didn’t like letting them down. I would need to go this week.

I was in deep.

I was in love with a man involved in the Mafia. Southern Mafia. I hadn’t known this existed. What did it mean exactly?

“Capri,” he said, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I looked up at him. I’d sat down on the sofa without speaking.

“You had to have suspected.”

There was a pleading to his voice. He wasn’t keeping that mask of indifference in place. Not here with me. He was vulnerable, and he was allowing me to see it. That made my chest tighten. Had he done this for anyone? Ever?

“Why me?” I asked.

There were so many things I needed to ask. That I should know. But that was the first thing that had come out. Because it was the one thing I couldn’t understand. Why was it me that reached him? What had I done to get this man’s trust? He treated me like he required me to breathe deeply, but why?

“You’re mine.”

I shook my head. That wasn’t what I was asking. Why was I his?

“But why me? What did I do that made me different for you? Why let me inside when you don’t let anyone else?”

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