Page 5 of Tilly
“Because right now, you look every bit the hooker you were accused of being.”
Her face drops and her arms fold over her stomach. Too fucking late. I’ve already seen it, all that bare fucking skin, and it’s not something I’m going to get out of my head in a hurry.
“You didn’t have to come and get me. They would have had to let me out eventually. And it’s Halloween. I’m a devil, not a hooker,” she says.
“What you are is temptation incarnate. Put the shirt on, Matilda. There’s an empty guest room down the hall, to your right. Use it. I’ll take you home in the morning.”
“Why am I here, Antonio?” she asks, taking the shirt out of my hand.
Hearing my name on her lips does something to me. Though I’d much rather hear her screaming it. “Because I’m a nice guy, and I wasn’t going to leave you sitting in a fucking police station.”
She blinks at me. Once, twice. Before a smirk curls her lips. “I’ve never heard anyone refer to you as a nice guy,” she says before turning around and walking out of the room.
I watch her ass sway as she goes. Even though I know I shouldn’t.
Chapter Three
The moment my eyes open, everything that happened last night hits me. And the fact that I’m in a bed in Antonio Gambino’s house has my heart racing. Granted, it’s not his bed. But after having him drag me out of the station and knowing exactly what they were trying to charge me with, well, I was already far too embarrassed to then try to hit on him… only to have him shut me down.
“Oh my god!” I groan as something vibrates beside me. I look to the bedside table and find my phone plugged into a charger. My brows pull down. Did Antonio find my clutch? He must have.
I pick up my phone, pull the cord out from the bottom, and a million missed message notifications light up my screen. Great.
I open the chat with the girls first, knowing theirs will be easier to deal with. Without reading their texts, I type out one of my own.
Me:
I’m fine. Still breathing. Sorry. A lot happened last night… but not what you’re thinking. Fill you in later.
I close out of that thread and look at all the others. There are messages from each of my parents, my brother, my uncles, and my grandfather.
“Shit,” I groan as I decide to open my brother’s next.
Dante:
I don’t know where you are, but for once, I’m not the one in trouble. Where are you? I’ll come get you? If you need me to cover for you, let me know. Also, prostitution? Really, Tilly? I know you ain’t that hard up for money.
Me:
It was a case of mistaken identity. I’m fine. Tell the oldies I’ll call them back soon.
I almost ask him to come and pick me up. Clearly, I need coffee before dealing with my family. Because no way do I need them to find out where I slept last night. Even if I was completely alone in this room.
I pull myself out of bed. There are three doors, and I’m betting one of them will lead me to a bathroom. The first door is a closet. I shut it and quickly move on to the next.
“Thank god,” I mumble under my breath as I close myself inside the bathroom and use the toilet. When I’m done, I wash my hands and balk at my reflection in the mirror. “Great,” I mutter as I squirt more soap into my hands and scrub at my face, hoping it will remove all of last night’s makeup. After I’m satisfied I no longer look like a half-dead racoon, I comb my fingers through my hair. “It’ll have to do. He didn’t want you last night when you were dressed up like a hooker. He’s definitely not going to want you this morning.”
It doesn’t matter.
At least that’s what I’m telling myself to get my feet moving. My costume is discarded on the floor by the bed. I contemplate putting the skirt back on. But this shirt I’m wearing—his shirt—covers more of my butt than that little bit of red leather ever did. I refrain from bringing the collar up to my nose to sniff it. I’m not that creepy. Besides, I did enough of that last night before I fell asleep.
I open the bedroom door and tentatively peer down the hall. It literally only takes five steps before one of Antonio’s men nods his head at me. “Boss is in the kitchen,” he says.
Boss. It’s a relatively new title. Antonio’s father died a few months back. I wonder how he’s coping with the change? He’s very young to be a Don, and I can’t imagine it’s an easy job.
“Thanks,” I reply, my voice quiet.
Why do I feel like I’m doing the walk of shame when I didn’t even get to do any of the stuff that happens before the whole shaming me part?
