Page 14 of Married to the Mafia

“No,” Brandi whispered. It still hurt to move her jaw.

“How did you get back to work?”

That was a tricky question. She wasn’t so sure it was smart to drag a De Salvo’s name into this conversation. On the other hand, part of her wondered if implying there was a closeness between her and them might be her salvation. It was a gamble.

She hated gambles. All of them.

Her delay didn’t go unnoticed, and her intruder lifted off her without warning. The next thing she knew she was being hauled off the bed and slammed into the wall. No. He’d thrown her, like a doll. Pain erupted down her entire body, her head protesting the loudest as it hadn’t yet fully recovered from the last assault. Then more pain, sharp stinging sensations, stabbed through her head as he fisted her hair and hauled her up before she’d even slumped entirely to the floor. He held her up by her hair and threw her again, to the side, sending her crashing to the floor. Her leg dragged over her shattered phone. He planted a foot on her spine before she could move. Fear skittered through her, stealing what little breath she had, and Brandi felt herself tremble.

“P-please, stop…” She hated herself for the words. She hated how weak they were, how weak she sounded to her own ears. Mostly, she hated the necessity of them.

But the boot on her back shifted off, to her other side. There was a split-second of relief before he lowered himself over her and she realized he was straddling her, and when he leaned forward to whisper in her ear, she thought she felt evidence of his arousal against her ass.

Another wave bile bubbled up her throat.

“Tell me what you’re hiding, sweet Brandi,” her intruder demanded. “Tell me, or I’ll start our games a little ahead of schedule.” He trailed his fingers down her side, imitating a tender caress.

She forced herself to swallow against the vomit and dredged up words, praying if there were consequences, they would at least be swifter than this. “My boss,” she said. “I called my boss. It was just a ride back to work. I took an Uber home. Please, don’t drag anyone else into this….” Maybe a part of her hoped he would go for someone else. Not that she wanted anyone else hurt. But if she understood the De Salvo’s strength correctly, imagining this asshole pulling this stunt on one of them was laughable.

If she had the strength to laugh.

“Your boss.” He grunted and lifted off of her. A moment later the bed creaked. “Michele De Salvo, is it?” he asked, pronouncing Mikey’s proper name the feminine English way instead of the masculine Italian way.

Brandi coughed, attempting to clear her throat. “He prefers Mikey.”

Her intruder snorted. “Sure he does.” She felt him step over her. “Well, fortunately, I believe you, sweet Brandi. But don’t forget, you really need to talk to your daddy.” His footsteps were far too quiet for his size as he started down the hall. “Get some rest now.”

Brandi held her breath until she heard the front door click, barely registering the chime that indicated the alarm had been reset. She finally blew out a hard breath, the first of her tears dripping from her eyes, and braced herself to move. Every limb of her body protested, none more than her head, and hot pain burned from her thigh.

When she was finally upright enough to look down, Brandi saw that a piece of the shattered phone had wedged into her skin and blood was rolling down her leg. And she was going to have to deal with all of this on her own, of course, because she had no means of calling out with her phone destroyed. “Fuck. Me.”

five

The Agreement

After a mildly better night’s sleep, Mikey was back to his usual routine the next morning and busy filtering reports from the overnight crews by the time the Security Solutions staff started wandering in. It hadn’t been as busy a night, which meant the task was easier, but he was still finishing it up when a chime went off on his phone. A text. Mikey pulled his attention away and lifted the device, realizing it was one of the receptionists who’d messaged him.

He frowned at the message, though the content itself was straightforward enough. The woman—civilian employee—was letting him know she was concerned about Brandi; that Brandi hadn’t stopped to talk. She didn’t give an explanation.

This is becoming a pattern. Mikey put the phone down and called up the elevator feed, hoping to catch her live.

She was wearing a long-sleeved dress, her hair was loose and down, and her head was turned away from the camera. It looked like she still had her sunglasses on. She had her purse, but there was also a large rolling suitcase pulled up tight at her side. She was right there, yet he couldn’t really see her properly. If he hadn’t watched the previous days’ footage so obsessively, he might not have understood how odd her choice of stance was this morning. To say nothing for the suitcase, and atypical attire.

Something was absolutely wrong.

Mikey closed out of the feed and strode from his office, knowing the elevator would dock before he made it to the far end of the hall. She’d shown up, so logically she was either going to her desk or coming to him. He just felt compelled to make sure. He’d told her specifically to call if her mysterious problem got worse.

“—okay, Brandi?” Berto was asking as Mikey rounded the corner.

“Fine,” Brandi replied almost curtly. She came to an abrupt stop, however, when Mikey appeared in front of her.

Mikey felt a little derailed, too. For an instant startled into silence as he took in the bruises still visible on her face, the lower edges of circles under her eyes that her sunglasses didn’t obscure, and the faint tremor in her grip over the suitcase. The shock settled quickly into a seething rage he wasn’t sure he kept from his voice and he pivoted to the side, sweeping his arm out. “My office. Now.” He shifted his gaze to Berto. “Don’t bother me.”

Berto’s eyes widened for a beat, but he nodded sharply. “Yes, sir.”

Miguel wasn’t in yet, for what that was worth, and Mikey held the door open for her before throwing the lock and tapping the hidden trigger to darken the windows. Whatever conversation they were going to have, witnesses didn’t need to be a thing.

Brandi let her suitcase rest behind one of the chairs that faced his desk and released a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry for coming in like this,” she said quietly. “I … couldn’t call. And I’m afraid my email might not be secure.”

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