Page 44 of Texting Mr. Stranger

I sigh heavily, typing,I’m the Don of the DeLuca Mafia. Our legitimate businesses are a way to clean the dirty money we make in our illegitimate endeavors.Then I delete it. I can’t realistically tell her this over text. Hell, I shouldn’t even be thinking about telling her in person.

We need to talk in person,I write.I can explain everything.

Mom would freak if you turned up at the apartment. She thinks you’re bad news.

What do you think?I reply.

If her mom hates me, that’s already one nail in the coffin of any would-be relationship. Being with a lady means earning her parents’ respect and trust. How else will they feel comfortable letting her live the rest of her life with that man?

I close my eyes and take a breath.The rest of her life. What am I even thinking?

I don’t know what to think. I don’t have any information.

Going to the corner of the room, I grab a towel and wipe sweat from the phone screen. I’m pouring more buckets now than I did during the workout. My heart thuds hard again, too. The idea of losing her shouldn’t mean so damn much when, technically, I neverhadher in the first place.

That’s why we need to meet in person. I can’t explain over the phone.

Are you a criminal?

The bluntness of the question takes me off guard. She suspects something already if she’s asking me that. She must have her suspicions, but it’s not as though I can tell her yes over text.

We need to speak in person.

I’m sorry. I can’t agree to that.

I spin, bringing my arm back, then stop myself at the last moment. Throwing my phone against the wall in a hissy fit would be childish in the extreme. It’s not like it would accomplish anything, and it’s not at all like me. But after last night, the idea of forgetting Bella seems impossible, as impossible asbeingwith her seems.

Fuck. Talk about a rock and a hard place, but I know one thing. There’s no way I can just let her skip ahead in her life, waiting for the next attack. Even if she’s going to hate me for it, I need to see her.

Driving through the city, I wonder if I should’ve brought backup. Yet if I rock up with my men, it’ll freak Bella out even more. Parking at the end of her street, I take a moment, my hands gripping the steering wheel and adrenaline pumping through me too fiercely.

This pit at the bottom of my gut threatens to swallow something I’ve only just started to feel. It’s a strange thought for me to have. I never feel warm or hopeful or any of that crap about women, but the idea of losing Bella …

“Stop being emotional,” I growl, hearing my father’s tone in my voice. “It never helped anyone.”

Climbing from the car, I walk toward her apartment building. I’m about halfway down the street when everything suddenly makes sense. The Gallos must’ve been following me to this apartment; it’s how they knew to follow her. They must’ve figured this would be a good place to hit me.

That’s why they let Bella go. They weren’t trying to keep her away from me. They were trying to bait me into making myself vulnerable by exposing myself in public.

This becomes clear when a man walks out in front of me, his face sunk in like a junkie’s. That’s a Gallo trademark, paying addicts for their dirty work and hoping they’ll OD later … or making sure they do. The man raises a brown paper bag, which obviously has a firearm in it.

I throw myself to the ground, straight into a forward roll that scuffs up my shoulders and tears the skin from my neck. Then I spring up and throw all my weight into a hard uppercut. His bones make a gruesome noise as his head snaps back. I’m sure I can feel the bony outline of his chin on my hand.

As he stumbles back, I grab him by the throat and drag him into the grimy, piss-reeking, narrow passageway between two rundown buildings. The only other people on the street are two teenagers. They swiftly turn and take off on their bikes, making me wonder if they’re Gallo spotters or just a couple of kids who don’t want any problems.

“Please!” the man yelps when I grab his wrist and violently jerk it, causing his wrist to snap and the firearm to fall to the ground.

Kneeling next to him, I grab the ratty wildness of his hair and twist him so he’s facing me. “One chance. The name of the man who sent you.”

He licks his lips. He looks like he might try to lie for a second, but then he whispers defeatedly, “Orlando …”

I headbutt him in the nose, causing blood to spill from his face. Then I reach into my suit jacket pocket and take out some zip ties and a gag.

“You can’t just leave me here,” the man squeaks as I tie him to a pipe from one of the buildings.

“I’ll send a couple of my friends to pick you up,” I snarl. “Unless, when I leave, more men are waiting for me, and you haven’t told me. Then I’ll be forced to come back here and …”

“It’s just me. They thought I could take you by surprise.”

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