Page 8 of Lost Kingdom

“Timothy?”

And there goes that history, changing the man in front of me as Tim’s back straightens and his hands fall away from my body. He turns, soldier-like, to face an older, portly round man who commands his own personal army. Warriors fan out to surround us, dressed to the nines, but strapped with enough weaponry to ensure their boss remains safe.

It’s the Godfather.

“Mr. Cordoza.” No longer sultry-voiced, Tim faces the man who stands significantly shorter and offers his hand. “How are you, sir?”

Ugh. Sir! Gross.

“Pleased to have been included in your brother’s big day.” Cordoza claps his palm to Tim’s and shakes with one, two, three unhurried pumps. “You appear well.”

“I am.” Tim draws his hand back and slips it into his pocket. But I’ll be damned, because when Cordoza’s eyes swing my way, that hand comes back out again and wraps across my back, anchoring itself to my hip.

Possession. Protection. Claim.

“Copeland City is good for a man’s health,” he murmurs, forcing the older man’s gaze back to him. “Running a bar is infinitely less stressful than the destiny I was bred to fulfill.”

Humored, Cordoza sets his hands in his pockets and rests on the backs of his heels. “So your stance remains unchanged? You have no desire to take the position your father intended for you?”

“Respectfully,” he shakes his head. “No, Boss. I know it’s not proper to decline such an offer, but I’m happy where I am. I don’t wish to be the next New York Timothy Malone just because that bastard gave me his name. And I trust Felix represents the family well.”

“He does alright.” Unable to hold out any longer, Cordoza brings his focus back to me. His eyes, silver-gray and glinting, look me up and down. I suppose he approves, because his smile notches up, but it’s not the creepy leering I’d expect from a man on the other side of middle-aged and whose entire identity is wrapped up in the criminal underworld. Rather, it’s an appreciation. A gentle study. “It would be rude of me not to introduce myself to your date.”

Tim’s grip grows so tight across my back, I worry he might pick me up and lob me across the room to save me from meeting this man.

“Estefan Cordoza.” The older man offers his hand, patiently waiting as my eyes drop to the sun-marked skin and jewel-wrapped fingers. Cordoza is an exceptionally wealthy, dangerously powerful man. But he waits me out, smiling when I find an inch of space between me and Tim. Then nervously, I free my right hand and accept his.

Rejecting him, according to his well-documented reputation, would be bad for my health.

“You’re as lovely as I expected you would be.” Warmth skitters through my veins as he brings my hand up and presses a gentle kiss to the top. A curious pleasure ripples through my blood. Wondrously, his touch is stillnot creepy. Just… reverent, almost. Respectful. “I’ve known these boys since infancy, Doctor Emeri. I watched them grow into the men they are today. Some,” he chuckles, lowering my hand but holding on. “I didn’t expect to survive adolescence. But others,” he pointedly tilts his head toward Tim, “I knew would grow into something very fine. I’m not at all surprised he’s chosen you to accompany him today.”

“Felix and Christabelle invited me.”I’m an idiot. I’m plain weird. Stop it!“Oddly enough, it wasn’t Tim who asked me to be here today.”

Tim’s jaw tightens in my peripherals. Stress leeching from his pores and settling in mine.

“But you know I’m a doctor? And my name?” I frown when that thought passes through my mind. “I suppose I wasn’t expecting such familiarity before we’d even met.”

He brings his free hand up and wraps it over the top of mine, cupping me, holding me close. “I’m certain you knew my name before tonight. Besides,” he grins. “I make a point to know those around me, and I’m quite enamored with the prestigious Doctor Mayet. Archer Malone has…” he shakes his head, but it’s a smiling, impressed statement. “He married well. Of course, your relationship and employment with Doctor Mayet provides you with credibility most others lack. And the fact you’re on Timothy’s arm tonight, despite,” he adds, amused, “his lack of formal invitation, intrigues me. You’re a woman who poses many wonderful secrets I wish to unravel.”

Curiosity tingles in my fingertips. And Tim wants so badly to reach out and snatch my hand. The tension he carries, the utter and complete panic rolling off him and into my veins, is enough to make my stomach weak. But I smile and play the role Minka already warned me I must. “You’re very kind, Mr. Cordoza. Doctor Mayet is my best friend, inside and out of the autopsy suite. It seems you and I share the same affections.”

“Intelligent, powerful women,” he ponders aloud. “You may not have the same dark hair as the other Malone brides, but you certainly fit in.”

“Malone brides?” I choke out a nervous laugh, losing my composure and dropping my air of sophistication. “I think you misunderstand, Mr. Cordoza. I’m not a bride, past or present. I’m merely a friend of our beloved Timothy.” Gently, I draw my hand from his and wrap it around Tim’s firm arm. Muscles bulge and tendons vibrate with a violent need to be released. “I’m a friend of the family, and passing up the opportunity to see Felix marry,” that snide, contemptuous, spoiled brat bastard, “was not something I wished to do. Friends are family in my world. And family,” I sigh, “is what matters most.”

“Agreed. And on that note.” Cordoza reaches into his breast pocket to free a sealed envelope tucked inside. He extends it into the space between us, smiling throughout the eternity it takes for Tim to accept. “I had that paperwork notarized for you. Your wishes remain the same?”

“Yes, Boss. Thank you.” Heavy waves of anxiety pulse between us. But he tucks the envelope into his coat pocket and swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he presses the fabric back into place. “I appreciate your assistance on the matter.”

“We’re at a wedding,” he grins. “Consider it a wedding gift. Have you had luck dealing with that other issue at the source?”

“No, Boss. Human beings are inherently difficult to deal with when they do not wish to be helped.”

“Which makes your declined destiny unfortunate,” he chuckles. “These situations are typically dealt with in boardrooms or back alleys. Problems are solved quickly and permanently, quietly.”

Um… is he openly discussing killing people?

“Fortunately for this person, I have an alternate plan of action that doesn’t include killing them.” Tim pats his chest, right over top of the secret envelope. “I sincerely appreciate your help, Mr. Cordoza. If that is all?—”

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