Page 19 of Texting My Mafia Savior

“Enzo Caruso is more dangerous than I let on.”

“He’s a criminal, right?” I cut in. “Those guys in his club,theylooked like criminals.”

“Yeah, he’s a criminal. I wanted to meet with you because I need you to know that my actions at the meeting might’ve put you in danger. When I stood up for you, I think it made Enzo believe I’ve got feelings for you.”

Do you have feelings for me?Perhaps I’d ask that in a different universe, an upside-down world that makes no sense. Instead, I murmur, “Okay…”

“I need you to be careful,” he goes on. “Be aware of your surroundings. Stay in public places or your home. If you think anything’s wrong, call me. Don’t text.”

“Shouldn’t I call the cops?”

“It’d be better to call me.”

My mind pieces things together. “Are you a criminal, too, uncle?”

He comes to an abrupt stop at a red light. My seatbelt cuts into me. I gasp. “Jerk.”

“Sorry,” he says huskily.

Was it the fact I called him ‘uncle’? Maybe he doesn’t like that. Or was it because it reminded him of how impossible this is?

“You didn’t answer my question,” I say. When he clamps down, refusing to answer, I snap, “Probably because it’s obvious. That was the bait Enzo was trying to feed me. Barbarian. Nightmare. They sound like criminal nicknames to me. Do you work as a lawyer for their organization, whatever it is, then? Is that it? Is it the mob?” He flinches. “Itisthe mob.”

“You don’t need to know all the details,” he grinds out, pulling away from the red light.

“But I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Trust me, Arria. You don’t want to keep digging.”

“What do you do for them?” I persist.

“I do nothing anymore,” he bursts out. “But I used to, years ago, and Enzo loves reminding me of that fact.”

“Whatdidyou do, then?”

He suddenly pulls into an alleyway, leaves the car, and climbs into the back. He leans over, staring down at me. His scent washes over me. Musky. Manly. Addictive. “I did bad things,” he says. “I didn’t want to, but my father was sick, and my mother was an addict, and I needed to pay for both of their care. In the end, it didn’t matter because they both died anyway. But by then, it was too late. I was already in. I’m not making excuses. I’ve hurt people, Arria.”

“What people?” I whisper.

“Men. Evil men. But still, people. I’ve bloodied these goddamn hands. I’m telling you this so you listen to me.You need to be aware. And you need to pretend that everything is okay. It probably will be. But I had to—if I didn’t warn you—if something happened to you,” he shudders, shaking his head.

I put my hand on his chest—big mistake. I feel how solid he is through the thin fabric of his shirt, and I feel his heart pounding just as hard as mine. “It’s okay,” I whisper.

“You don’t know that. You can’t.”

He touches my hand and presses it harder against his chest. What are we doing? It’s like we’re both intoxicated.

“I shouldn’t even have told you this much, but if something happens, I don’t want you to be completely blindsided. I want you to know I’m here for you.”

“That means a lot,” I whisper, my head swimming. “This is crazy.”

We’re still sort of holding hands. He leans even closer and stares right into my eyes. This married man. My uncle. Twice my age. This man who stood up for me, not just against a club owner, but a criminal, a mobster.

“I know. Like I said, I didn’t want to tell you any of this. I shouldn’t be telling you. But you need to know what’s going on just in case. And now I need to ask you the most important part.”

“What?” I whisper.

Is he aware that we are still touching? Does he realize I can feel his heartbeat, drumming hard, as if in response to our closeness? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that I’m screaming inside. Does he care?

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