Page 7 of Texting My Mafia Savior

“She led me on,” Enzo says as if it’s a matter of fact. His father, Dominic, had to claw and scrape to build his family up. While I can’t condone what the mob does, I can respect the hustle. Enzo was given everything, and it shows. “Got all hot and heavy, but when we were alone, she froze up. You can’t blame a man for feeling resentful.”

In fact, I can. I can even hate the selfish prick for it, but I won’t tell him that.

“I hear you want to press legal charges.”

Enzo nods. “We both know it’s the kindest thing I can do, considering the circumstances.”

“I’ve got an alternative,” I tell him. It’s difficult to force out the next part. If Arria wasn’t… well, Arria, I don’t think it would be. I need to get the image of her standing in the street, dreamy-eyed as she takes photos on her cell, out of my head. “Let her make an official apology to you.”

“She doesn’t know who I am, does she?” Enzo says.

“No. She doesn’t know anything aboutthisworld.”

“She doesn’t know her father used to be our accountant, that her uncle used to paint these streets red?”

I hate him for talking about my enforcer days as if it’s something to be proud of. “She knows nothing about any of it. It’s better if it stays that way.”

“What’s it to you?” Enzo snaps.

Because Arria is so enthusiastic, naïve, and innocent, I don’t want her dragged into this world’s grimness. I don’t want her to lose her fierceness and her sass. I don’t want her to know how bad this city really is. Or see her father differently.

“It always makes good business sense to keep the circle small,” I say.

He nods slowly. “Well, I’m not going to start telling her mafia secrets, am I?”

“Of course not.”

He sighs. “I just don’t like the way she behaved. She was acting like I was some kind of pervert, like I was going to assault herand her friend or something. Hell, her friend was hot, sure. But Arriana has grown—how’d you phrase it? Chubby? Plump?”

Fuck. I almost crack. The old Nico almost comes out. My veins burn with icy rage. Under the table, my hands clench into fists. I could knock his teeth in for talking about her like that. Chubby? Plump? No—curvy, voluptuous.

“She’s not your type,” I manage to say. She’s mine.

“That’s one way to put it.” He laughs viciously. “I remember a night, once, when I was a kid. Father had you square off against three of his men,three, all top guys, all tough as hell. Bare knuckles, three on you. You took some licks, but you came out stronger. You were like a superhero to me back then.”

I remember that night, too, but with none of the nostalgia that he clearly has. My memory includes a drunk, resentful Dominic, hating me for marrying Lucy and wanting to punish me at every opportunity. I remember him slurring, his eyes wet and wild, as he bellowed at his men to hurt me. And then, when it was over, the worst part was that his expression turned to pride.

“Nico the Nightmare. Remember that?”

“I’ve had a lot of nicknames in my life.”

“Barberi the Barbarian.The Savior.” He sniggers.

“I never asked for any of them.”

He adjusts his watch. “You can bring the girl to me. Let her say sorry. Based on how convincing she is, I’ll make up my mind. But it’ll need to be in a couple of days. I’ve got business outside the city.”

“That’s fine, Enzo. Thank you. Really.”

He waves a hand, dismissing me. Walking away, I think about snapping his wrist in two like a toothpick. It’d be so damn easy.

CHAPTER 5

ARRIANA

“These are wonderful,” Aunt Lucy says, sitting in my computer chair and scrolling through my photographs. “Lots of gorgeous sunsets, clearly on the West Coast.”

Aunt Lucy is a stylish woman about the same age as her husband. When I was a kid, she encouraged my photography even more than Mom and Dad and bought me my first camera. The more she compliments me, the worse I feel for all those feelings I had earlier. But at least I didn’t say or do anything.

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