Page 21 of Texting My Mafia Savior

I’m rubbing her pants so fast now, pumping my arm up and down?—

Bang-bang. Somebody pounds on the window.

I flinch, spin, shove the door open, and spring out, ready for battle. There’s a moment when I almost assault a police officer. She stands a few feet back, her hand near her hip, looking at melike I’m insane. Terror is evident on her face. She’s probably not much older than Arria.

“You can’t park here,” she says, her hand trembling.

I force a smile onto my face. “Sorry, you startled me. I’ve worked a long shift today. I was sleeping.”

“You can’t sleep here, either.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll move right away, Officer.”

“Are those tints regulation?”

“Yes, officer. I’ve got the paperwork if you want to see it.”

This is a bluff. The tints aren’t regulation, and I’m not even sure there’s paperwork to verify the fact, but she seems relieved to let the issue go. “Just move it along.”

“Yes, Officer, thank you. Sorry if I overreacted.”

She turns and walks away. I close the back door, glad she didn’t look inside and see Arria. The likelihood that she’d recognize me or my niece is low considering her age, but Carusos have dealt with the cops for as long as I can remember. It’s a reminder of how careless that was.

In the driver’s seat, I start the car and pull out of the alleyway. Arria adjusts her clothes and stares out of the window. Her cheeks and her lips are flushed red. She looks so sexy, so vivacious.

Neither of us says anything for a long time. I feel like I’ve taken advantage, though she doesn’t look at me or make any comment to give me that impression.

“It’s probably a good thing we got interrupted,” I mutter. “We don’t need to make this more complicated.”

“Nobody told you to kiss me,” she replies. “But you’re right. The simpler we keep this, the better.”

“You don’t need to get involved with somebody like me. You need a boyfriend your own age, from your own world. Not a?—”

“A savior?” she interrupts. “I know you don’t like that nickname, but thinking about it, isn’t that sort of a miracle? That you could exist in Enzo’s world—he’s clearly a creep—and get a nickname based on howgoodyou are?”

“Maybe it is,” I tell her. “But being good in that world and being good aren’t the same. I’m just glad you know what’s at stake now.”

“Can I tell my parents? What if somebody comes after them?”

“They won’t.” In fact, her parents already know about the situation. Part of me wonders if they should have told her the truth. But I figure Rocco is determined to keep his daughter in the dark about his work with mafia.

“How can you know that?” She asks.

“Trust me, remember?”

“Oh, right, blind trust.” She rolls her eyes.

“Stop that. You’re like one of your emojis.”

A smile penetrates the angry mask she’s wearing. “One ofmyemojis? I didn’t invent them, you know.”

“Old men like me don’t use them.”

I mean for it to come out in a good-natured, self-deprecating way, but it comes out almost self-pityingly. Pathetic.

“Don’t call yourself anold man,” she snaps. “You’re not even forty, are you?”

“In a few months, I will be.”

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