Page 4 of Hers to Control

The past couple of weeks have been shit and now I’m getting a fucking babysitting job? Not my idea of an improvement. Which is keeping things polite, which I only manage because I’ve been holding a steely grip on my self-control ever since Uncle Leonardo was killed and mutilated.

That Gianna, my own cousin, has been doubting me, thinking I could be involved, is so fucked up, another man might have given her a piece of his mind. Another man might have thrown caution to the wind and taken off. Not me though. Loyalty to my family runs thicker through my veins than blood. So I’ve kept my cool and accepted what she needed to do. Accepted it, because Uncle Mario made her doubt that loyalty is real.

Fucking asshole.

I know better. Loyalty means everything inla familia. There is no way I’ll let one traitor tear our family apart.

My father died for the Bruno syndicate. For the family. I won’t dishonor him, or Uncle Leonardo, by showing weakness now. Which means I’ll follow orders and play babysitter for Gianna’s best friend instead of helping Gianna deal with Uncle Mario.

Or, rather, I will be playing babysitter once I pick Mia Samson up at the bus station.

My eyes travel over the people milling around. It’s busy here, same as always, but I don’t doubt I’ll recognize Mia. Her image was burned into my mind the first time I saw her. Sweat-soaked, she’d waved Gianna goodbye outside her gym. Her hair was tied back in a practical ponytail that almost begged me to pull it while I fucked her from behind.

Not that I’d tried to make that little daydream a reality. It’s safer to keep fucking random strangers than get entangled with someone connected tola familia, even if only tangentially.

I see her then. She’s standing behind the crowd, her head moving slowly from side to side, as if she’s trying to take in everything around her. She’s wearing sporty clothes fit for the gym, but she doesn’t look out of place. There are several other women wearing sports tights. Most of them look bored, though. Not Mia. Everything about her looks tense, and her hands are playing with the straps of her backpack.

Ignoring the signs that tell me I’m not supposed to, I pull into the bus lane and come to a stop. My windows are rolled down, but I don’t call out to Mia. Instead, I leave my car running, open the door, and get out. Circling around the car to the sidewalk, where the waiting travelers all watch me with avid fascination, I stride towards my target.

“Excuse me?” An older lady says. “You can’t just park there. It’s the bus lane.”

For fuck’s sake.

I ignore her. Choosing silence is usually the better option. Or gutting someone, but that seems a tad overkill in the situation.

I grin at the pun as I push through the crowd.

Mia stares at me but doesn’t make a move towards my waiting car. Instead, she looks closer to wanting to run, then relieved to see me.

“Mia? I’m Eric. Gianna sent me.”

It takes her a second, but then she nods firmly. “Yes, right.”

She starts moving and we head the few steps to my waiting car, where I open the backseat door for her. She looks puzzled for a second, but then pulls off her backpack, pushing it in front of her as she slides onto the seat.

“You can get a ticket for that, you know?” the older woman informs me, clearly still not over the fact that I had the audacity to stop here.

I ignore her.

Taking my seat behind the steering wheel, I put the car into drive.

“Thanks for meeting me here,” Mia says, sounding like she is forcing herself to speak rather than being overcome by an earnest appreciation for my being here.

Checking my mirrors, I pull into traffic. “No problem,” I lie. Then I switch lanes and pull out my cell. There is a red light, and I stop, typing a quick message to Gianna.

‘Got her. We’re on the move.’

When the light turns green, Mia clears her throat in the backseat. “I’m not sure what exactly Gianna told you, but I need to cross the border.”

In the rear-view mirror, I see her expression. She looks almost stubborn, as if she expects me to argue.

“Maybe we can drive down to Niagara Falls and I can cross there.”

With the traffic as thick as it is, I can only glance at her sporadically, but it looks like she’s busy planning her next move. A small line shows between her brows and she’s gnawing on her lower lip.

“I could either head to the international airport on the other side of the border or catch a bus down to Buffalo and go from there,” she muses.

As if Gianna would let me just drop her friend off and wave goodbye. I might as well have let her take the damn bus.

---