Page 8 of A Very Rossi Christmas
I slid out of my car, my own hand on the gun insidemyjacket, and let my eyes dart over to Sloane, who was chatting with Brooks like she didn’t have a fucking care in the world. She was stopped at the door of the café, now, and fishing in her bag for something.
It better be a fucking gun, I thought grimly.
It wasn’t. She pulled out a goddamned Santa Claus hat and popped it onto her head, sending Brooks into peals of laughter, and the two of them strolled into the café.
I ground my teeth, forcing myself to stay calm and keep my strides steady. I couldn’t exactly go running in there and grabbing her to get her away from the creep who I was now positive was following her.
But that didn’t stop me from wondering what the hell had happened to her. Sloane knew better than to let her guard down like this. She obviously had no idea that there was a guy following her—a guy who definitely had a gun inside his jacket—and I couldn’t see how she didn’t know. I’d heard how her father talked to her and had been around her most of her life. I’d seen her slide from one shadow to the next like she was born in the darkness rather than the bright, golden sunlight that shone from her.
She’d been raised to be more observant than this.
What had she done, moved to LA and forgotten every single thing her daddy ever taught her? Was she losing her touch out here in La La Land?
And why the fuck did I even care? That was the more important question, here, because let’s be honest: This was none of my fucking business. Sloane wasn’t from my family and she damn sure didn’t mean anything to anyone in the Rossi circle.
Anyone else, that was.
I shouldn’t have cared. I was literally putting my own career—and probably life—at risk following her around rather than taking care of what I was supposed to be taking care of.
But I’d been watching her back my entire life, and I guess old habits die hard.
At that moment, the guy who looked so familiar it was like a toothache slid through the door of the café, and I lengthened my strides. I didn’t want him to be in there alone with the girls for any longer than necessary.
Three steps brought me to the door, and I yanked it open, cringing at the Christmas music that assaulted my ears. Another step and I was in the building itself, and God, it looked like Christmas had thrown up in the place. Every single inch of wall was draped in some sort of decoration and a large Christmas tree took up an entire corner, decked out in silver and red. The guy behind the bar was dressed as an elf and every table had a Christmas-themed centerpiece.
They’d even spread that fake snow around at the corners of the rooms.
I wondered if they knew it was 85 degrees outside. I wondered if they even cared. Maybe it was so normal for LA to have that sort of temperature during Christmas that they didn’t think it mattered.
Which it didn’t, I reminded myself. None of that mattered. Sloane mattered, and the guy who was following her.
I tore my eyes away from the fake snow and scanned the place, quickly finding Sloane and Brooks—at the bar ordering drinks—and then the guy who was following them—in the hallway that led to the bathrooms, backed up against a corner so he was in shadow.
His eyes were on Sloane, and it didn't take a genius to see that he was getting ready to do something stupid. He was also way too hidden for her to have seen him yet.
Terrific. That was going to make it a whole lot easier for him and me to have a little chat.
I turned from the girls and headed right for the hallway, willing myself to be cold. Calm. Deadly. All the things my father had always tried to tell me I needed to work on if I was going to make it in the business.
Things that I had never exactly mastered, unfortunately. My little brother was cool, calm, and collected.
I had somehow inherited a lot more fire than ice, myself.
I got to the hallway when I was still in the middle of that thought, which meant I also got there without having come up with anything even remotely resembling a plan.
Another of my many weaknesses.
It meant, though, that I was free to go with my instincts. Which I... kind of liked, honestly.
I got within three steps of the guy, noticed his eyes roving up and down—probably taking in Sloane's body—and grabbed him by the front of his expensive-looking t-shirt, ripping the thing in the process.
Luckily, I didn't give two shits about his t-shirt.
I backed him up against the wall and then kept going until my body was so close to his that I could feel his breathing picking up as he looked up at me, his face covered in shock and something that looked like... anticipation.
Oh, he was one ofthose, was he? One of those guys who thrived on violence and thought he'd found his way into a fight without even looking for it?
"What the fuck are you doing?" he snarled, his voice forced into something rough and gravelly.
