Page 9 of The Mobster's Angel

I was absolutelysure I was done for back there. That someone had recognized the car, or somehow peered through the black tinted windows, recognized the Rossis’ belongings, and called the police. Or maybe the cops had been following me the whole time.

Seeing Mr. Bennett—Jack. At first, I was relieved.

But that was short-lived when I realized what he was doing.

And now, now apparently I’m supposed to feel relieved again?

I don’t know what to think.

Mr. Bennett has always been nice to me. Kind, polite, the perfect gentleman. When we first met, I thought maybe he might have been interested in me. There was nothing remotely obvious… just subtle things. Stolen glances. Eyes lingering a second too long.

But I quickly pushed that idea to the side and wrote it off as wishful thinking on my part. I’m a fan of big dreams—but a hot-as-hell, rich-as-a-prince, tall, dark, and mysterious older man? Even I couldn’t dream that big. I’m just a housekeeper. And a shy and somewhat awkward one at that.

And I’m not even a housekeeper anymore.

Mr. Bennett told me not to worry, but I can’t help worrying.

I’m a chronic over-thinker.

I’ve had to be that way, ever since I was little. Will we have enough cereal to last the week if I take second helpings this morning? Will I get enough sleep if I stay up and wait for Grams to get home?

How the hell am I going to survive now that Mr. Bennett has caught me?

I rest my arm against the side panel and lean my head on the window, cupping my chin. I’m so tired. My world has turned upside down in the space of a single day, and now I don’t know how to put it back together again.

“Olivia?”

I look across the car to Jack, who’s switching between looking at the road in front of us and giving me concerned glances.

He’s so damn handsome that I can barely look at him.

I think it’s his eyes. They’re the most vivid shade of green and so piercing. When he looks at me, it’s like he can see right inside my soul. But even his eyes are just the cherry on top of an already perfect cake. The man has cheekbones for days and dark brown hair that somehow manages to be longer than most men’s without falling onto his face at all.

He looks stereotypically Mediterranean, and I almost thought he was the first time I met him. Until I learned his name was Jack Bennett and heard his Irish accent. It was a puzzle I knew I would never solve.

And now there are even more puzzling things about him.

“I meant what I said. I’m taking you home tonight. To my house. You’ve had a hard day, and you need to rest. You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

I muster a weak smile. “Maybe I do.”

He licks his lips and then sets his eyes back on the road. “Then you’re in good company, angel.”

* * *

It’sdark by the time we arrive home.

Home.

I don’t have one of those anymore, but I can’t overthink that any more than I have already tonight. I’ve given myself a headache.

Jack helps me out of the car and doesn’t let go of my forearm once I’m settled on the paver stones of the courtyard.

“You go inside and wait for me. I need to make some phone calls, arrange for someone to dump the car.”

“Dump the car?” My stomach nearly falls through my ass. “Can’t I just return it? Maybe no one will notice it’s gone?”

He gives me a smile that turns into a laugh and then looks up at the dark sky for a second before focusing his attention back on me. “I told you, I’m going to fix it all. No one will know you took it. You need to trust me.”

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