Page 10 of The Mobster's Angel

I stare up at him. “How can I trust you? I barely even know you.”

“You’re right,” he says, nodding. “But you will. I’m going to explain everything. And I’m going to make sure you never have to worry about another thing until the day I die.”

I’m searching his face, trying to find some hint that he’s lying. “Why? Why do you care?”

He sighs and lets go of my arm. “Olivia. Go inside. I’ll explain everything when I finish up here. My housekeeper, Rosa, she’ll show you to your bedroom.”

With a nod, I turn on my heels and make my way to the massive double doors at the front of the house. He’s doing me a favor. The least I can do is listen to him when he gives me a simple instruction.

Since I have nowhere else to go, it looks like I’ll have plenty of time to ask him all the things I want to know.

Like why he was in Mr. Rossi’s pawnshop with a gun.

And more importantly, why he cares enough to clean up the huge mess I’ve gotten myself into.

CHAPTERFIVE

Jack

When I finally return home,it’s a lot later than I expected.

I took the car to an associate who specializes in making an old car brand-new again. It’s unethical as hell. But I don’t intend to sell it to any unsuspecting member of the public, so I don’t feel any guilt. A brand-new set of plates and it’ll make a fine runaround for one of my men.

Then there was the botched Rossi job.

Which thankfully wasn’t too botched.

Paul took all the money from the safe and most of the jewelry. It’s small change, but it’s not about the money. Nothing is really about the money when you get to this level. It’s about power, and the illusion of it. People need to know that if they run from my family, firstly, they better never slow down, and secondly, they better never come back. Paul gave everything that couldn’t easily fit in the back of a truck to Derek. Severance pay. Hopefully, it tides him over.

I’m beyond exhausted by the time I get home, but the thought of who I’m coming home to energizes me more than ten double espressos ever could.

It still feels like this is too good to be true, so I just sit outside for a while and stare up at the house.

I used to stare across the back, to the house behind, when I thought of her. Now she’s here. Sleeping in the bedroom I picked out for her months ago. She’s always wearing pink, so I figured she liked that color.

I had Rosa help me choose everything with her in mind. My plan, if I ever managed to disentangle myself from my conscience, was to offer her double the pay to be my housekeeper. Rosa could have pretended to be the maid or something, she wouldn’t have minded. I call it a plan, but it was really a fantasy. Still, knowing I had a room for her if I ever threw away my conscience helped.

Like an addict trying to quit cigarettes. Knowing you have a pack in the drawer and could smoke anytime you wanted to is half the battle.

I picture her in the bedroom and wonder how she sleeps.

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m in the house, up the stairs, and walking past the door to my bedroom. Clutched in my hand is the one item that Ididn’tallow Derek to keep.

It’s almost two a.m. so of course she’ll be sleeping. I only want to watch her. To have the real image in my head tonight instead of one I’ve just dreamed up.

The door is ajar, and she has left the lamp on. I can see it spilling out into the hallway.

I give the wood a gentle knock, just in case she’s awake, and then slowly push the door open.

The room is large, the centerpiece the huge four-poster bed I had imported from Milan. It’s carved with all sorts of intricate details, flowers and angels—things that remind me of Olivia. From the other side of the room, I’m barely able to spot her lying in the middle of it.

I cross the space and take a seat on the edge of her bed.

“You’re home.”

She whispers the words so quietly that for a second I think I must be imagining it. I turn around and confirm that her long lashes are still lowered.

“I’m home,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice low in case I was only imagining it.

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