Page 28 of Auctioned to the Mafia

He chuckles. “Type this.”

I know! Would love to meet but having a little ‘self-care time’ at Pierre’s, that little French cafe that opened a few months ago. Maybe we can meet another time.

Chat later

A xxx

I frown and send the message, to which Juanita sends a thumbs up.

“What exactly have we just done?” I ask, furrowing my eyebrows and looking at him. He leans forward and kisses my head. “You just made this a hundred percent easier.”

He gets up, and I stand as well. “What do you mean?” I ask, thinking about him kissing the top of my head.

“Well, they now know you’re having lunch at a little French cafe. They know where that little French cafe is so…”

“They’re going to go looking for me there,” I say excitedly as I catch onto his plan. “Which means?”

“This means we’re going hunting for Mexicans.”

His evil little smile matches my feelings, and I throw my arms around his neck, kissing his lips.

We pull away awkwardly, and he clears his throat, “Uh…”

“Thank you, I was just saying thank you for what you’ve done for me. For doing this for me.”

I stammer the words and blush, putting a hand over my chest protectively. “We should probably get going. They could arrive anytime.”

“We just need to lock and load first. This way.”

I follow him toward his bedroom and wish we were going there for a different reason.

Chapter 16 - Luigi

I’m trying my absolute best to control myself. She kissed me.

On the lips.

She was against my body, and I could feel the curve of her body pressed against mine. No, I can’t do this.

I lead her through to my bedroom to my large closet. It used to be a walk-in closet once upon a time.

I swing the doors open, divide the clothes in half and push them to the left and right. I then touch a pressure-sensitive part of the back wall for it to pop out with a hiss.

Anastasia snorts, “You really are set up like James Bond or something.”

“Don’t Russians hate James Bond?” I ask, teasing her.

“Only the ones stupid enough to make their plans public,” she laughs. It’s the sweetest sound in the world. I love her laugh.

I push aside the door and reveal my emergency stash of guns, including my sniping rifle and gear. I also take out the bulletproof vests and hand one to her. “I’m going to have to insist you wear this.”

“Really?” she asks.

“If you’re coming with, you’re wearing a vest. I’m not taking any chances out in public,” I explain. I carry what I need to the bed, and I put my own vest on.

The vests are under our clothes. If you didn’t know better, you wouldn’t notice, which is the idea.

I pack all the parts into a neat briefcase. I love this particular rifle. I put it together in under a minute and take it apart even faster. I carry the case out of the apartment, leading Anastasia down to the parking garage. I take my car this time, one of the throwaway ones that no one can trace back to me. The person the tags are registered to is permanently in a mental health hospital.

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