Page 27 of The Enforcer

The next half an hour—meeting the realtor, going through every room in the house—was a revelation.

The realtor, a petite woman in a suit, concluded the tour, ending in the opulent kitchen. “I understand that you are on a clock and don’t have weeks to wait for furniture. The mansion comes completely furnished, just like you’ve requested,” she said, and stepped out of the room to give them privacy.

“So, what do you think?” Hector’s face was impassive, not showing any signs of whether he liked the place or not.

The house was a mausoleum style; marble statues in the front, an impeccable garden, a steel kitchen that could house a small army.

“I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea, but um… I can’t afford this.”

“Didn’t think you could.”

“Then why are we here?”

“Can’t show that CPS woman my bachelor pad. It’s a dump. I’m hardly there, so I never cared what the place looks like. Anyway, figured we should look for a place more… family like.”

“Oh.” That was incredibly generous of him, but she didn’t want him to put himself in debt like that.

Suddenly his scowl returned. “What did you mean by thinking that you gave me the wrong idea?”

“Nothing.”

“In fact, why did you assume I thought you were going to buy this place to begin with?”

This could become really embarrassing, really fast. “I like the hardwood floors.”

He cupped her cheek. “Answer my question.”

Fine. If this was going to work, she should be completely honest anyway. “It’s just that, people seem to think that because of my last name, I’ve inherited a ton of money. When my cousin married a billionaire, it became worse. People think you become rich just by association. Except, there is no Rossi family fortune left. You’ve seen where I live. It’s not temporary. There is no big trust fund that will kick in when I reach a certain age. I have a small trust fund left, which I use to pay rent, since teaching class two days a week doesn’t cover all my expenses.” Maybe she should have made that clear from the get-go. “Maybe we can get a smaller place in—”

He dropped onto a kitchen chair and pulled her in between his legs. “I can afford this place.”

“You can?”

“Yeah.”

“How?” It was probably impolite to ask, but Hector wasn’t exactly Mr. Polite himself, and she was curious. She knew he had his own security firm but surely that didn’t make enough to buy a high-end mansion. Also—and she didn’t want to admit this aloud—she hoped that he didn’t make his money with dubious extracurricular activities. She grew up in the mobster world. A world that had cost her father his life, and had her growing up behind big fences, surrounded by bodyguards. When her grandfather died, she’d hoped to have left all that behind.

“I do odd jobs for the mafia,” he whispered. At her panicked look, he grinned. “You should see your face.”

This earned him a thump to the shoulder. Which, of course, hurt her more than him, since the man seemed rock-hard all over.

“Not funny. I mean, I know you don’t exactly have a safe job, like an accountant, but odd jobs for the mafia, really?”

“My firm does well. In fact, more than well. I also own stock in Detta Enterprises. So, you were hoping for an accountant, huh?”

“I was hoping for you,” she said honestly. He wasn’t ready yet for her to profess her love—it would probably make him bolt—but reminding him that he was her first choice surely wouldn’t do any harm.

His hands went under her top, his fingers brushing under her breasts. Their silent stare-off was interrupted by the realtor who walked back in through the patio door.

She looked at them expectantly. “Have you made a decision?”

Hector pulled his hands back and looked at her questioningly.

“It’s a nice place, though a bit big,” Mary said.

“I thought you were used to that?“

True. She’d lived in mansions all her life. “You forget where I live now. I’ve gotten used to my tiny place.”

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