Page 62 of His Deadly Lies

I’m too turned on to think straight, let alone breathe, as I watch him.

At last, once I’m semi-composed and Carter has stopped cleaning me off his fingers, I reach out behind me and press my palm into the Balestra family crest. The elevator shifts from its position.

“Bedrooms and elevators are off-limits from now on, Princess.” He keeps eye contact as he reaches between us to adjust his dick in his pants, and my mouth goes dry. “Clearly, you can’t be trusted to control yourself.”

“Me?” I squeak as the doors open.

By the time the lights in the room beyond automatically click on, my braid is fixed, and I’ve stopped blushing.

There’s no time to get distracted.

The antechamber leads into a large warehouse-like space echoing cavernously with the sounds of the command center. The operation floor bustles like it’s a fucking NASA operation. This is where the magic happens.

I remember coming down here on Papa’s shoulders before I really understood what he did with the syndicate. I remember several of the women he had as secretaries talking on the phone while I played under their desks, and Papa took care of business with his closest circle of men. One of them, a nice lady with striking white-blond hair, used to hand me pieces of watermelon gum covertly. Always watermelon flavor.

Always to be snuck out and enjoyed when I was alone.

Those memories I treasure, and they have no place now.

I head toward the rear of the room where the boxes of shipment are marked and ready to be offloaded to third-party distributors.

What does Carter think about all of this?

Hoping against hope I don’t have scruff burn on my face and neck, I head toward the back right corner, and shock stops me in place at a familiar face. Rafel sits belligerent behind a desk.

“You’re here,” I blurt out.

He’s pale and more than a little exhausted looking, but he nods his head at my approach. “Miss Mia,” he says.

His voice is a balm to my soul.

“I worried about you,” I admit. “No one would tell me what happened to you.”

Rafel isn’t the type to smile. He never has been. All business, all the time, and one has to get used to the nonexistent changes in his expression. He’s tired; I can tell that much. And unless I’m mistaking things completely, happy to see me. Happy to be back.

“I’m fine, Miss Mia, as you can see.”

Okay, also maybe a little pissed about being stationed on desk duty. But over the past ten years he’s worked for our family, he’s become invaluable. Trusted, if any employee can be trusted that far.

It counts for too much to just let him go. Or let him die. “You pulled through.” It’s less a question than a statement.

“Docs gave me a sixty percent chance of survival if I made it through surgery. I did.” It’s as simple as that for him.

And no way he’s getting back behind the wheel. Not when he’s still recovering. The back of my eyes burn with tears, and I bob my head in acknowledgment of this man’s strength.

“Good to have you home.” It’s all I’ll allow myself to say before gesturing for Carter to follow me.

“Friend of yours?” he says once we’re out of earshot.

“Jealous?” I ask. And before he has a chance to answer, I continue with, “You already know who that is, thanks to your incognito stint in scrubs. He’s my driver. He took a bullet for me.” I steel myself for this next part. “Since this involves you, I suppose you can watch what I’m doing.”

When I turn to look at him over my shoulder, Carter pointedly ignores me and takes in the room with his eyes narrowed. Is he impressed?

How do our operations here compare to the Vittorios, who are relatively new to this game?

Their income is mostly from their strip clubs as they carve out new paths to move goods, from what I understand. Papa must have separated them from the chaff due to their team, not their income. From what we’ve gathered in terms of information on the Vittorios and Ricardo’s mother, Yvette, they ruthlessly vet anyone who gets close to them.

It’s a tactic we can all appreciate.

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