47
1014 Words
I lift my chin, pull back my shoulders, and hold out my hand. “Give me my purse.”
“I knew he was trouble, that guy. You’re too trusting of people, Nat. You need to be more careful.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about. Give me my purse.”
“You don’t know who I’m talking about? Does this ring a bell?”
From inside his jacket pocket, he pulls a folded piece of paper. Tucking my clutch under his arm, he unfolds the paper and hands it to me.
It’s a black-and-white pencil sketch of a man’s head and face. Despite my horror, I have to admit that the resemblance is remarkable.
It’s Kage.
Even in a rough, two-dimensional, hand-drawn sketch, he’s so damn gorgeous, it takes my breath away. If there were an international Hot Felon Contest, he’d win it, hands down.
“That’s a police sketch of one of the suspects in last night’s shooting. A couple of restaurant employees got a good look at him…right before he shot two guys point blank. Does he look familiar to you?”
“No.”
Chris is getting exasperated. He shakes his head, glaring at me. “That’s your next-door neighbor, Nat. The guy who threatened me right here on this very porch.”
I send his glare back to him, tripled. “Oh, you mean when you forced yourself on me as I kept saying no? Yeah, I remember that.”
A Mexican standoff commences. We’re two bandoleros with pistols drawn, facing each other across a dusty corral, neither one willing to run or shoot first.
Finally, he says softly, “Are you f*****g him?”
Heat rises in my cheeks, but there’s nothing I can do about it. “My personal life is none of your business. Now give me back my purse and get the hell off my property.”
“Jesus, Nat. That guy? Are you kidding me? All you have to do is look at him to know he’s bad news!”
I take a deep breath. Then I hand him back the sketch and take my purse from him.
“Goodbye, Chris.”
I shut the door in his face.
I stand there listening for a few moments, but he doesn’t leave. Finally, he curses under his breath.
“Okay, I’ll go. But I’m gonna be keeping an eye out for you. This isn’t over.”
His boots make heavy thuds as he walks off.
I wonder if by “keeping an eye out” he actually means “keeping an eye on.”
I have a bad feeling he’s decided to make it his personal mission to keep tabs on me.
I go into the kitchen, sit down at the table, and open my bag. Everything is there as it was, my wallet and phone, lipstick and keys.
I’m shocked when I realize I didn’t lock the front door last night when Kage and I left. I didn’t notice the door was unlocked when we came back, either.
If I’m going to be a mafia king’s queen, I’ll have to be smarter about things like that.
When my cell phone rings, I jump, startled. I don’t recognize the number, so I’m hesitant when I pick up.
“Hello?”
“The leader of the Russian mafia in America is a dude named Maxim Mogdonovich, a Ukrainian. Isn’t that interesting, a Ukrainian in charge? You’d think ethnic Russians would be a little pissed.”
“Sloane! Oh, thank god. Are you okay? You’re safe? Where are you?”
She laughs in delight, sounding like she’s on the lido deck of a cruise ship, cocktail in hand. “Babe, I’m fine. You know me. I always land on my feet. The question is: how are you?”
I collapse facedown onto the kitchen table and groan.
“That’s what I thought. Have a glass of wine. It’ll make you feel better.”
“It’s nine o’clock in the morning.”
“Not in Rome it isn’t.”
“I’m not in Rome!”
“No, but I am.”
I sit bolt upright in the chair. “What?”
“Stavros has a private plane. We flew out as soon as we left the restaurant. I think he’s terrified your man will string him up by his balls if anything happens to me. I’m really going to enjoy you being the moll of a mafia kingpin, by the way.”
“Excuse me, but I’m nobody’s moll.”
“You don’t even know what it means.”
I hate it when she’s right. “I will if you give me a sec to google it.”
“It means gangster’s female companion.”
“There’s a word for that?”
“There’s a word for everything. Example: you know that little landing at the top of a flight of stairs where you have to turn and go up another set of stairs?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s called a halfpace. Isn’t that cute?”
“You’re drunk. Is that it?”
She laughs again. I hear men’s voices in the background. “Stavros’s yacht has a lot of stairs.”
“Yacht? I thought you were in Rome!”
“We landed in Rome. Now we’re on his yacht. The Mediterranean Sea is unbelievable. Hey, you and Kage should come join us!”
No wonder she sounds like she’s having cocktails on the lido deck of a cruise ship: she is.
I demand, “You knew Stavros was in the mafia, didn’t you?”
“Sort of? It’s not like they make a big production out of it. Nobody’s going around wearing lapel pins that say, ‘mafioso.’ Or whatever the word is in Russian. I just got a vibe is all.”
“How could you not tell me you were dating a mobster? You said he was a tech guy!”
“He is a tech guy. Who also happens to be in the mafia. Why are you so upset?”
- Writer
