Living with the Mafia Boss

The first time I saw Ricardo de Acosta, I thought he was going to kill my uncle. I know how dramatic that sounds. But honestly, what else was I supposed to think? The man walked into our house at almost midnight wearing a black suit, his face completely emotionless, with two men standing behind him like they had stepped out of some crime movie. And the first thing he said was— “Where is she?” I froze at the top of the stairs. My hand tightened around the railing. Uncle Logan was standing in the living room, staring at the man like he'd just seen a ghost. “Ricardo,” he said quietly. The man didn't answer. He simply looked around the room. Then his eyes landed on me. And everything went silent. I don't know what it was about his eyes, but they made me feel like I'd done something wrong. I swallowed. “Who are you?” Uncle Logan turned sharply. “Tessa. Go back upstairs.” I frowned. “Why?” “Now.” That only made me more curious. I looked back at the stranger. He hadn't moved. He was probably in his early thirties, tall, broad-shouldered, and annoyingly attractive for someone who looked like he could bury a body without blinking. His gaze remained fixed on me. “That's her?” he asked. My stomach dropped. “What's going on?” Nobody answered. I came down two more steps. Uncle Logan moved toward me. “Tessa, please.” Please? My uncle never said please to me. Something was wrong. Really wrong. “Uncle?” Ricardo finally spoke again. “You didn't tell her.” Uncle Logan's face changed. “There's nothing to tell.” Ricardo gave a short, humorless laugh. “You still haven't changed.” I looked between them. “Can someone please tell me what is happening?” Ricardo's eyes returned to mine. “You're Tessa Logan?” I nodded slowly. “Why?” He pulled something from inside his jacket. A photograph. He held it out. I didn't take it. “What is that?” “Your mother.” My breath caught. I stared at the photograph. I hadn't seen my mother's face in years. She died when I was seven. At least, that was what I'd always been told. My voice came out smaller than I intended. “Where did you get that?” Ricardo didn't answer. Instead, he looked at my uncle. “Tell her.” Uncle Logan looked away. And that's when I knew. He was hiding something. My heart started beating faster. “Tell me what?” “Tessa—” “Tell me!” My voice cracked. Uncle Logan sighed and sank onto the couch. “You're not going to like this.” “I don't care.” “Yes, you do.” “I said I don't care!” He rubbed his face. Then he looked at me. “Your mother didn't die the way you think she did.” I stopped breathing. “What?” “She was running from someone.” “Who?” Uncle Logan's eyes shifted toward Ricardo. Ricardo answered for him. “My father.” The room seemed to tilt. I stared at him. “What does your father have to do with my mother?” “Everything.” I shook my head. “No.” Ricardo stepped closer. I instinctively took a step back. He noticed. Something flickered across his face, but it disappeared almost immediately. “You have a right to be angry,” he said. “I don't even know what you're talking about.” “You will.” “When?” “Tonight.” I laughed nervously. “This is insane.” Ricardo reached into his pocket and pulled out another photograph. This time, he placed it on the table. It was old. Two women stood beside a black car. One of them was my mother. The other woman looked familiar. Very familiar. I walked closer. My eyes widened. “Elena…” Uncle Logan stood abruptly. “Where did you get that?” Ricardo looked at him. “She's dead.” My stomach twisted. “Who?” “Elena.” I looked at the photograph again. “Who is Elena?” Nobody answered. Then Ricardo said something that made my blood run cold. “She was your mother's closest friend.” I looked at my uncle. He wouldn't meet my eyes. “And she knew where your mother was hiding.” I stared at him. “Where?” Ricardo's expression hardened. “She came looking for you.” My heart stopped. “What?” “She knew your mother had a daughter.” I shook my head. “This doesn't make sense.” “It will.” “When?” “Soon.” I hated the calmness in his voice. Like he already knew how this story ended. I turned to my uncle. “You knew all this?” He didn't answer. “Uncle Logan.” Silence. “You knew?” His shoulders dropped. “Yes.” I felt something break inside me. “You lied to me.” “I was trying to protect you.” “By lying to me my entire life?” “Tessa—” “No.” I backed away from him. Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I looked at Ricardo. “And what exactly do you want from me?” His face remained unreadable. “Nothing.” I almost laughed. “Then why are you here?” He took one step toward me. “To keep you alive.” I stared at him. “You don't even know me.” “I know enough.” “And I don't need you to protect me.” “You do.” “You can't just walk into my house at midnight and decide that.” His jaw tightened. For the first time, I saw something in his eyes. Anger. But it wasn't directed at me. “You're right.” He turned toward the door. I blinked. He was leaving? Good. I didn't know who this man was, but I already hated the way he made my entire life feel like a lie. He reached the door. Then stopped. Without turning around, he said, “Pack a bag.” I frowned. “What?” “You're leaving tonight.” I stared at him. “Excuse me?” “You're coming with me.” I actually laughed. “No.” He finally turned. His expression was completely serious. “Tessa, this isn't a request.” I folded my arms. “And who exactly do you think you are?” His eyes met mine. “Ricard o de Acosta.” He paused. “The man your mother spent years running from.” My smile disappeared. “And the man who's going to keep you alive.” Then he opened the door. And just like that, my normal life ended.