Impossible Odds

26

“You say I know your family, but not in the way you do. Tell me more about them.” “There are my parents, and I have two sisters—you saw them in Vegas, along with my cousin who was in red. I’m the oldest of us three girls and the black sheep.” He narrowed his eyes. “How could you possibly be the black sheep?” “Easy, I never follow the rules like I should. My mom is a devout Catholic, and my father is a strict disciplinarian. Whatever I do is never what they think I should be doing. It drives them crazy, even now that I’m grown and out of their house.” I wasn’t a black sheep in the sense some people might think. My parents were unlikely to disown me, and I was still an active member of the family, but I didn’t belong. Like a redheaded stepchild who never quite fit the mold. Primo studied me, his eyes a gunmetal gray in the dim light of the airplane. “And is that why you’re here? A statement of defiance?” His tone was even, not accusing or judgmental, but his stiffened posture led me to believe the possibility upset him. I didn’t rush to reassure him. Instead, I did my best to be open and truthful. “I considered that at first, when I was trying to decide if I would go with you. I didn’t want to put myself in a precarious situation just to spite my parents. It’s not easy to look at your own motivations honestly and pull that thread until you get to the source of an emotion or desire. Every time I followed the trail, it simply led me back to you. Not my parents or my disenchantment with life. I wanted to be with you because of the way I feel when I’m around you. I know we haven’t known each other long, but it’s been long enough for me to know I didn’t want to walk away.” Oh, God. I wasn’t sure if I should have said all that, but there was no undoing it now. It was just like me to open my mouth and for words to come tumbling out before I’d considered their impact. Most men would freak out at the slightest showing of early attachment by a woman. Call her needy and emotional before running out the door. Would Primo fall in that camp? My shoulders tensed as I waited for him to realize what a mistake he’d made and backpedal out of the situation faster than a cat in water. His eyes darkened like the sky on a moonless night, velvet shadows hiding all manner of secrets. “You’re a fascinating creature, Giada Genovese.” The Spanish lilt to his words caressed my skin, making me shiver. “Is that a good thing?” A smile formed on my lips, a little unsteady and far more shy than I was used to. “That would depend on who you ask. My c**k couldn’t be happier, but I’m not sure your family is quite so thrilled.” The word c**k coming from his lips tightened the knots already coiling in my belly. Within seconds, the s****l tension in the cabin was back to blistering levels. The only relief came from frequent bouts of jostling turbulence that ratcheted up my anxiety and distracted me from the mindless need threatening my sanity. The torture only subsided when the plane touched down on the runway, and my mind became consumed with what would happen next. It was dark when we landed, so I couldn’t see the landscape well. City lights twinkled in the distance, but I’d have to wait until morning to get a better view of my temporary home. We taxied to the tiny airport, another private affair where a man waited for us with his car right on the tarmac. He was dressed in a suit, hands clamped together in front of him, and a grim set to his mouth. He was around Primo’s age with short dark hair, good looking in a serious sort of way. “Giada, this is Santino,” Primo offered. “He’ll be on call anytime you need him if I’m not around.” “It’s good to meet you.” I extended my hand in greeting. Santino warily accepted, but his questioning gaze was glued to Primo as if uncertain what was going on. It was understandable. He probably hadn’t expected his boss to come home with a woman in tow. We climbed into the back seat of the Land Rover and were off. Santino updated Primo on local matters that he’d missed while he was away. I mostly tuned out the conversation and watched the passing scenery to distract myself from the sticky nausea filling my belly. I was excited but also anxious about this new adventure. Together, the two emotions did a number on my stomach. The drive lasted approximately twenty minutes. His estate was gated and manned by a guard who recognized the car and allowed us through without requiring us to stop. “A gate and a guard?” I asked warily. “People in our line of work have enemies everywhere. It’s best to be safe than sorry.” I nodded and tried not to overthink it. I’d grown up living a mostly standard life without the guns and bodyguards that a mafia lifestyle might stereotypically entail, but we’d essentially been in hiding. Uncle Enzo’s and my father’s identities had been kept secret to protect us when we were little, so I hadn’t had to live with the same safeguards someone in the open might require. Primo’s lifestyle was probably far more typical of someone high up in our world. His house was a traditional Mediterranean-style mansion with a red tile roof, carved stone trim work on stucco, and gorgeous arched windows and doorways. The landscaping I could see was meticulous and even boasted a huge statue in the front drive. When I stepped from the car, the distant hum of gently rolling waves filled my ears. “Is that the ocean?” I asked excitedly. “It is. The weather is on the cooler side, but you should still be able to enjoy the beach,” Primo said as he removed his suitcase from the back of the car. His own private beach explained the radiant sun-kissed coloring of his skin. Something was safe about the beach and a man who enjoyed being in the sun. It wasn’t logical, but I associated love and happiness with the ocean. A blanket of welcome reassurance wrapped around me, comforting me that I’d made the right decision in coming to this place. It helped ease my tension and settle my stomach. “Should I take this to the blue room?” Santino asked Primo, removing my suitcase from the trunk. The front entry was lit with a number of brilliant floodlights, enabling me to see the shadow that crossed behind Primo’s eyes. “That’s probably best,” he murmured, carrying his own bag to the front door. It was presumptive of me, but I’d expected to stay with Primo. Their exchange indicated I’d been wrong. Disappointment and uncertainty attempted to darken my mood until I assured myself that the situation was unusual for both of us and not to jump to conclusions. It was probably a good idea for two people so new to each other to have their own space. He was being polite, not pushing me away. I let the subject drop and followed him to the door.