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Returning to the couch, I look at the silver-framed pictures around me. My mother’s portrait was painted long beforeshe was sick. She’d received the painting as a gift when she graduated from college. She’s only a year older than I am now. The artist captured the sparkle in her eyes and the gleam in her smile. Brave, stubborn, hopeful—so different from her only child.
She’s why I’ll never do any of those things. Because how can I walk away from her and the memories that linger in every room? The good, the bad and… My eyes water.
And the love.
I won’t give in to the damn waiting to break. I may not ever leave this house. But I refuse to live like a hermit anymore. The news vans are gone, and there’s no reason I can’t explore the city.
Tomorrow, I’ll visit the library. It’s not exactly a world trip, but it’s a start.
I cuddle Milo close, letting the soothing warmth remind me of my strength. I don’t just endure—I survive. Milo drifts off to sleep, his gentle purring the only sound in the room. I close my eyes, letting my heavy lids shutter at last.
I can take this dip in the water. I will not falter. I will not drown.
Tomorrow…
Gio
It’s freaking cold out here. Walking from the car, my nose is leaking, and my hands are frostbitten. I freaking hate Chicago in winter. Bitter winds and people. I knock on the door, and she peeks out. No chain, no keyhole. She opens the door and peeks. WTF is wrong with her? Doesn’t she know who she is? Who her father is.
“Jeniah? Jeniah Reynolds?” Brown eyes rake me from head to toe. “I’m Gio Gataki. Your father sent me—”
The door almost slams before I finish. It stops when I shove my shoe between the heavy oak and the frame. The force damn near breaks my foot. Gripping the door, I push her and it back. I don’t have time for this bullshit.
Her eyes widen when I step inside and slam the door behind me. I don’t lock it because I hope someone breaks in. I need to pound my fists into flesh. She backs down the hallway while I shake the snowflakes from my hair. She’s beautiful—at least they didn’t lie about her looks. Which means she’s even more vulnerable. I’m not sure what plans Al Silvio has for her, but I have a pretty good guess.
She backs into the living room, never taking her fathomless brown eyes off of me. I force myself not to fall into them. Thetremble of her lips is her only tell. It’s the middle of the night, and a strange man bursts into her home. She’s alone.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” I extend my hand. Not to shake, but to calm. Her fists ball and her eyes dart from left to right. I see it the same moment she does. Her cell phone is on the sofa table. My feet freeze. That’s the only explanation for how such a small woman bests me in a foot race for it. She grabs it, and her frantic fingers try punching in numbers. Lunging forward, my pulse racing, I reach for the phone, wrenching it from her grasp. The scuffle lands us on the couch. My heart sinks when she pummels my chest with her fists. Her head whips back and forth, destroying her cute ponytail. She’s using everything she’s got to dislodge me. Something I’d happily do if she’d justcalm the fuck down. But I’m not raising and letting her surprisingly strong legs kick me. I ignore the fact that I’m only making it worse. Ignore the cries out, panting through the air like glass shattering.
“Look,” I growl, holding the phone above my head in one hand and her wrists in another, “I’m not your enemy. Wait a damn second, and let me explain.”
Her chest arches against mine, and even through my too-thin coat, I feel her breasts—searing their way onto mine and encouraging the response she’s trying to avoid. If I don’t sit up, she’ll be even more terrified by my straining erection. Because my dick is waking up from its icy hibernation and is all too happy to warm itself in the gorgeous woman under me.
“Give me my phone,” she snarls. Her voice rises with a mix of fear and fury. However, her pumping legs and hands have slowed.
I have no illusions of safety. Why would I trust a wild cat? I give her a minute to assess me and her situation before I try again.
“Jeniah, please, hear me out.” She responds with more hisses and back arches. Definitely a wild cat. “Your. Father. Sent. Me.” Her eyes blink as she processes my words. Her back slumps against the couch pillows. “That’s why I’m here. He’s trying to keep you safe.”
Her features harden, and she huffs, wiggling our tangled bodies. Our chests are fused, my hand encircles her wrists, and my legs are wrapped around hers like pythons. She lifts a brow. “Funny, I don’t feel safe.”
Our foreheads nearly bump when I ask. “If I get up, will you listen?”
Her eyes water, but she doesn’t let the tears fall. It’s the strength, despite the terror, that holds me. Squeezes my chest tighter than I’m holding her. “Will you give me my phone?”
I slowly sit up, offering my hand to help her. “No,” I say. She tenses, and her fists ball again. “Listen first.” I insist. “I am here to help you.” She shies away to the opposite end of the couch. Shrinking into herself while her wide eyes never leave my face. “Even if I gave you the phone, Jeniah, there’s no one to call. Your father’s in prison. You have no other relatives, and the police are so deep in our pockets they can tell you if I’m wearing boxers or briefs.” That draws her attention to my crotch, and my dick stands up even taller. Preening under her glance despite my efforts to get him to stand down. But shit, I agree. She’s lovely. “Just hear me out,” I repeat for the millionth time.
“Talk,” she pulls the one word like a trigger.
I take a deep breath, willing my body,talking to you, dick, to cool down so I can regain some measure of control. “Your father made a mistake. A big one. And now he has to pay for it.”
Instantly, her defenses raise. “Pay? He’s already in prison. The feds took every dime he had in restitution. I only have this house because it was my mother’s from before they married.”
I run my hand down my face and hold my sneer. Innocence is a luxury she can’t afford right now. “In the eyes of the law, maybe. But in our world? There’s still an outstanding debt. He stole money from Al Silvio. You know how dangerous that is?”
“What world,” she snaps. “What are you talking about? My father worked with corpor—.”
“He worked withanyone.He was the lead accountant for the Silvio organization. The Silviocrimefamily.”
