Page 72 of A New Days Don

I shake my head, looking back at her. She seems to have come to the same conclusion as I did. Her mouth opens, but when another explosion blasts out of the building, I don’t give her a chance to speak again. The door slams shut, and when I look to the SUV, I nod my head to Ren, gesturing for him to take care of this mess.

Chapter 30

Mila

Once again, I find myself sitting in Massimo’s car, on the way, more than likely, to his condo. Except this time, I royally fucked up. I bite my index finger, trying to hold back the rush of emotions that flood at the thought of what is to come when I return to work on Monday. I’m sure it will come with a hefty fine and maybe even a charge or two for negligence and abuse of power.

Not to mention, I am currently in a car, riding shotgun with a deranged killer who admitted to being affiliated with the Vegas Mafia. The reality of how twisted my life has become in the matter of two months crashes into me with the force of a tsunami.

This is why I don’t venture out of my comfort zone. I had set strict rules and routines to ensure I never get mixed up in anything bad again. The second I listen to Karmin and Annalese and brave the world outside of my carefully curated regime, I have found myself in the clutches of another wicked soul.

Why me?

What did I do to deserve a life of consistent, wild, unpredictability?

Why couldn’t I live a normal, boring life?

I don’t know how I am going to get out of this mess this time.

I must have made a sound, because suddenly my hand is gently pried from my mouth with surprising restraint and care, and calloused fingers pull my chin to face him. My body betrays me, leaning into his touch, desperately seeking out the security his scent and heat bring me despite what I now know about him.

“I will take care of it, angelo mio.” He uses that Italian nickname he gave me many moons ago, knowing full well that it anchors me to reality. As much as I hate that it does, I needed something to stop the spiral, and I like the sound of his rasping Italian. No… That’s an understatement. I love the sound.

My cheeks warm, and his dark eyes trail down my face, taking in the way my cheeks pinken with the flush, “How can you take care of this? You can’t suddenly change the fact that you murder people, or that the PD are going to have my ass for this. I can’t go to jail. I don’t look good in orange, and the people in there they–”

I snap my lips shut when I see the way Massimo’s eyes sharpen with cold wrath, “Nobody will ever put you in a cell. They will have to pry you from my cold, dead hands first.”

A shiver runs down my spine at the underlying seriousness of his words. This man oozes power, and I know he means every word he says.

He’s the mafia, Mila. I try to remind myself, but it doesn’t stop my traitorous mouth from moving and my voice from cracking.

“What am I going to do?” It’s more of a rhetorical question for Massimo and a question that comes with so much baggage for me.

I don’t only mean what I am going to do about the cruiser and the house fire, but what am I going to do about this investigation and unknown texter who has me running around Sin City like a chicken with its head cut off chasing crumbs of information and evidence, and what am I going to do with my stupid heart running us headfirst into a man that could make the depravity of night cower at his feet?

Every last strand that I had carefully pieced back together since the unfortunate events six years ago is frayed and broken. I’m teetering on the edge of exhaustion, fear, and obsession over this case that has too many holes and not enough answers.

Massimo’s jaw clenches, the muscle flicking almost hypnotizingly.

“You’re going to stop trying to be in control of everything in your life,” Massimo calls me out, like he knows me, and it hits a little too close to home. My stomach bottoms out, and I try to slip from Massimo’s hold, but he doesn’t let me. His eyes flare with something ruthless.

He isn’t used to being told no and someone not following his orders. A part of me wants to obey, the part that is so exhausted with the world around me and controlling everything, while the fighter that has gotten me to where I am today fights it tooth and nail.

“Come with me.” Massimo murmurs before slipping out of his Audi.

It is only then that I realize we are no longer on the streets of Vegas. We are in the underground garage of his condo.

My mind screams, my body tenses, and my fists clench as I obey him. As I silently accept him. Panic hums in my veins, the edges of my vision blurring as we walk through the underground. Yet, at the same time, with each step closer to Massimo, my lungs feel like they can finally breathe.

“What are we doing?” I ask, keeping my voice firm even though my world is spinning out of control. We stand by the elevator door, the upward facing arrow illuminated.

Massimo doesn’t acknowledge the question. Instead, he says, “Time to stop controlling everything, Mila, and time to start living.”

His words barely make sense. They leave my mind reeling and my heart pounding. The heated look in Massimo’s eyes sends all the wrong messages through my body. Warmth pools, and the most delicious ache begins to build—one that makes my cheeks flush with the reminder of Massimo relieving the said ache.

My mouth opens, then shuts, then opens again as I try to string words together, but my mind goes blank when Massimo’s lip quirks. Tension builds in my body as we stand in the elevator, slowly rising to the top floor where Massimo lives.

The elevator chimes as we arrive on Massimo’s floor. Massimo scans his key card again and when the doors open, his warm hand presses into the small of my back. When we don’t stop at the living room, I stammer, “I’m not ready…”