Page 10 of Birthright (Sinners of New Orleans #4)

NINE

Sam

I can tell the moment she realizes that I'm not just anyone who she witnessed committing a crime. That I'm the head of the Costello famiglia. And now that she knows my name, I have even more reason to keep her.

It's not selfish , I try to tell myself. I'm not doing this because I want her. I'm doing this because I need to protect my interests. Obviously.

"I'm going to need you to wear this," I tell her, grabbing the hood the guys had put on her previously from the nearby table.

"No." She shakes her head rapidly, her hands darting out as if she might push me away if I try to put it over her head. "Where are you taking me?"

The cool demeanor she was wearing vanishes now that I've told her I have no intention of letting her go.

She's nervous. Her hands form tight fists, her eyes darting around, a bead of sweat gathering at her temple.

She's becoming more frantic, a caged animal running out of options. I don't blame her. I'd be nervous too.

My mind drifts back to the one and only time I was kidnapped, with a sack over my head just like this one.

It was the same night my mother died. I wasn't nervous, though, not back then.

I was confident. A cocky kid who had so many lessons on what to do in a kidnapping situation that I was convinced I would come out of it unscathed.

But I guess emotional scars are different than physical ones.

I bend down so I'm at eye level with the girl. Reaching forward, I brush away the hair that's clinging to her face, tucking it behind her ear. Her eyes are glassy when they meet mine, and I can tell that she's losing the composure she's been working so hard to keep.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I tell her, my tone calm.

"How do I know that? How can I trust you ?" Her words are an echo of my earlier ones.

"I guess we have to earn each other’s trust," I say simply. "But right now, I'm gonna need you to go out on a limb and trust that I'm just putting this hood on while we move locations. Once we get to my house, I'll take it off. No handcuffs, no other restraints. Just this."

"I can't go to your house," she says, sounding exhausted. I think this whole event is starting to set in, plus I don't know the last time she ate. I have the urge to get her back to my house so I can feed her and tuck her into the guest room to rest.

"Why?" I know this is just going to be another run-around that will result in me getting what I want, but I ask anyway.

"The bar. I have a job to do; I run the place."

"You don't have any employees?"

"Not enough."

"Okay, I'll send someone to help while you're with me." Simple. Problem solved.

"No." She shakes her head. "Joey won't want to work with anyone you send, and it's my bar. I own it."

Sal, her father, has been running that place for years. He must've left it to her. I rub my temple. "Olivia, you're going to have to work with me here. I said I'll send someone to assist. If you say no, there's no other option."

She eyes me warily, unsure if she should be accepting my help. And maybe she shouldn't. I am the reason she's in this mess, after all.

"Anything else?" I ask, seeing the look on her face. She wants to say something more.

"My grandfather," she whispers.

"Gino." I know her grandfather; the bar is named after him. He was a friend of my nonno’s, both of them Italian Americans.

He was always a friend to the family, even after his son got into a lot of gambling debt, but he never joined us.

Never became a made man. It gives me even more of a reason not to kill his granddaughter.

He should be helpful in keeping her in line.

"He has dementia. I have to care for him. You can't take me…"

There's sadness in her tone, a grief that she's holding on to. I can't imagine what that feels like, having a grandparent whose mind is slowly deteriorating. I feel for her, but I can't just let her go back home like nothing ever happened.

I run a hand through my hair, the solution to this problem not coming as easily.

"I'll send someone over to check on him, and I'll figure it out. Okay? Your grandfather will be fine, I promise."

"You can't promise me that." She shakes her head.

"Come on, Olivia." I walk toward her, opening the hood. "Let's go."

She nods slowly, her lips pressed together. A single tear drips from one of her eyes, and before I can stop myself, I reach forward, wiping it away.

And then I slip the hood over her head and escort her out to the car.

"I'll hire a nurse for your grandfather while you stay with me."

Olivia is sitting next to me in the car, the hood still over her head and her seatbelt crossed over her chest. I think her exhaustion is the only reason I was able to get her out of the warehouse and into the car without resistance.

Her limbs seemed to ache as she stood up on wobbly feet.

And her head leaned against the window once the car started moving, her hands clasped in her lap.

I assume she's still scared, still worried. And I don't know why her silence grated on me. I wanted to hear her voice again, see some spark of emotion rather than the dull defeat she’s emitting.

That's when I decided I just needed to solve a problem for her. And a nurse for her grandfather seems like the perfect solution. That's what she was worried about, after all. That no one would be there to care for her grandfather if I kept her.

But immediately after the words leave my lips, I can see the anger rise within her. She straightens, her head lifting from the window.

"I don't want a nurse!" she lashes out, her hands flying. The only thing restraining her is the seatbelt. If there wasn't a sack over her head, I think she would’ve hit me by now.

"Easy." I reach over, grabbing both her hands and pinning them down in her lap. "I'm helping you."

She scoffs. "You're not helping me. You're helping yourself."

Her words cut deep. I solved her fucking problem. Why is this making her mad?

"Take the help or leave it, Olivia. It doesn't change anything for me," I say, my frustration slipping out.

Her body goes limp, the fight leaving her. Wordlessly, she pulls away from me, her head going back to the window. I let go of her hands, but they don't move, staying in her lap.

Suddenly, I miss her fight. Her silence once again seems like a worse punishment for me.

I'm longing for the way she obeyed me back in the warehouse, back when she still thought she had a chance of getting away from me.

For the rest of the drive home, she doesn't speak. And when we arrive, I lead her from the Escalade, waiting to remove the hood until we're inside.

She glances around the mansion I inherited from my father, unbothered by the ornate displays of wealth. Still silent, she follows me up the stairs as I bring her to the guest suite. She waits until I leave, the door closing with a soft click behind me, and then I hear it.

Sniffling and muted cries.