Page 75 of Chicago Sin

Pulling my gun, I rush towards her.

She points through a crack of the blinds and the door. “There’s a man outside.”

I release the safety, ready to defend the woman I— I see Marco on the other side.

Releasing the breath I’d been holding, putting away the gun, opening the door, and punching my cousin playfully in the arm, I say, “I could have shot you right there, man.”

“Leo and I told you we’d have extra eyes stationed.” Marco scans Hannah from head to toe, and I see approval in the devilish smile he offers.

“Why you? Not one of your men?”

Marco shrugs. “It’s Sunday. Most of the men are with their families today. I have nothing better to do. Besides, if you want something done right, do it yourself.”

Hannah clears her throat behind me, reminding me of my manners. “Marco, this is Hannah. Hannah, this is my cousin Marco.”

She extends her hand, and with the sweetest voice says, “Nice to meet you, officially. I remember your face from you shopping on occasion in the store.”

“You’re the owner now, right?” Marco asks.

“Yes.”

“We were just leaving. Going to St. Andrews. Care to come?” I ask him.

Marco chuckles. “If I step foot in that church, I’ll be struck down. It’s been so long since I’ve confessed that I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Perfect,” I say. “Then we can be struck down together.”

Marco’s eyes dart back to Hannah then to me. “Church, huh?”

“It’s Sunday,” I state.

“Yeah, I know what day it is.” Marco smiles. “Well then, church it is.” He directs his next comment to Hannah. “But I’m warning you, Hannah. Don’t stand too close to us. It may not be a pretty sight if we burst into flames.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Hannah

“Good girls get ice cream after church,” Armando says as he leads me down the street hand in hand.

We just said our goodbyes to Marco. It took Armando practically threatening the man to leave us alone for a few hours. Armando promised that we’d head back to my apartment and stay put, so I’m confused as to why we aren’t heading home.

“Growing up, my mother used to always reward me with ice cream if I was good during church service,” he adds. He looks down at me and winks. “You were good.”

My body lights up, feeling warm and fuzzy. We’re holding hands like a couple, walking under the sunlight to go get ice cream. It’s like we’re on an official date. We’re spending a leisurely Sunday together. Everything feels so normal and so right.

The ice cream shop is only a block away, and the minute I see it, I’m in love with the charm. The little shop is painted a pastel pink and white, with a giant ice cream cone sign hanging over the entrance. The air inside is cool and sweet, and I can hear the gentle chime of the bell above the door as we walk in.

The quaint space has a vintage feel to it, and the aroma of freshly made waffle cones hits us the moment we enter. The place is bustling with people, but we manage to find a free table in the corner. The sound of a guitar being played fills the air, and I notice a young man sitting in the corner, strumming away on his instrument.

“What’s your favorite flavor?” he asks.

“Whatever you have,” I answer. When it comes to ice cream, there is no such thing as a bad flavor.

Armando goes to order, leaving me to enjoy the music. As he waits in line, he turns around and waves at me, a grin spreading across his face. My heart flutters as I wave back, feeling a warm sensation in my chest. When he returns to the table, he has two cones in his hand.

“Two scoops. One is caramel chocolate, and the other is cookie dough.” I see pride on his face that he’s picked the best two flavors there are.

“Perfect.”