Page 18

I tied off Santino’s sweatpants at my waist, tucked in the oversized tee, then lifted my gaze to the mirror to ask my reflection what the actual fuck was I doing. I’d only known this man for all of two weeks, yet he stumbled upon my darkest secret, somehow convinced me not to kill him, and then brought me to his home. Here I was, in his bathroom, drenched in his clothing and the smell of his body wash.

Trust wasn’t something I granted readily.

Especially to a man like Santino, one now privy to the fact that I had a taste for blood. He was a liability. Who was to say he wouldn’t use what he knew against me and blackmail me in exchange for silence? Despite being an accomplice, Santino Leone had sway, money, power—everything he needed to clean his slate. Meanwhile, I was just a stripper.

My eyes drifted to the bag I’d dropped on the floor by the vanity. The Glock called to me, begging me to end his life and avoid the fallout of his inevitable betrayal.

“He wouldn’t see it coming. Not if I play my cards right. ”

But what if I was wrong? He’d helped me tonight and risked his life when he could have kept driving without getting involved. My eyes slid to the unlocked bathroom door—one I’d purposefully used as a test.

Shaking my head, I dispersed the traitorous thoughts attempting to cloud my judgment and gripped the sink.

He’d followed me.

Again.

And I didn’t know how to feel or what his intentions were.

“Because you’ve lived inside my head the moment I set eyes on you. And I can’t shake you, preziosa. Every second of every fucking day, I think of you. So even if you kill me, at least I’ll die knowing you’re safe.”

I didn’t know what to do with his admission or how to feel. Men lusting for me wasn’t anything new. But his words, given the circumstances, seemed heartfelt, cutting me deeper than they should. Or had he said them out of self-preservation?

Before I could drive myself crazy, I snatched my bag and headed toward the man in question. As I moved through his spacious bedroom, I noted how every piece of furniture, the decorative pillows on his bed, the artwork on his walls, and every crease and fold in his sheets were meticulously structured and clean. Unlike the rest of the home, which was slightly barren with just enough furniture to seem lived in, there was warmth to this space and even a couple of live plants I didn’t recognize. A woman’s touch, no doubt. The thought ignited a strange ripple in my stomach as I wondered who she could be.

Santino pushed to his feet when he heard me coming, making no effort to hide the perusal of his clothes on my body. Foreign feelings of insecurity surged inside me. My hair was damp, and without products to tame the curls, I was forced to twist it into a high bun.

Why do you care what he thinks?

“That’s better,” he said, motioning for me to sit.

“I should get going.”

“We have a conversation pending.”

“Do we? ”

He set down his glass and approached with sure steps, and too fast for me to react, his hand covered the handle of the gun tucked at my waist. Mine came down over his.

Eyes narrowed, I gritted my teeth.

“Let go.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

My nails dug into his skin, but he didn’t waver. “ Not going to hurt me? That’s the most overused and abused phrase that ever existed.”

The edges of Santino’s dark eyes creased as he drank me in. “Tell me, who hurt you, preziosa ?”

His request was weighted with the burden of a thousand knives and just as many tears.

The words, all of them , hung on my lips. But it was a piece of my soul, of my past he hadn’t earned.

Surprise betrayed me when the word yet flared in my thoughts.

“What are we going to do here?” I asked, ignoring his invasive questioning. “What you saw back there with Tarasov—”

“I saw nothing,” he replied with a grin and loosened his grip. “If I let go, will you promise not to shoot me?”

“As long as you don’t do anything to make me shoot you.”

“Fair. But can I make a request?” His hand slid away, and he stuffed it in his pocket.

The gesture caused his shirt to tighten against the muscles in his arms and chest, and for the first time, I was drawn to his masculinity in a way I hadn’t felt since…

Since…

Ezra.

Upon thinking his name, my heart thundered, and I stumbled back, swallowing down the anguish quickly rising up my throat. The back of my knees collided with a coffee table, and I started to fall until Santino’s arms were around me, plucking my feet off the floor and pressing my body to his chest.

“Easy,” he crooned. “That son of a bitch has caught my knee more times than I’m proud to admit. And now it tries to get you?” His eyes dropped to my lips. “Seems to me it needs a new home.”

“You watched me kill a man today, yet you’re trying to protect me from a coffee table?” I said, too breathily for my liking at his closeness.

An amused laugh bubbled from his lips. And hard as I tried to suppress it, I felt a smile cresting my own.

He set me down without waiting for a request, which I was thankful for, and motioned toward the sofa. I warred against his silent plea but found myself obliging when I realized the demons that had attempted to escape the prison inside my mind had been forgotten while in the cradle of his arms.

Warm, bright light soothed my skin, and the aroma of a delicious meal filled my senses, rousing me from sleep and coaxing me to draw in a deep breath. But awareness gripped me suddenly, and I snapped my eyes open in a panic, unable to remember when or how I’d fallen asleep. Most importantly, I realized that I wasn’t in my bed, my room, and most definitely not my apartment.

“Breathe,” I whispered, feeling the beginning of a spiral as I recalled those days in my past when I was put to sleep against my will.

He’s not like them.

I wanted to believe that with every fiber of my being because, as hard as I’d tried, I didn’t hate Santino’s company.

I shot up from the couch, surprised to see my gun and blade on a side table. However, the coffee table that had once sat in the middle of Santino’s living room was nowhere in sight. It was undoubtedly a strange observation, but I had more important information to piece together.

Clutching both weapons in each hand, I followed the low thrum of music and the scent of cooked pork down a hallway toward the kitchen. Upon entering the bright space, I wasn’t sure what I would encounter, but Santino by the stove, shirtless and with an oven mitt, was almost more of a surprise than waking up on the man’s couch.

“I haven’t done anything that would warrant a shot in the back yet,” he assured amusedly as he spooned scrambled eggs from a skillet and slid them onto a plate.

“Why did I just wake up on your couch instead of my bed?”

“You fell asleep, preziosa, ” he said, oh-so-casual, adding two strips of bacon to the plate and twisting around. “And you looked exhausted. Why would I wake you?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” I bit out.

I tried to focus on his face and not the gray sweatpants clinging low on his tapered hips as he rounded the large island separating us and placed a beautifully plated breakfast in front of me.

“Coffee? Giada, my housekeeper and chef, makes the best cup. But she has the morning off—”

“Santino! Don’t play dumb. We barely know each other. I can’t just spend the night.”

“I’ll remember that next time.”

With a subtle shake of my head, I snorted an incredulous laugh. “Next time, huh? Your delusion knows no bounds.”

“You’re coming off a little ungrateful.”

“Better than crazy.”

He leaned against the counter and folded his arms across his heavily inked chest. Saliva moved down my throat, and I swallowed a little harder than I anticipated in the face of taut muscle and a cocky smirk.

“Elaborate.”

Setting down my weapons, I mimicked his stance and schooled my expression. “I tried to kill you three times last night, and you make me bacon and eggs.”

“Would you prefer pancakes?”

I opened and closed my mouth, suddenly rendered speechless.

“What are you looking for, Santino?” I finally asked with a huff.

“You and I have a lot in common. And we share a secret. ”

Was this the part where he blackmailed me?

“Careful. You sound more and more like a loose end.”

Santino chuckled and pushed off the counter. As he stepped closer, I was forced to tip my chin to meet his eyes. And with a hand over his hard torso, I stepped back, taking a seat on the island.

“What happened to your coffee table?”

His grin opened up, eyes flicking beyond me, toward the living room and the furniture in question.

“Well, I wasn’t sure how you’d take waking up on my sofa, and I didn’t want you to hurt yourself in the event you decided to jump up and attack me.”

I didn’t know what to make of this man. He’d risked his life to help me. And even after I threatened him, he still insisted on these small gestures without a morsel of resentment. Wary as I was, because men weren’t often kind without some twisted, vested interest driving their motive, something told me Santino was being sincere. Letting my guard down wasn’t an option, but neither was outright killing him.

Then, there were the emotions fluttering inside me. As a woman in the business of sex, I’d entertained a revolving door of men—many considered beautiful by societal standards. Yet I’d never seen them beyond a payday or took notice of anything apart from what I could exploit and the size of their bank accounts. But for reasons I refused to unpack, Santino affected me.

He made me aware of things I otherwise wouldn’t have thought twice about, like how my hair probably looked like a family of birds had taken up residence, how I didn’t have a toothbrush, and that I was barefoot.

I found myself instinctively pulling the sleeves of Santino’s borrowed shirt past my knuckles to hide the scars etched around my wrists. Not just because my past was mine and opening that door was not an option at the moment, but—I lifted my eyes to where he stood watching me, waiting for me to speak—Santino brought out insecurities I thought I’d long made peace with. I didn’t want him to see the broken parts of me…for him to see my flaws, the ugly pieces that resided inside me, and the ones painted on my skin.

“I have to go,” I blurted, rising to my feet.

The smile he wore vanished as I stormed past him.

“Wait.”

By the time he caught up, I had already started reserving a ride. “I’m sorry you went through all this trouble.”

Sorry? Had I just…apologized? I couldn’t remember the last time that word slipped past my lips.

“Amara, at least let me take you home,” he urged, tugging my elbow.

I whirled around, jaw clenched. “Look, whatever you think could happen between us, it can’t, and it won’t. One, you’re my boss. And two…I—” I paused, searching for the right words as my heart picked up pace.

He tilted his head slightly, gaze thinning as he searched mine. “You what?”

“I take my clothes off and shake my ass for money. I’m a whore, Santino,” I said, venom oozing from every word. “And every now and again, I like to spill the blood of those men who see me as nothing but entertainment.”

The grin creeping across his face was not the reaction I expected or hoped for. Santino leaned in, lips coasting over my ear.

“I think your attempts at scaring me away are…cute.” He twirled a curl around his finger. His touch was intrusive. Brazen. Yet my knife wasn’t piercing his gut. “I know what you do. That ass is what caught my eye in the first place. And maybe there’s nothing sexier than a woman who knows her way around a gun and one who doesn’t mind a little blood.”

He dared to push an unruly strand of hair behind my ear…and I let him.

“I don’t mind a lot of blood either.”

“Even better.”

I rolled my lips between my teeth, my head shaking slightly. “You’re broken.”

“Aren’t we all?”

You have no idea.

Santino’s dark eyes roamed over my face, settling on my mouth. Well-vested in the way the eyes of men ignited with desire and the need to sink their cocks into any willing—or unwilling—hole, I knew Santino was no different. But while those embers of lust smoldered behind his gaze, there was something else…

“Santino,” I whispered. “What do you want from me?”

“I want to earn everything you give me.” Closer. “Your smile.” His thumb grazed my lips. “Your friendship.” Another lock of hair tucked behind my ear. “But most importantly, your trust.”

“I trust no one.” The pitch of my voice betrayed me, falling from my mouth as a breathy exhale.

“I’m up for the challenge.” His proximity and his words gave my stomach that fluttery feeling once again.

Fuck.