Page 22 of Twisted Little Games (New York City Mafia #3)

Kirsten

T he three criminals work together removing the body, cleaning every inch of the floors, walls, and even the beer bottle mess in the living room. Probably because they have so much experience covering up murders. Not that I can complain or judge them now that they’re using those skills to help me.

There’s just one thing I’ve been chewing over the entire time and haven’t been able to admit yet as they wrap things up. And I won’t say it in front of the two grumpy mobsters.

“Whoever did this thought to pull the surveillance first,” Creed Ferraro explains. “Which means, they had time to plan it out.”

“What he means is that they’re probably not going to give up,” Tristan tells me.

Which is exactly what I fear. “Did you tell them about your theory?” I ask Tristan.

“Oh, right. Kirsten mentioned that she’s been looking into Bertelli’s murder.”

“Fuck,” Creed groans as he scrubs a palm down his face, and Andre rubs his temple in thought.

“Bowen?” Andre guesses.

“Got to be,” Tristan says. “We’re going to have to take him out sooner than we planned…”

“Whoa, man! You can’t just blurt that shit out in front of her,” Andre huffs.

“Sure, I can. I’ve got enough blackmail on the DA that she would never consider throwing us back in jail. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

He winks at me, and I roll my eyes at him, then tell the men, “I don’t want to know any details, but I don’t want to die either.”

“We’ll take care of him,” Tristan assures me.

“It’s not as easy as just snapping your fingers,” Creed grumbles. “Bowen is a boss now. The best thing we can do is go to his sister and hope she gets rid of him. Keep that mess in the family rather than raise any problems with all the other families.”

“Serafina’s a trained assassin, right?” I ask as all three men turn to me in surprise. “She came to see me last week.”

“Oh, really?” Creed looks to Tristan and then Dre. “What did she say?”

“She was angry and wanted to know why nobody had been arrested yet for her father’s murder.”

“Her adopted father,” Creed amends.

“Right. She obviously loved him and thinks someone came after him in a planned attack.”

“How does she not see that it was her brother?” Andre asks. “I mean, who else would have benefited from the old man’s death?”

“We need to talk to her,” Creed says. “Bowen may have gone to the cops for the hit so it wouldn’t get back to Serafina.”

“I can talk to her,” I offer as the mob boss arches a single eyebrow at me that looks so similar to Tristan’s.

He also looks at me like I’m the shit on the bottom of his shoe.

“It’s the least I can do after tonight. And if I talk to her, maybe with Tristan there but without anyone seeing him show up, then we could explain to her our theory on her brother. ”

“We need more than a theory,” Andre scoffs. “We need evidence.”

“Yes, well, a theory is where we can start. And if I’m the one setting up the meeting, then it keeps the heat off you all, avoiding any mobster wars or whatever, right?”

“It could work,” Tristan agrees quicker than his two cousins.

Creed shrugs. “Fine. But Bowen will probably find out about the meeting, putting you in danger.”

“I’m already in danger!” I remind him.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Tristan offers. “I was already following her for weeks anyway.”

“Fine. Whatever,” Creed huffs and points his index finger at me. “None of this better come back on us, or you’ll be the next one carried out of here like a pig in a blanket.”

Andre snorts with laughter, making us all stare at the sudden change in his mood. “What?” he asks. “Pig in a blanket? The guy was a cop, so like pig is slang for…it was funny. Fuck all of you.” He flips us his middle finger and then huffs, “Can we go home now?”

Tristan nods. “Thanks for the help. I owe you one, Dre.”

“Yeah, you do,” Andre agrees.

“Good luck,” Creed offers before the two men walk out the door.

“So…” Tristan starts. “I guess —”

“I don’t feel safe here,” I blurt out before he can say goodbye as well.

“Hell, I don’t feel safe here,” he replies with a grin that I know means he’s kidding. I guess a tough guy like him isn’t scared of much.

“Could I… I mean, I could call someone and ask, but it’s late,” I say in a rush before finally getting to the point. “Could I stay with you tonight? I can pay you for protection. Isn’t that how the mob works?”

Tristan blinks at me silently for a long moment. “Fuck no. I don’t want your money.”

“Oh,” I say as the weight of disappointment wells up in my chest. I guess there’s no amount of money in the world that’s worth dying for…

“You’re not leaving my side until Bowen is dead.”

“What?”

“Well? Go pack up your shit so we can go,” he orders. “I’m beat.”

He was saying no to me paying him, not to letting me stay. Thank God.

I nod and turn away with my shoulders sagging in relief to go grab a couple of suits and my toiletries. Anxiety meds are also a given.

If someone had told me a few weeks ago I’d feel safe with one of my most terrifying criminal defendants and that I’d willingly go home with him, I would’ve told them they were certifiably insane.

I never would’ve gotten close enough to speak to a defendant without a police escort before.

And now…now I’m trusting one with my life.

The drive to Tristan’s apartment in his truck is short.

When we’re walking up the stairs, he stops mid-step with my luggage in his grip and turns around to face me.

There’s an odd, slightly terrified look on his face for the very first time.

“So, um, there’s something you should know before we go inside. ”

“What?” I ask, figuring he’s a slob or has the occasional bug run across his messy floor. “Just spit it out. I’m tired, and it’s been a horrible night…and your building is not what I expected…”

“Oh. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. A dark, dingy evil lair?” I tease with a grin. Instead, the building is so nice and new. I probably couldn’t afford a studio apartment here on my public servant salary. My trust fund is another story, but I try not to touch that money unless absolutely necessary.

“Right. Well, I, ah, I should’ve mentioned that I have a few roommates,” Tristan explains.

Shit. Here’s hoping they’re all asleep and don’t recognize me if not. Although, only an idiot would chance pissing off Tristan Ferraro. “And you don’t think they’ll approve of a guest?”

“Well, yes and no. They won’t like you, but since they don’t pay rent, they don’t have any right to bitch.”

“You let people live rent-free in your apartment?” Why would he do that? The rent must cost a fortune.

“Yes. It’s late tonight, but I swear I’ll kick them all out in the morning. Every single one, okay? Just don’t freak out and leave.”

“Where else would I go tonight?” I whisper on a sigh.

“Promise me,” he says in that demanding voice I first heard at the club.

“Fine, I promise. Just, could we please go inside now?”

He nods and pulls out his keys from his pocket to unlock the door.

I’m not sure what I expected to find in Tristan’s dark apartment. It’s a beautiful, open loft apartment based on the streetlight coming in through the cracks in the shades. But I certainly wasn’t anticipating half-dressed, passed out women lying everywhere. And I mean everywhere !

There are three of them, three , in a giant king-sized bed.

One is stretched out on the black leather sectional, and two are on a mattress on the floor.

A few stir when they hear us come in, and I stand there in frozen shock.

One in the bed sits up and waves a hand toward Tristan, blows him a kiss then flops back down on her side.

The girl on the sofa sits up, stretches her arms over her head, and says, “Hi, sweetie. You finally sleeping here tonight?”

Sweetie?

“Ah, yeah, I am.”

She then throws her blanket off and strolls over, wearing nothing but a bra and panties to kiss the man beside me on his cheek. “I’ve got to go tinkle.”

Before she even closes the door to what I’m assuming is the bathroom, I turn around and reach for the door.

“Wait, Kirsten. You promised,” Tristan says behind me.

“That was before we walked into your sex dungeon, harem, or whatever the fuck this is!” Someone shushes me from across the room, and I shout, “Oh, fuck you!” I open the door and flood the apartment with light from the hallway, making the occupants groan in complaint.

Or at least, it opened a few inches before slamming shut again.

Tristan reaches over me and flattens his palm against the door to keep it closed.

He wraps one arm around my waist and drags me away from the structure so he can lock up.

“Let me go!” I slam my fists down on his arm. Unaffected, he hauls me deeper into my own personal hell.

“No. It’s late. You’re tired and crankier than usual.

We’re going to bed, and the girls will all be gone by the time you wake up in the morning.

” With that pronouncement, a chorus of aww sounds in unison.

“Sorry, ladies. I’ll help you find alternative housing for tomorrow night,” Tristan tells them as he climbs up a set of metal stairs. “Good night.”

Several voices call back the same sweetly.

At the top of the metal stairs, he uses a key to unlock the door, then strides inside while my nails try to gouge his arm through his leather coat, wanting him to put me down.

The room is pitch black with no windows.

He flips on the overhead lights revealing another giant bed, empty and unmade, a dresser, chair, and normal bedroom furnishes.

There are a few items of clothing strewn on the floor and chair, but it’s otherwise tidy.

“This is my room. I’m the only one who sleeps in this bed,” Tristan tells me before he tosses me onto the mattress so hard, I bounce.

When I try to scoot to the edge and stand up, he climbs over me and pushes my shoulders back.

“Lie down and get some sleep. I’ll go grab your luggage and then lock the bedroom door. ”