Perfect Monster (The Oligarchs) - Page 7

“I’m helping you because I don’t like it when innocent people get killed.”

She frowned, and her eyes rolled toward mine. The hazel sparked with each passing streetlight. “That seems odd, given the sort of company you keep. You’re one of them, right? You’re a mafia guy?”

I caught Erick’s look in the rearview mirror. He was grinning.

I looked back at Callie. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Still in sync.

“No, I’m not a mafia guy. I’m not in a bratva or a cartel or an organized crime family of any sort.”

“Then what were you doing back at that party or whatever the hell it was?”

“That was a celebration of a new business venture.”

“Whatever. Why were you hanging out with a bunch of mobsters?”

“I told you already. I’m nobody.” I patted her leg and felt a sudden surge of desire. I had to lean back in my seat and tear my eyes away from her to keep from doing something very stupid.

“Whatever you are, Manzi seemed afraid.”

“Ah, well. Manzi’s not so stupid. I may not be a mobster, but I am much, much worse.”

“Worse than a gangster? I find that hard to believe.”

“Just keep breathing, Callie. We’re almost home.”

She gave me a strange, uncertain look, but I took a deep breath in, and a deep breath out, and she followed my lead.

We kept breathing in silence for the rest of the ride.

Interesting. Very, very interesting.

3

Cassie

I practically kissed the driveway when Roman let me out of the car.

Three years. Three whole, agonizing years I’d spent avoiding car rides. That wasn’t exactly easy. I’d moved to Sea Isle because the town was small enough that I could bike pretty much anywhere. I biked to the grocery store, to the coffee shop, to any of my jobs. I could even bike to the other beach towns if I wanted.

It was easy to hide out and to blend in, and the ocean calmed me. I didn’t know why, maybe something about how big it was, how vast, how many secrets there were still at the bottom.

That comforted me, somehow. Like if people didn’t know everything about the planet we occupied, then maybe we couldn’t know everything about ourselves.

And I wasn’t doomed to be broken forever.

Roman’s house in Avalon was a beachfront palace tucked back behind a screen of trees. I could only guess how much it cost—millions, at least. The building was glass and white stone with large peaked roofs.

The sound of the ocean droned in the background.

Roman took my arm gently and steered me to the front door while Erick parked the car. I wanted to ask about him, but I wasn’t sure how to phrase the question.

I wasn’t sure about much of anything.

What’s worse than a gangster? What sort of man were killers afraid of?

Because that was fear I’d seen in Manzi’s eyes when Roman confronted him, and fear again when he put the gun away and ran.

Fear of what Roman would do to him.

But what would the son of a mafia don have to fear?

The inside of Roman’s house smelled like saffron and cinnamon—a stronger version of his own scent. The floors were black tile grouted with gray, and the walls were a sleek, clean white. The decoration was minimal but obscenely expensive, and all the little details screamed wealth and power: real copper fixtures, brass railings, a chandelier that looked like it was straight out of Tiffany’s. Once we were inside, Roman tapped on a screen embedded in the wall near the front door and armed some kind of alarm.

“Do you live here?” I asked, staring around me like a little kid. I knew I should have other questions, like what the heck I was going to do, but I couldn’t help myself. I knew there were nice houses in Avalon—it was the rich beach, after all—but I hadn’t known they were this nice.

“Only on vacation. Come with me.” He strode down the hall, and I hurried to follow him.

“I’ve had panic attacks before, you know.” The words slipped out before I could think about it. I hugged my jacket tighter as he led me into a sleek, gorgeous kitchen. “But I’ve never been able to calm down like that before.”

“Breathing techniques work.” He took a bottle of red wine down from a rack, opened it with an easy, smooth motion, and poured two glasses. He pushed one over. “Drink.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” I looked around at the white cabinets, at the custom furniture. “I don’t really know you.”

“I just saved your life. Drink the wine.”

“You drink the wine.”

He smirked and took a long sip. “It’s not poisoned.”

“I’m not worried about poison.” I picked up my glass and took a long drink. It was shockingly good. “I just feel like I should try and keep my head straight while you’re around.”

Tags: B.B. Hamel Erotic
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