By the time we get upstairs, I’m so worked up at Camilla for putting herself in harm’s way, the moment we’re through the door, I have her backed up against a wall with my body caging her in.
“Do you have any idea what could’ve happened?” Our bodies are close, but far enough away, I can look her in the eyes. “You could’ve been shot. I told you I would meet you when I was done.”
“I’m sorry. I needed to talk to you.” Her voice is small, filled with emotion and regret, and it hits me like a ton of bricks. This is my fault. I’ve never had someone serious in my life. Someone who needs to know everything. She might’ve put herself in harm’s way, but it was only because she doesn’t understand how my world works—because I’ve yet to open up to her about it.
“Xavier told you not to go into the warehouse,” I say with a softer voice. “Next time, you need to listen.” I close my eyes and burrow my face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her sweet scent, thankful she’s okay and safe. If something had happened to her… fuck, I don’t even want to think about that.
“Why were you giving that man all those guns?” she asks. “Is it true, then? Are you a criminal?”
My hackles rise at her accusation. “Where the hell did you hear that?”
“I asked you a question first.” She pushes me back slightly and crosses her arms over her chest. “Are you a criminal?”
I sigh and take her hand, pulling her over to the couch. “Did someone tell you I’m a criminal?”
“It’s been said in gossip, and when I told my dad about you, he said to be careful because you were involved in illegal activity and he didn’t want me to get hurt.”
I raise a brow. “And yet, you’re still here.”
“Because I didn’t believe whatever you were doing would hurt someone else. But then I walk into your warehouse and have a dozen guns aimed at me, men are loading what looked like illegal weapons, and you’re speaking to a man who I’m almost positive has a Russian accent. Are you like in the mafia or something? Aren’t you Armenian? Is that the mob?”
I chuckle in amusement at her innocence. “That’s a hell of a lot of stereotyping. Yes, my father was Armenian, and my mother was Brazilian, but no, I’m not in the mob or mafia, and neither is that Russian man you saw.”
“Then tell me what I walked into.”
“First, tell me why you were crying.” I pull her into my lap. She’s reluctant at first, but quickly gives in, because even when she’s upset, she likes it when we’re touching.
“My dad called and asked me not to come see him tomorrow. He said he won’t be available. When I told him that’s perfect because I’ll actually be going to visit him today, he asked me not to come. He gave me some stupid reason and I knew something was wrong. I refused to accept his excuse and he finally gave in and told me he was beat up. He said he’s okay, but his face is black and blue and he didn’t want me to worry.”
Fresh tears fill her eyes. “I didn’t think stuff like that happened there. I mean, it has a golf course and a tennis court.” A tear slides down her cheek and I catch it with my thumb.
“Anything can happen anywhere.” The question is, who’s responsible? That’s what’s important. Fights happen all the time in prison, but in a federal prison it’s less, and they only happen for a reason. I don’t mention that to her, though. I’m planning to speak to her father today anyway, so I’ll ask him then.
“Did he say you can visit?”
“I am,” she says. “He tried to argue, but I told him there’s no way I’m not seeing for myself he’s okay.”
“Good. We’ll leave soon. Have you packed?”
She backs up slightly, shooting daggers my way. “Don’t think you’re getting out of telling me what I walked in on. I’m so sick of everyone keeping me in the dark. You know that’s a hard limit for me, especially after what happened with my dad. What’s going to happen next? I’ll come home one day and find out you’re going to prison too?” She swipes several tears that are falling. “I can’t do that. I can’t be in the dark. Either we’re together and I’m standing by your side, or we’re not.”
Fuck, this gorgeous, strong, stubborn woman.
“Of course we’re together.” I run the backs of my knuckles down her cheek. She means the world to me and I won’t lose her over secrets. “How about this? Let’s get on the road, so we can visit your dad and make our flight on time…” Technically we can leave whenever the hell we want. It’s my company’s plane. But I want to arrive on time, since our time is limited. “We can talk on the plane.”