Desiree

I yank on my underclothing and day-old scrubs, wishing I could drop-kick Junior.

I don’t know what in the hell I was thinking, making a sex arrangement with the man! I am not going through with it. I will definitely be calling peanut butter the first time he tries to lay his hands on me.

Junior is dangerous. I was stupid to have sex with him once.

I don’t need to repeat the mistake.

I go and check on Gio, even though I refreshed his IV and meds before I tried to leave. He’s still okay. No fever. Pulse is in a decent range. He’s sweating a little, and I pull the blankets down to give him some air. I use the bottom sheet to roll him to his side so he doesn’t get bedsores.

When I’m done, I breeze into Junior’s room like I own the place and open his drawers until I find his t-shirts. He isn’t around—I hear him talking on his phone downstairs. He only has a drawerful of clean white V-necks—not a single color or graphic tee to be found. I grab one, then head into the guest bathroom where I take a shower.

I make it long and steamy. There’s no razor, but there’s soap and shampoo, so I wash up and then just stand there under the stream of water, like I can wash the last twenty-four hours off me.

Except it’s not long before I fall into thinking about the amazing sex we just had. It was hot and fantasy-fulfilling, but also more.

He called me beautiful.

He rolled with my breakdown—held me, even.

Some of my sourness drops away. Yes, Junior is infuriating. He’s holding me prisoner here. He took unforgivable liberties with my life when he decided I’d be the best person for this job.

But he’s not all bad. He can’t be. He loves his brother. He loves his mom.

He’s a cold-blooded killer, the voice in my head warns.

True. He practically admitted to it. I don’t make a habit out of offing the innocent. Maybe not, but the guilty? I’m sure he serves them justice in many horrible ways.

He fixed my car, pushover me argues. He held me when I cried.

He fucks like a demon.

Okay, that is not a good enough reason.

I turn off the water and climb out, drying off with a towel I pulled from the cabinet. I put my clothes back on, except I wear Junior’s t-shirt instead of the top of my scrubs.

When I come out, masculine voices rumble downstairs. I square my shoulders and play the same game I played as a home healthcare nurse: Act like I run the show around here until everyone gets on board and trusts me enough to let me do my job.

I search the closets until I find a change of sheets, which I bring to Gio’s room. Junior changed out the bloody towels, but we still need to change the sheets, which show some bloodstains. I start pulling the corners off the far side, away from Gio.

“Time to call into work, doll.” Junior stands in the doorway, holding up my phone. He’s showered and dressed, too and looks devastating as ever in a crisp button down and slacks.

He beckons me over, which annoys the piss out of me, but I come. He hands me the phone. I start to turn away, but he catches my forearm. “Uh uh. Stay right here while you call.”

I huff and roll my eyes, but my fingers tremble slightly as I take the phone because I know he’s worried about me trying to signal for help. I’m not thinking of trying anything. I do believe he means to let me go when this is all over. And I’m willing to see it through. Doesn’t mean I’m happy about it, or I think what he’s doing is right, but maybe the money I make off this will help me finally find Jasper.

I call into my department at the hospital and make myself sound miserable. “Hey, Shelly, it’s Desiree Lopez.”

“Hi, Desiree. You don’t sound so good.”

“I don’t feel so good.” I force a loud cough. “I woke up this morning with that nasty flu. I can’t come into work today.”

“Okay, I’ll let them know. Hope you feel better!”

“Thanks,” I moan and end the call, then lift a defiant gaze to Junior.

His lips twitch. “Good girl. Now what are you going to do about your mom?”

I’ve thought about it and I have an idea. “I’m going to text her.”

He reaches for the phone, like he doesn’t trust me, and I yank it back to my chest, thrusting my lower jaw forward.

“I need to read it before you hit send,” he warns.

“Fine.” I type out a text to my mom, telling her I’d called in sick to the hospital, but I really had a home healthcare job that paid twice as much so I was going to take it for the week. I said it involved traveling with a sick patient, so I wouldn’t be around, but I’d check in and call her when I got back.

I hand it to Junior without sending and he reads it. “Good thinking.”

“Your highness approves?”

He hits send and lifts his brows at me. “You really gonna get mouthy with me?”

I open my lips to ask what happens if I do, but the memory of the punishment he already delivered makes me flush. My nipples tingle and burn at the memory of exactly how punitive he gets.

The corners of his mouth quirk slightly and I know he’s read my thoughts. He pockets my phone. I scowl.

“I’m expecting way more than twice as much, you know,” I tell him. “I just had to make it believable for my mom.”

I watch him closely for a reaction, because this is important to me. I need to know if there really is a sizeable payout involved here. As usual, he shows nothing in his expression, just watches me back.

“You said enough to buy a new car. What are we talking about? Twenty grand? Thirty?”

He nods. “Thirty, for sure. More if you earn it.” There’s nothing lewd about the way he says it, but my mind instantly jumps to filthy sex and my body revs up, eager to get busy earning all the riches it can get. “Why you need it?”

I frown at the intrusive question.

“I know there’s a story you don’t want me to know.”

Funny how any possible answer gets stuck in my throat, and I’m caught staring up at him like a trapped animal. “H-how do you know that?” I manage.

He tips his head to the side. “It’s my business to read people.”

So he can blackmail them.

I push that thought out of my head.

Somehow I recover from the swift pain that always accompanies thinking about Jasper. I fold my arms over my chest. “You’re right. I don’t want you to know.”

His lips twitch and he taps my nose. “I’ll find out.” His words are mild. It’s not a threat. And yet his certainty, and the certainty that anything in my life he wants to fuck with, he can, sends chills running down my spine.

I want to snap at him to stay out of it, but I bite my lip. The more emotion I show, the more he’s going to know this is an issue I hold close to my heart.

It’s not like his knowing would do any harm—it wouldn’t. But this is a subject I can’t bear to talk about, even with my own mom. It fucking slays me. And I’ve already fallen apart once on Junior this morning. I don’t plan on a repeat show today or ever.

“I had Paolo bring in some food. I wasn’t sure what you like to eat, but there’s plenty down there. Go and help yourself.”

“After I get this sheet changed. I need you to lift.” I jerk my head in the direction of the bed.

“Okay, doll.” I swear I detect amusement in Junior’s tone, like he thinks it’s funny I’m bossing him around.

I know it’s insane, but I can’t help it. Bluster is what I do when I’m nervous.

I give him instructions on lifting Gio using the existing sheet so I can slip the new one underneath, and I get the thing changed out to my satisfaction. As I walk out with the soiled sheets in my arms, I pass Paolo, who I now realize is another Tacone brother. He watches me as I go, but doesn’t greet me or comment.

Downstairs, I find a variety of takeout from Starbucks—a steaming latte and egg sandwich, bagels, muffins. There’s also a bag of groceries sitting on the counter that hasn’t been put away.

I take the liberty of unloading it.

Four pints of my favorite Ben & Jerry’s. I shove back the appreciation that bubbles up. My past relationships starved me in the gifts department. Someone buying my mint cookie ice cream is no reason to go moony.

I fix myself a bagel with cream cheese and sit down to eat.

I can get through this. If we take really good care of the wound, Gio should be stable in a week. Then I’ll get paid a big chunk of money, which I can use to step up the efforts to find Jasper. Find where my asshole ex has holed up with our son.

I’m doing this for Jasper.

That thought calms me. Makes it all easy. I can deal with Junior Tacone and all that comes with this job if it means getting my little boy back.

Junior

“Nico and Stefano are flying in this afternoon,” Paolo says, his focus on Gio, not me.

“What for?” I bristle.

“Because he’s our brother!” Paolo spits back.

“And did you tell Alessia and Ma?” I demand. I already know he didn’t. We Tacones have a code that involves not worrying the women of the family.

“Of course I didn’t. They don’t need to know. Nico and Stefano are part of business.”

“Are they?”

They’re not, really. We’re part of their business, because La Famiglia put up the money to start Nico’s Vegas casino and now we’re all shareholders of the corporation. But Nico hasn’t been part of of our business in over ten years. And this outfit isn’t a fucking democracy. They don’t get to weigh in just on the merit of being my brothers. Neither does Paolo, for that matter. But my tenure as head of the family is by nature rocky, because technically our father is still don, and any one of the fuckers can go run to him if they think I’m fucking things up.

“Well, they understand business, anyway.” Paolo shoves his hands in his pockets, in a posture of concession.

I don’t answer.

“How’s he doing, anyway?”

“Desiree says he’s stable.”

“Good.”

Just saying Desiree’s name has me recalling how luscious she felt under my body this morning. The beautiful sounds she made, the way she gave herself over so completely. I never in a million years dreamed I’d make some woman’s fantasy come true, but knowing I can?

Is fucking hot.

And even though I was an ass to her after we talked, I have the strong urge to reward her for giving herself up to me like that. And for being her.

She appeared this morning, showered and wearing one of my t-shirts. Didn’t even ask me for permission, just helped herself.

I don’t know why I fucking love that about her. Maybe because Marne, my ex, is so incapable of doing anything for herself with or without permission.

But as much as I love knowing she’s wearing my clothes, she’s gonna need her own shit.

“Listen, you stay here and keep an eye on him, huh? I’m gonna run Desiree to her apartment to pack a bag.”

Paolo nods. “Sure.”

“Where did you put her car?”

“It’s in your garage.”

“Good. I’ll be back in a couple hours. Call me if anything changes with Gio.”

“I will.”

“And call Vlad. We need to arrange a meeting to deal with their fucking setup. As far as I’m concerned, we’re at war. Find out what the word on the street is about the Russians. I want every ear to the ground.”

Paolo nods, phone already out.

I jog down the stairs and find my kitchen spotless, Desiree wiping down the inside of the refrigerator. Fuck if it doesn’t get me hard, imagining enacting a scene where she’s my maid and I force her to bend over and take it from her boss. Does she want role play? Or is the mafia kingpin scenario all she needs from me?

I adjust my junk and clear my throat.

“Yes?” She doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t jump to attention, or get nervous and babble around me like other females who work for me. This girl is totally different.

Built from a very special mold.

“Grab your coat, doll. I’m gonna take you to pack a bag.”

“Yeah?” Now she turns, shoving her thick brown hair from her face with the back of her wrist, her hands full with the spray bottle and paper towel. “Cool. Just let me finish here.”

I should tell her no one makes Junior Tacone wait.

The thing is—I’m sure she knows that, which is precisely why I find it hot that she gives me so much shit. She knows better. I’m an asshole. I’m dangerous as hell, and she still decides to push me. It’s brazen as hell. I love her confidence.

I decide to let it go since my current view makes the wait worth it.

Desiree has this unbelievable body—curves everywhere, but toned muscle underneath. Nice full hourglass figure—big boobs, slender waist, big hips. Sturdy thighs. Like she works out, but can’t stop with the Ben & Jerry’s. Which is perfect for me. I like a little meat to hold onto. Especially when it’s shaped with such delicious mounds.

Right now she’s giving me a prime view of her ass, the thin fabric of her scrubs stretched taut across the globes I turned pink just a few hours ago.

“I have a housekeeper, you know.”

“Well, she needs to clean the inside of your fridge, Tacone. You tell her that next time.”

I pick up a dish towel, spin it into a tight twist and whip it at her ass.

“Ow!” She shrieks and throws her hand back. “Fuck, that hurt.” She whirls and seeks my face with her gaze, brows down.

I don’t know what my expression shows—probably all the dirty things I want to do to her, because whatever she was going to say next dies on her lips and she flushes like an innocent.

“Come on, sassy-pants. I don’t like to wait.”

“Of course you don’t.” She punctuates the words by putting down the spray bottle and towel and shutting the refrigerator door with a little too much force. “Well—you’re the boss.”

“You seem to keep forgetting it, doll.”

I escort her out of the house and to my car, which is sitting in the driveway. She has the audacity to fiddle with my radio on the drive, changing it to some Top 40 station and singing along to the Camila Cabello song Havana.

I give her a sidelong glance. With the last name Lopez, I know she’s Latina. I’m guessing Puerto Rican, based on the neighborhood where she lives. “You speak Spanish, doll?”

“Si, jefe. You speak Italian?”

“Si.”

“Lemme hear some. I bet I’ll understand it.”

“You have a nice voice,” I tell her in Italian.

Her full lips stretch into a smile. “Pues.”

I like when she blushes because it seems so out of character. Or I guess I just like when I make her blush.

We pull into her neighborhood and I find a place to park. She gets out and slams her door. “I sure as hell hope you brought my keys.”

“I did.” I pull her keyring out of my pocket and twirl it around my forefinger. “And that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble, doll.”

She grins at me, revealing two deep dimples. “You love it and you know it.”

I smirk and tuck my hands back in my pockets. “Doesn’t mean I won’t make you pay for it.”

I catch the flash of excitement in her eyes before she turns quickly away and heads up the sidewalk to her building. I follow her at a leisurely pace, enjoying the swing of her delicious ass, the toss of that thick brown hair.

We walk up four flights of stairs to get to her rundown place. It’s clean and organized inside—a two bedroom. She heads into one bedroom, I wander over to look in the other. It has a twin bed which hasn’t been made up, and a stack of boxes along the wall. I stroll closer to peek at the boxes.

“What are you doing? Stop.” She snaps from the doorway of the other bedroom.

I give her a “what?” look.

“Just—get out of there.” Her eyes are troubled, mouth set in an unhappy slant.

Hmm. More of her mystery. Who do the boxes belong to? Did someone die? I make a show of shrugging and positioning myself with my back against her front door to wait.

I pull out my phone and shoot a text to Earl Goldfarb, a private investigator we sometimes use for intel. I need you to research a girl—Desiree Lopez. Lives in Humboldt Park.

He replies immediately. Okay. Need me to watch her?

No. She’s with me now. I just want background info on her.

You got it. Priority?

Today. I hit send and shove my phone back in my pocket. I rationalize the intrusion on her privacy as necessary since she’s got shit on me now. I need to know her weak spots. But the truth is I want—need—to know more about Desiree in general. I need to know everything that makes her tick. What causes her pain. What keeps her up at night. I need into that beautiful head of hers.

Through the open door, I watch her moving swiftly around her room, throwing clothes into a small suitcase.

I’ll find out all your secrets, doll. There’s nothing you can hide from me.