Page 21 of Unforgivable Ties

“And don’t pick the $3,000 because of the price. They’re almost equal,” he added.

His tone suggested that he was used to spending money this way, brushing off price tags like they were insignificant. After testing them out, I sighed and pointed at the $3,400 mattress.

“That one,” I muttered, feeling a flush crawl up my neck at the sheer extravagance of the choice.

We purchased the mattress without another word and arranged for its delivery, then headed towards Vincenzo’s apartment. I had to admit; I was curious. Where did mobsters live? It certainly couldn’t be any worse than where my apartment had been.

To my surprise, he drove into the Upper East Side. The grandeur of the area was noticeable, a stark contrast to the poorly lit streets and rundown buildings I was accustomed to. As we cruised past towering apartment complexes, luxury boutiques, and upscale restaurants, my eyes widened even further.

Vincenzo pulled into the parking garage of one of the nicest high rises in the area. It was a sleek modern building made of glass and steel, shooting high into the New York skyline. I tried not to gawk as we made our way through the posh foyer, complete with a large fountain and an impossibly high crystal chandelier.

“You live here?” I asked as the elevator doors shut behind us.

“Is that so surprising?” he asked, scanning his keycard instead of pressing a button.

“A little,” I said meekly. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured a mobster’s home.”

“Oh? And how did you picture it?”

“I don’t know. In a place that looked more violent than Manhattan, maybe?” I admitted.

“Don’t be fooled,” he said gravely, his eyes meeting mine in the elevator mirror. “This place hides violence far deeper than any back alley.”

“Of course,” I sighed, leaning back against the cool metal of the elevator wall.

He shot me a side glance but didn’t comment. Instead, he looked at the elevator buttons as we continued to ascend.

I almost choked when the elevator doors opened. The sight that greeted me was worlds away from the dingy, cramped apartment I had been living in. Vincenzo lived on the penthouse floor, the New York City skyline vast and breathtaking through floor to ceiling windows that wrapped around the living room. The furniture was minimalist, modern, and fit him perfectly. It was all dark leathers, clean lines and a muted palette of greys and blacks, an atmosphere of control and authority echoing throughout the space.

“Vincenzo...” I said, momentarily losing my train of thought as I gaped in awe. “This place is amazing. Why are you letting me stay with you?”

“I have spare bedrooms,” he shrugged, picking up my suitcase. “C’mon.”

Spare bedrooms was an understatement. It seemed that he wasn’t sure what to do with three of the five bedrooms in his house. He slept in the primary, and had thrown gym equipment in another, but every other room was bare.

“What are you going to do with all these spare rooms?” I asked, peeking my head in each one as we walked by.

“Haven’t decided yet,” he responded.

I wanted to scream. He was paying—presumably—tens of thousands of dollars for rent on rooms that sat empty. It was an enormous waste of money. But, for someone like him, it was probably pocket change.

“Here,” he said, stopping at a room. “It’s the second primary bedroom.”

It was completely empty. I knew the mattress wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow, so for tonight, I’d be sleeping on the floor or the couch. I looked around the vast, echoing room, the city lights illuminating the streets below with more of those floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “Is it ok if I sleep on the sofa for tonight?”

“Just sleep in my bed,” he said nonchalantly. His statement was so sudden, I thought I had misheard him first.

Oh god. Did this offer to stay at his house mean I had to have sex with him? Maybe he had hinted at it, but my mind was so preoccupied with thoughts of my apartment that I didn’t catch on. I mean, he was super hot, and I wouldn’t mind having sex with him. But it just felt wrong doing so in exchange for a place to live.

He must have seen the horrified look on my face.

“Tch. I’m going to be out tonight. The bed will be free,” he said, rolling his eyes, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ll be alone.”

A pang of unwarranted jealousy hit me. Was he going out to see a woman? Was he one of those notorious playboys who brought different women home every night?

I tried to brush off the feeling, reminding myself that I had no claim over him. And I never would. From the offhand comments he had made, he made it clear he was not the type of guy to commit to a relationship.

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