Page 19 of Heartless Sinner

There’d been speculation that the youngest Russo boy, Dante, wanted to do something like that, but they were just rumors. I sure wasn’t about to risk stirring up family drama by asking Vince about it.

But the words had just… slipped out of me. I was so upset. No, more than upset—I was tired. I hadn’t wanted this. I just wanted to land a decent job, and find a well-to-do man who would give me the ability to indulge my expensive tastes, and live a quiet life. Now my family was somehow the first target in what could be a war, and I was just… I was exhausted even just thinking about it.

I wanted nothing more than to just find my parents and hug them tightly, reassure myself they were safe, and be the little girl I no longer was. But that wasn’t what the daughter of a mafioso did. And I wasn’t about to let anyone see I had been knocked off my game.

Except, apparently, Vince. I had known him for forty-eight hours and he already seemed to be an odd weak spot of mine.

I couldn’t let that weak spot grow any larger.

Vince and his team took me down to the lobby, where we got into dark sedans and I directed the driver to my father’s hideout. Every mafia leader had a place to hunker down if things got bad. Ours was on the top floor of a ‘condemned’ building.

When we arrived, what looked to be a homeless man stood warming his hands over a trash can fire. I nodded at him as we walked up to the building.

His eyes widened when he saw the men accompanying me. “Miss Marla, your father’s not going to like this.”

“Just let him know that I’m here, and I’ve brought allies.”

The man shook his head, but obediently pulled a phone out of his pocket, sending a text.

There were a few others like him scattered around the street, my father’s soldiers pretending to be homeless drifters. They would spring to attack if there was any sign of danger, but until then, they would maintain their cover.

Knowing my father and the other men lurking on the different floors would now know I’d arrived, I walked into the building. It was actually structurally sound, but completely bare-bones. Only the top floor where my father was had anything on it. The rest was just bare concrete.

The elevator opened and two men in black stepped out to greet us. Papa must’ve sent down two of his bodyguards.

“What’s the meaning of this?” one of them asked.

“Mr. Russo is here to offer his help.” Vince’s bodyguard—his name was Toby, I had now figured out—spoke for Vince, as was the custom. A boss didn’t speak to a subordinate. Your subordinate spoke to other family’s subordinates to maintain the status quo.

“The Preston’s don’t need outside help,” my father’s bodyguard replied.

“I invited them here,” I spoke up. “If my father has a problem with that, he can speak to me directly. But they offered to get me here safely, and they did. I think we at least owe them an audience.”

The bodyguard eyed Toby, then Vince, like he wasn’t happy about this, then sent a text. I waited anxiously. I wouldn’t put it past my short-tempered father to refuse Vince entry.

After a long moment, the bodyguard’s phone buzzed, and he nodded. “All right. Come with us.”

Only Toby and Vince joined me onto the elevator, the rest of his team waiting on the first floor. I was glad that Vince automatically knew the others wouldn’t be allowed. It was a sign of diplomacy and trust to bring only his one bodyguard.

All night he’s shown you how you’ve underestimated him, a voice at the back of my mind whispered to me.

That doesn’t mean I can trust him! I shot back at myself. Just because the man gave me a couple of mind-melting orgasms didn’t mean I should trust him as much as I seemed to.

We arrived on the top floor, where I saw a handful of my father’s most trusted soldiers milling about, keeping an eye on things from their bird’s eye view. A few plastic tarps had been set up to hang from the ceilings, creating makeshift rooms. In one I could see a large bed for my father and my mother, along with a propped-up mirror and a set of drawers. In another was a large desk set with various computers whirring away.

My father was in the middle, at another desk, giving orders. And with him—oh thank God—was Alexander.

“Alexander.” Relief flood through me, and I hurried over and hugged him tightly. “We didn’t know where you were.”

“I was having a good run in poker,” Alexander replied, though his expression was grim. “Then another man tried to cheat, so we went out back to settle things, then I had a smoke. That was when they found me and told me what had happened.”

“I’m glad you’re all right.”

“And where were you?” Papa asked, standing up.

I stepped away from my brother and turned to face him. “I was with Vincent Russo, Papa.”

Papa eyed Vince suspiciously and then switched to Russian. “And just what do you think you were doing with him?”

---