Page 6 of Dangerous Secrets

"Incredible as always," he whispers and turns my head so he can kiss my cheek.

"As were you..." This is the part that gets me in trouble. When my hormones are raging, and most women would be bonding with their partner. I try to remain aloof, but he turns me in his arms and holds me by the shoulders.

“I went to Flatiron…” He’s doing it, pressing me again.

“We’ve been at this for more than two months, Roman.” I use his full name, not the nickname he requested I use, then I turn away. “My brothers are watching.”

“Then tell them,” he says, following me. I hear his zipper and then the jingle of his belt as I reach for a towel. I need to hit the locker room and shower his cum off my body before I dress. I smell like sex and sweat.

“I belong to no man… not even my brothers.”

“You belong to me.” He captures my wrist and brings my hand to his lips. “Have dinner with me.”

If only it were that easy. With the flick of a wrist to negate the orders I’ve been given. Had he not been so damn attractive that first night when he approached me it would have been easy enough to have Ben chase him off. But now, after these encounters we’ve had… My heart is getting too tied up in this. I peer over my shoulder when he says nothing more and watch him from the corner of my eye. I have him right where I want him. How easy it would be to have a family dinner with him and his brothers, bring a single bottle of wine laced with arsenic, then abstain.

I’ve been feeling ill anyway. It makes sense. It’s a good plan. So why can’t I manage it?

“I belong to myself.” I hug the towel to my chest and turn. “It’s not time to make this public.” I walk up to him and cup his cheek. “Be patient with me.”

As I walk away, I half expect him to say something, but he holds his tongue, and I hear the door click shut as he leaves just before I turn the water on in the adjoining shower.

5

ROME

Horns honk and the roar of a bus engine deafens me temporarily as Alex, Dimitri and I walk the sidewalk toward yet another Italian-controlled business. These poor business owners have no clue how badly they’re being treated. More than thirty percent of their revenue is spent just keeping the Italian Don happy, and when they don’t pay up with cold hard cash, they pay up in blood—theirs or someone they love. And that fact is making them awfully quiet today.

“Think that one?” Alex—one of my best soldiers—nods at the little corner deli. This entire block we’ve discovered is controlled by the Don. I’m positive there isn’t a single business on either side of the street, and maybe for another whole block or two, that hasn’t been under the Don’s thumb for years. These people are terrified, and rightly so.

I nod. “Yeah, let’s go in. If nothing else, we can get a pastrami on rye.” My joke earns a chuckle and I follow the boys in, glancing over my shoulder. I’ve had this nagging feeling someone is watching us, and I’m never wrong. Our presence in the Italian neighborhood hasn’t gone unnoticed. I’ve seen a few eyes linger on us a bit too long.

As we approach the counter, I pull my suit coat open as I normally do and the man standing with a white towel in his hand begins to tremble. A few customers scurry out, fear scrawled on their faces, and I close my coat and button it.

“We aren’t here to make trouble; we just needed some privacy.” I grab one wrist and rest my arms across my puffed-out chest, and Dimitri walks to the door as he has the last several businesses and turns the “open” sign to “closed.”

“Please, sir, I cannot speak with you.” The man, probably Middle Eastern, raises his hands in surrender. He’s likely had this scenario more than once a week for months or years. Probably has a family dependent on him and maybe children who look forward to him coming home every night. It’s a shame to see him under the dark cloud of Italian oppression.

“I just need information.” I take a deep breath, puffing my chest out farther. Alex stands aside, watching the interaction, and Dimitri watches the door. He’ll alert me if we have any company.

“I have no information for you.” He shakes his head and backs away. “Please, sirs. Let me ask you to leave my deli. My family—”

“Depends on you, I know.” I nod my head. “I understand family, sir. I have one of my own, and someone is hunting them.” I catch his eye and hold his gaze. His face grows paler and his tongue flicks over his lower lip. I’m not a fool. These business owners may be under the thumb of the mob, but they are also under their protection. Which means, when rival gangs or street thugs move in, good old Don moves in to clean up the trash. This man has probably been mugged more than once and the Italians have taken care of it.

“I cannot help your family.”

“But I think you can. You work so hard for your money, so why do you give it to someone else simply because they walk in here and say they own the street?” It’s a tactic we use in Lower Manhattan with some store owners, but we give them more than just protection. They become family to us, and that means something. Here, though, I get the feeling it’s just an exchange of cash and blood.

“Sir, please. You must understand fi I speak to you, they will—”

“Kill you. Yes. I know.” I flash my weapon at him again. “I am a man with a like mind. I understand your predicament. Just tell me what I need to know, and I will be on my way.”

His eyes flick nervously at the door and then back to my face. Beads of sweat pepper his forehead. His tongue flicks over his lip again and he shakes his head then kneads his hands against his chest.

“What is it you must ask me?” His chin drops. He can’t. Make eye contact. He knows the space between my gun and the Italian’s guns is very narrow and he’s looking for an out.

“The assassin known as L’ombra. Have you ever seen him?” I keep my eyes fixed on his pallid features as his chin slowly rises again. There is now terror in his eyes, glassy and wide open.

“Sir, no. There is not a man who has seen the face of L’ombra and lived.” He trembles and I know I’ve hit something. None of the other shop owners have even so much as batted an eye at me when I mentioned that name. This man knows something.

---