Page 14 of Stolen Christmas
“Girl, you’re an adult. I’ll have you on tomorrow night,” the manager says, coming up behind me. “Cherry is right. Their eyes were focused on you.”
“Okay. What do I have to do?” He gives me a rundown of what tomorrow night will be like, and I’m getting more and more excited. I love dancing, and all I have to do is pretend I’m alone as Cherry recommends. I can make a killing, and that would make my life a lot easier.
“Great. We’ll see you tomorrow.” I smile and head outside where Tony is waiting for me in his squad car.
“Come on. I’ll give you a ride home, but from now on, you’re going to have to find your own way home. It isn’t appropriate,” he says. As soon as we arrive at my house, he lets me out, and I walk straight to my door without allowing him to stop me. “Don’t tell me you’re pissed,” he calls out.
I whip my head around with my key in the door. “Don’t. You told me my job was okay to have, and now you’re telling me that you giving me a ride is now inappropriate,” I hiss. “I’ll figure out my own way. Thanks for the lift, Officer Fields.”
He takes the steps two at a time and then slides his hand over my cheek. “Please don’t be like that, Angel. I just caughtsome shit from my boss today, and I want the tension to die down.”
“You started this,” I remind him.
“I’m sorry for being a jerk. You’re right, but I still want to see you.”
“Fine, but when we both have time.”
“Good. Goodnight, beautiful.” He kisses my lips again, and I feel nothing. Pulling away, I open the door, slipping in and closing it behind me before he can invite himself in. I’m totally done with the bipolar cop.
Hopefully, I’ll cut ties with him tomorrow and never have to see him again.
Chapter Five
Luca
It takes several days to get to the damn store. With all the nonsense Georgie caused, my business matters take precedence. Besides, I hate entering stores at Christmas time. I don’t do crowds or people. With my enemies searching for a way to take me out, crowds are a bad place to be.
The one good thing about shopping in expensive places is there are a lot fewer people inside. I enter a luxury jewelry store off Jewelers’ Row, where security is stationed at the door. I’ve been to two other locations this morning, and this is hopefully the last.
“Hello. How can I help you, sir?” a gentleman in a pristine suit asks as I enter. His manners and tone are polite and inviting, as if he has no knowledge of who I am, which is good for now.
“I’m looking for a luxury crystal jewelry box. I hear your selection is the finest in town,” I lie. It’s one of my last options, and he was rated as one of the best.
“It is, Mr.…”
“D’Antonio, Luca D’Antonio.” His mouth briefly falls open before he remembers his decorum and smiles. So, he is aware of who I am. My name precedes me.
“Why, yes, yes. Please follow me this way.” He adds a little flourish to his movements, and I’m not sure if it’s his normal flair or if he’s anxious to please me.
Normally, I can send someone else to pick up a gift I’ve ordered, but this one is special and hopefully enough to get heroff my ass about the baby thing. I highly doubt it, but a son can hope. I follow the gentleman, and we pass two people.
I’m surprised by the small young man that’s standing near a glass case with a lady. Maybe he’s her son, but they don’t resemble each other. Something about him gives me a strange vibe. His attire screams money, but it doesn’t fit him. It’s too big. I don’t like it, so I keep my eye on him. Smoothly, I pull out my phone and send a message to my security guard who lingers by the door. I’m not sure if this kid is a problem or just wearing a large winter coat, although his posture and eyes appear shifty. Something is up.
My problem isn’t him, though. Getting my mother’s gift is the priority. “Mr. D’Antonio. Here are the lovely pieces we have in stock.” I am immediately disappointed at the mostly wooden boxes. I’m pretty sure I said fucking crystal. My face contorts in anger, and I can feel the rep beside me tense up, rightfully so, until I see the one that sticks out. It’s beautiful, glamorous, and fitting for my mother. It’s a perfect, rectangular crystal box, intricately carved.
“I’d like to see that one,” I state.
“I’m sorry, which one?”
I can feel my eye twitching. I don’t have patience for incompetence, considering I’ve already been specific in my request. “The only crystalline one,” I state angrily.
“Oh yes,” he stammers, looking anywhere but my face.
He slips on some gloves before pulling it from the shelf and displaying it on a blue cloth. I appreciate the care he’s giving it. “This is lovely.”
“It is a rare piece. A one of a kind,” he informs me with pride in his voice. The professional jeweler has returned, it seems.
“Is it? Or are you looking for a sale?” I question, gauging his honesty and frankly just curious.
