Page 104 of Attraction (Mobsters + Billionaires 3)
“Mr. Stefano, I did not ask you,” Brody says, his mouth a thin line. “I asked Mr. Bradley. I don’t give a shit who you are—if you gave Mr. Bradley the black eye he’s covering up with that mask, this will be a very different kind of ride home.”
Okay, I might like this guy a little more than I originally thought.
Ford holds up a hand. “Thank you, Brody. Mr. Stefano is not the one who gave me this, nor would he ever. The man who did this has been dealt with.”
“Are you sure?”
“He’s been dealt with,” I say, letting Brody see my eyes.
He catches my expression and nods. “Duly noted. Apologies for my tone. I meant no disrespect.”
“None taken. I appreciate your concern—Ford is precious to me.”
Ford grabs my hand, kissing it. I turn to him. “Here, let me see your eye.”
He carefully removes the mask, and the sight of his face steals the air from my lungs. Kej checks the rearview and makes a low sound. If the man who did this to him wasn’t already dead, I have a feeling these two would’ve taken on the job themselves.
No one touches my man and lives to tell the tale.
As angry as I am at O’Shea, I’m twice as mad at myself. I told Ford—promised him—that he’d be safe with me at this event. That no one would dare lay a finger on him, and here he is, forced to relive what that bastard tried to do to him.
Ford seems willing to forgive me, but it’ll be a while before I can forgive myself. Kej and Brody may take even longer.
Examining his face again, I’m grateful the cuts aren’t that bad. They aren’t deep, and I doubt they’ll leave a scar, but his sclera has gone red around his bright-green eye on the one side and faint bruising is already visible.
“Fuck, baby. I can’t believe he did that to you. I’m so, so sorry. You’re supposed to be safe with me.”
He pats my face and gives me a soft kiss on my lips. “This wasn’t from your world. This was from mine. You didn’t bring this into my life. Fallon did. Ciaran O’Shea is a predator I’ve been aware of for a decade. I never had the courage to file charges because I knew how it would look and how it would be handled in the media, the justice system, and the court of public opinion. This happened tonight because I was a coward all those years ago.”
Brody, clearly listening in, brings a closed fist to his mouth, and I draw back as though Ford has slapped me.
“You simply cannot believe that to be true. A powerful man tried to take advantage of you, tried to hurt you. You got yourself out of there when you had the opportunity. And you decided not to be re-victimized by a system that would never help you to begin with. Don’t you ever—”
“Sirs, I’m sorry to interrupt,” Kej says, a sharpness to his voice.
“What is it?” I spit out, annoyed.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
Ford’s hands begin to shake. “Not again,” he whispers.
I’m not often afraid, but Kej’s words send cold dread to the pit of my stomach. I peer through the windshield and see what he’s seeing. There’s some storefront remodeling going on that’s blocked the sidewalk and part of the right lane, which is already slowing us down.
A delivery truck is parked at an angle that barely allows traffic to squeeze through the remaining lane. Deliveries and temporary stops to traffic happen all the time up and down Manhattan. That’s the nature of the beast. But the angle on this looks…wrong. Like it’s been deliberately parked there to bottleneck the traffic.
Brody’s assessment is more succinct. “This is fucked.”
“Ford, I need you to stay here with Kej and Brody. These are bulletproof windows. You will be perfectly safe, though I want you to lie across the seat when I get out.”
Ford’s eyes go wide. “Okay,” he responds, his voice shaking.
“Kej, be ready,” I say, pulling the gun from my ankle holster. “If you see a way around this, take it. Don’t wait for me. Get Ford to safety. That is your priority.Capice?” I ask, letting the mobster in me out.
Kej nods. “Got it.”
Brody pulls out a fucking Desert Eagle from his shoulder holster. “You want this? That .22 isn’t much of a gun.”
Pulling the suppressor from my vest pocket, I shake my head. “It ain’t the gun. It’s the man. And I want you to use that hand cannon on any motherfucker who comes at this car, you hear me? What kind of bullets are we talking about?”
