Page 22 of The Don's Prisoner

“I’m Rex McMillon, influencer and cleaner for the Irish Mafia, sweetheart. As well as other things. That’s who I am, and if I say I’m not done with you yet, then I’m not fucking done with you.”

The sweet man, the quiet man, the funny man I had known and had actually liked was instantly gone—replaced by a ruthless mobster I had no idea existed.

“I am so done with you,” I insisted. “I am not yours. You do not get to tell me what to do, and I never wish to see you again. Do us both a favor and lose my number. Or I will call the cops on you for harassment.”

He laughed as I hung up the phone.

I gasped for air as I tried to stop shaking. But my body had a mind of its own while adrenaline flooded through my veins.

I thought when he had said he was an “influencer,” he had meant like a social media influencer, not anything Mafia-related. Were they on social media? I mean, I guess they must be—everyone did social media now. But somehow, I didn't think that title was the same in the world of crime. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but I knew I wanted nothing to do with it.

I hoped that once he saw that I was serious and refused to speak to him, he would back off. It wasn’t like we had that good of a relationship anyway, and he was handsome enough to find another girl quickly. Especially with the connections I now assumed he had from being in the Irish mob.

I would just have to stick to my guns and hope that he gave up. At least we had never had sex, because that would make things complicated.

Or at least more complicated than they already were.

How had I possibly managed to get myself involved with two criminals? People go their entire lives without meeting anyone even remotely associated with the underground crime world, but me? No, I seemed to attract them like flies. What was next? My dentist would turn out to be a part of the Japanese Mafia?

I seriously hoped not, because I couldn’t take it anymore. All I wanted was to be left alone to run my business and design my dresses in peace. I didn’t want to have to deal with pig-headed men, murderers, and illegal activities.

Why couldn’t Vito have just kept me out of all this?

When I had regained my calm and level head, I tried to go back to my drawing, but I couldn’t get anything right. Every correction I made looked like crap, and I couldn’t get what was in my head out on paper. So I abandoned the half-designed outfit and started another sketch—this one coming a little easier, but it was still not right.

When my alarm went off to tell me that it was 5 p.m., I left my desk, slung my purse and jacket over one arm, and locked up my office. Most everyone had already left for the day, and my heels clicking on the floor echoed throughout the empty showroom. I loved the end of the day because each day always started with such a rush and energy, that I relished that time after everyone had left, excited to get home. It left me with a sense of peace.

After making sure everything important was put away and locked and that everyone had actually left the building, I exited through the back door and locked up. Caroline had locked the front door when she left, so I knew everything was shut up tight, until the morning when we would open it all back up again.

I was looking forward to a nice, long, warm bath when I got home while I read, listened to quiet music in the background, and lit a bunch of candles. I was going to have a well-deserved “me" night. Maybe I would even pleasure myself with the showerhead while I tried not to think about the kiss that Giovanni and I had shared earlier so I wouldn’t take it further in my mind. Because that would be bad and wrong and so damn confusing. How could I be that attracted to a man who had threatened me?

Maybe I just hadn’t gotten laid in such a long time that I was craving physical contact—whatever, whomever, the source.

No, that couldn’t be it. Because if it were, I would have slept with Rex.

Whatever. My mind had made no sense to me lately, and as I drove home, I tried my best not to think about Vito or Rex or Giovanni.

Of course, it was seriously difficult not to think about those three people when one of them was sitting on the floor of the hallway of my building in front of my door.

So much for “me” time.

“Go away,” I said and stepped next to him so I could unlock my apartment door. Vito stood up, his movements jerky and slow, like he was afraid he might pull something if he moved too fast. His hair was greasy, and he was still wearing the same clothes he had been wearing the day before when the men in black showed up to take me to Gio.

“Oh, come on, sis, at least let me apologize,” he insisted, standing behind me. I opened the door and thought about slamming it in his face, but I just couldn’t. Despite all his faults, he was my brother and he looked like shit. He was very thin, and his suit was starting to hang off him.

I stepped inside and left the door open so he could follow me.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said and I rolled my eyes.

“This does not mean I forgive you,” I told him, putting my things down on the kitchen counter.

“No, no, I know. Trust me, I know, but I… well… seeing as I lost all my money in the poker game, I don’t have money for food and… I also forgot to pay the electric bill, I guess. My service was shut off this afternoon,” he said, and I sighed. There were not enough painkillers in the world to stave off the headache Vito was about to give me.

“So, you aren't here just to apologize. You’re either here to ask for money, a place to stay, or some food. Right? That was your real reason for being her,” I said, turning to face him, holding onto the edge of the counter with both my arms—partially so I could hold myself in place and partially so I wouldn’t punch him. I didn’t think that in my adult life I had ever hurt my brother, but he was certainly making it rather difficult for me not to now.

“No, Vic, I really want to apologize. I should have never used you as a poker chip in the pot. I don’t know what came over me. I told them I would ask you to get the money for me and that you were kind of like my bank,” I raised an eyebrow at him, my mouth a thin line of annoyance. He seemed to hear what it was he had said and backtracked, or at least attempted to. “No, that’s… not what I meant. I just…you don’t understand, Vic. There were twenty thousand dollars in that pot. I would have made more in that one night than I make in a year. You have to understand that I had to try… especially with a flush. My hand was a really good hand, Vic. It was just shit luck that Gio had a better hand.”

“Someone always has a better hand, Vito!” I yelled at him, throwing my hands up in the air. “Jesus, do you even know what kind of shitstorm you’ve gotten me into?”

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