Series: Chicago Sin Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“Don’t. Armando, when are you going to trust me? I’m not going anywhere. I’m just going back to sleep.”
He yanks open my drawer and pulls out a pair of my tights again. “I don’t trust you, okay? I don’t. Trust. Believe me when I say tying you up is better than what I’d have to do to just leave my message and walk away. There’d be no coming back from that.”
His words sting. He can fuck me but not trust me.
“You won’t come back from tying me up again either,” I warn. I look around for a weapon. When I don’t see a good one, I pick up the lamp. “I will fight you.” I lift it up like I’m going to bash him with it. I probably couldn’t bring myself to use it, especially because after seeing him fight in my shop, I know my chances of winning any battle with him are miniscule. And I’d probably get hurt— ah.
I remember his weak spot. “You’d have to hurt me.” That would bother him. It’s against his personal code.
Nothing changes in his face, and yet I somehow know I’ve won because he moves again, dropping the tights into the drawer and looking around for his keys. “Put the lamp down. Get in that bed.” It’s a sharp command.
I don’t move.
His phone rings again. He looks at the screen, expression grim. “This is Armando….Yes, sir. Yeah, I already heard… No, I’m not in the vicinity, but I can be there in twenty minutes…. Okay, I’m coming now.”
When he hangs up, he points a finger at me. “In the bed before I change my mind. I’m taking your phone and your iPad. If you open that front door, I will know, and there will be hell to pay when I get back. I’m saying this for your safety. Capisce?”
My heart pounds, but my ridiculous body is turned on by his bossiness. I climb in the bed, pleased with myself for successfully negotiating my freedom. If you count the sovereignty of my hands as freedom.
“What happened?” I ask, even though I know he won’t tell me.
“Go back to sleep, Flowers.”
“You can take the van,” I offer. “Or I could drive you.”
“I’m fine.” His statement is firm, and I know there is no arguing. “What happens in my life can’t involve you. Period.”
I roll my eyes and wait, sitting up in bed, watching him leave. He starts out the door then comes back in, looking at me.
“Hey, listen…”
I wait.
“If I’m not back by morning, you can leave. Keep your mouth shut and go about your business like you never knew me. Okay?”
I stare at him, ice sluicing through my veins.
When I don’t respond, he adds, “I mean it, Hannah. You never knew me. Never saw me. Nothing. Got it?”
He thinks there’s a chance he might not come back. What does that mean? That he’ll be dead? Or back in prison?
What in the hell is happening?
I’m suddenly terrified for him, but there’s nothing to be said or done because he’s already gone.
I sit in the lamp-light for a long time, my heart pounding for him.
Armando. Shit!
Why does it feel like life or death for me, too? I don’t want to care this much. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not even a friend. He’s not anything. And yet I’m already fully invested. Same as ever—falling too fast. Too hard. Too intensely.
But knowing that doesn’t change this crashing sensation all around me. Armando is mixed up in something bad. And I really don’t want him to die.
But this is my reality if there is to be anything with this man. He’s in the mafia. I know this. I can’t ignore this. He is who he is, and I’m just a girl who owns a flower shop.
There’s a wall built around him made from bricks of traditions, rules, dictates from people more powerful than he. It’s a den of sins he lives in, and no matter how much I’m enjoying this little game of playing house with him, I need to remember my reality.
What if he doesn’t come back?
What if he does come back?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Armando
Mother. Fucker.
My whole body’s ice cold as I get out of the Uber in front of my apartment building. Four squad cars and an ambulance block the road, lights flashing. Cops crawl all over the place. I hold my hands in the air as I approach.
“I’m Armando Rossi, the guy whose apartment was shot up,” I tell the first cop who spots me.
“All right.” He speaks into his comm unit. “I’ve got the victim down here.” He listens to the answer. “Yeah, I’ll bring him up.” He eyes me suspiciously. “You have any weapons on you?”
I keep my hands in the air. “No, sir.”
He pats me down to be sure then says, “Come with me.”