Chapter Two

Celia

Four years ago

The door closes behind me with an ominous thud, telling me what I already know—my mother is pissed. I refuse to feel guilty for calling Carlo a fucker, especially when he is. As I walk away from his house a gust of wind slams into me—fuck, that’s cold. Everything I knew would happen had. This was a waste of time. I wish I was home in bed. It’s too cold to be up this early on a Saturday morning.

Almost a hundred feet up from the long driveway of the house, a large black SUV is idling. The rear windows are tinted completely black while the driver and passenger are smoky gray, so they won’t get a ticket. Whoever they are, they’re mafia. If there was any doubt the tinted windows clinched it. That and they were carefully out of shot of the cameras—that they know where the cameras are speaks volumes.

All mafia Carlo does business with comes to him—usually at his huge house. A house empty of anyone except him and sometimes my mother, when he allowed her to stay the night. Carlo got off on power plays, and showing off his home always made him feel powerful.

I check my watch, almost ten minutes to nine o’clock. They are waiting until they were right on time, well aware Carlo hated when people were late. Disappointment hits me—that means it isn’t one of the Sabatinis. The Sabatinis are pretty much the only mafia men I like.

Either Dominic or Tony would have made the day better. They were so nice, and neither one of them would allow me to walk home. It’s one of the ways I came to know them so well. If they saw me leaving Carlo’s, they always drove me wherever I needed to go, even if it made them late or pissed Carlo off. Every time I see them, I’m jealous Dominic has Tony for a father. How different would my life be if my father actually gave a shit about his kids and the woman who bore them?

I stop as I pass the SUV. The sound is barely loud enough to be heard over the wind. It’s one of those luxury SUVs so expensive the engine barely makes a sound. The only way you can tell it’s on is from the steam of the hot air coming out of the tailpipe. I hear it again. Oh no.

Frantically, I bang on the hood as I run to the driver’s door and knock on the window. “Turn the car off! There’s a kitten in the engine.”

Men are in both the driver and passenger seats. The driver is bursting out of a plain black suit, white shirt, and black tie. Tattoos run up his neck, and all over the back of his hands down to his fingers. Any other day of the week I would be running fast and far away from him. Passenger guy is the same level of scary. He’s so big his head nearly brushes across the hood of the car. His dirty blond hair and piercing blue eyes don’t miss a thing—definitely security. Definitely wearing a gun, probably two, and has no problem ending a problem his boss has with a bullet to the head.

The passenger says something to the driver. The driver doesn’t even look at me—he’s going to ignore me. Fuck this. I don’t knock, I bang on the window so hard my hand hurts in the thick woolen mittens I’m wearing. “Turn off the car, you fucking—”

“Maylshka.” Gravel and smoke hit me from above. “Is there a problem?”

I turn to find a wall of black, black suit, black shirt, black tie, wrapped in an elegant, long black coat. I’m well aware at five foot six I’m not all that tall, but I have to crane my neck to find yellow eyes glowing down at me. Yellow eyes? Gold and amber eyes I’ve seen, but nowhere except the cats I love have I have ever seen yellow as bright as in this man’s eyes.

Even with his spooky eyes, he’s gorgeous. Skin the color of warm honey is taut over hard lines and angles. A heavily lined forehead adds years to him, putting him in at least his thirties but could be even older. I’m guessing his nose has been broken and set at least twice—it doesn’t detract from his appearance in the slightest. He has cheekbones so sharp I wouldn’t dare touch them for fear of being cut. His jaw and chin are the kind of square I thought only existed in the old comic books my sister collects. He has a thin beard and it takes a second before I realize it’s there among the dark bristles—scar tissue. I recognize a gunshot when I see one. He’s been shot in the face. Mafia, Russian mafia, and I’m yelling at his men.

From across the hood of the SUV another voice says something low in Russian. I focus on that guy. The passenger—him I can deal with. The man in front of me, the solid wall of black…nope, can’t do it, can’t cope.

“Turn off the fucking car. There is a kitten in the engine. You’re going to kill it, dumbass!” I yell.

The words aren’t even out of my mouth before the SUV is off and the hood is popped. Passenger guy is opening the hood. I try to look inside. “Kitty, here. Kitty,” I call out, trying to see where the kitten is hiding. Another meow is my answer.

A clamp comes around my arm, his hand is huge. I have a feeling he could break my arm easily even through my coat with just one hand. That isn’t what unnerves me, though—it’s how even through my thick wool coat I’m hit with heat as I’m pulled back.

“Nyet, you will not burn yourself,” Gravel-Voice guy says. “Go sit inside. It’s too cold for you out here.”

Once again I’m struck dumb as I look up at him. God, six foot four, maybe even six foot five. I’ve stood in front of men as tall and wide as him, yet none have overwhelmed me the way he does.

Another meow, this one is followed by an angry hiss. I swing around to find passenger guy clutching a tiny black kitten. I’m at his side, holding out my hands for the kitten. He drops it into my hands. So small. “Oh no, baby, you’re burned. Are you okay? Don’t worry. I’ll fix you up, I promise.”

The vet clinic I work at is more than three miles away. I need to get moving. But the clamp is back, holding me in place.

“Where is your car?” Gravel-Voice guy asks.

Opening my coat, I place the kitten inside and zip it back up. “I don’t have one. Which means I have to move my ass to get to the vet clinic. It’s almost a forty-five-minute walk.”

The clamp propels me toward the back door. It opens but I stop. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to keep you from freezing to death. Get in.” It’s an order.

I’m annoyed I like it when usually I loathe being told what to do by anyone. It causes me to take a step back. He mutters something in Russian that sounds bad, then I’m up in his arms. Holy shit. He’s picked me up like I weigh nothing. I barely have time to enjoy it before he drops me on the back seat.

The back of the SUV is huge but with a man inside, it doesn’t feel that way. A ghost of a smile is on his face. He has to be Gravel-Voice’s brother or some kind of relation because he looks like him, maybe a few years younger. While he isn’t quite as big as Gravel-Voice, he’s still larger than I’m used to in close quarters.

“Privet, malyshka, such a pretty little thing you are.” His voice is smoky and rich but not as gravelly as the other guy’s.

Gravel-Voice growls at him and says something in Russian that causes the man to smile wickedly, wink at me then get out.

The car door on the other side stays open while the door on my side closes. Hey, what the hell? I go to open it only to find it locked. Their deep voices are low, yet I clearly hear them speaking Russian. Gravel-Voice goes to his maybe brother’s side. With a nod, the maybe brother and the guy who retrieved the kitten walk toward Carlo’s house. I check my watch—nine on the dot.

He lowers himself into the SUV I would have had to climb up into if he hadn’t put me in. He closes the door with barely a sound. An eyebrow goes up as yellow eyes run over me. “Where is the clinic, malyshka?”

I have no idea why I’m blushing. How is it so freaking hot in here? What does malyshka mean? A meow reminds me of what I’m doing in here with him. The address spills out of me in a rush.

The driver grunts, I guess that means he heard it or knows where it is.

“Seat belt. Safety, always,” he murmurs from low in his chest.

I’m all thumbs as I stretch the belt across me. Dang it, I pull off my mittens to get a grip. I can’t find the— Oh. His hands are on mine, taking the metal part for me. My stomach drops to the floor as electricity courses through me so strong it scares the hell out of me.

The kitten meows again, yanking me out of shock. I move the belt from across him. “It’s okay, baby. You’re going to be okay.”

“Are you so ferocious for all animals, or do you prefer cats?” A dark eyebrow is up as he studies me with…curiosity, or is it intent? Why would it be intent?

He shifts ever so slightly and all at once he’s too close. It doesn’t matter there’s at least five feet between us and the back of the SUV is large, he’s larger. He reminds me of a big cat; the energy around him is tense, as though he’s waiting to strike.

“I like all animals but prefer cats. Dogs are desperate for affection—they’ll do anything to be reassured they are loved. Cats are more honest and real. If they don’t like you then you know. There’s no guessing with cats. Some people think a cat has to be all over them, but sometimes they show you they like you by simply letting you be around them. Once you’ve earned their trust they are incredibly loyal.” Stop babbling, you weirdo. “Who are you?” The words fly out without any plan.

A smile, with only half of his thick lips. I wonder if they are as soft as they look. “I am Milos Levin. And you are?”

He pronounces it Milosh, and I have no idea why I’m blushing again. When he speaks Russian it’s fluid, yet when he speaks English there is barely a trace of an accent. Was English his first language? “Celia Parker. You’re also mafia. You left that part out.”

His smile deepens. “Is it so obvious? For Russians, we are Bratva.”

“Obvious you’ve killed people, probably with your bare hands? Yes. Also Carlo loves to make mafia come to him. The people whose asses he wants to kiss, he goes to them or meets them at his restaurant.”

Yellow glows down at me. “What do you know about mafia and people who kill with their bare hands, malyshka?”

“Carlo’s my sperm donor. He’s proud of what he is and loves to brag about all the shit he’s done to me and my little sister. We only exist for his ego and benefit. He’ll parade us around if he needs to look like a family man. The whole time we don’t live in his home or have his name, and if someone he wanted to impress asked if we were his, he denied us.” Stop babbling, stop it right now. Only I can’t—his eyes on me unnerve me completely.

“With my mom half-Filipino, we weren’t good enough to have his name. Because the mafia is filled with racist assholes. Never mind that most people have no idea we’re a quarter Filipino. Carlo did his best to wipe it out of our home—my mom wasn’t allowed to cook Filipino food or speak the language around us.”

Like every time I dare to let myself speak of Carlo, the bitterness threatens to consume me. “He told me today he’s not paying for me to go to college. Which means I can’t go at all.” Fuck, I wipe the tears that spill over. “He has the money. It’s not even his money I want, it’s my money. His mother left money for me and my sister for exactly this reason—so we could go to school and live our lives without depending on him. He brags constantly about how much money he has. But he won’t pay for me to go to school to become a veterinarian because it would be a waste when I’m only good to get married and have kids. Yet he also tells me he can’t find anyone who wants to marry me, so I’m useless to him. If I’m useless then let me go to school.”

I check on the kitten. He’s just staring up at me, unblinking. Huh, his eyes are yellow like Gravel-Voice—Milos. He’s calm for a kitten. Usually they meow on repeat until they get what they want, and they are always hungry.

“You are not able to attend university without your father’s help.” Is it a question?

Shaking my head, I sigh. “Sperm donor, not father,” I correct him. “No, if it were for anything else maybe, but the veterinarian program is hard. I’m dyslexic so studying is torture. Which means I can’t also handle an actual job while going to school like so many people do. The Pell Grant and the few thousand in scholarships I got aren’t enough for me to go the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign. And loans aren’t an option. It also isn’t his help—like I said, his mother left us money. If I had access to it, I could go.”

“There is no other access to the money? Wouldn’t the money be held away independently?”

I roll my eyes. “Please, he’s now underboss of the Outfit. The second most powerful man in Chicago. Before that he loved flashing his power. He had the money under his control before my grandmother was in the ground. Apparently he used the money already on that stupid huge house. It’s pathetic when it’s really just about trying to one-up Tony Sabatini. Something he knows deep down he can never do, bigger house or not. Tony Sabatini is not just a better capo than Carlo, he’s a better man, period. He’ll use and depend on Dominic while he resents Dominic is Tony’s son.”

“You know Tony and Dominic Sabatini?” An eyebrow goes up.

I’m blushing. “I’ve met them several times. They’re the only mafia men who are nice to me and my sister. Neither of them look through us the way most men do, as if they’re afraid by giving me a second of attention, I’ll suddenly find myself in love with them or something.”

I shrug. “Then there were the times I have to listen to Carlo rant when he’s drunk. You remind me of Tony Sabatini—it’s how I could tell you’ve killed before and have no problem with it…and probably will again. Carlo gets off on using Tony to clean up—” Shit. This is why I’m supposed to keep my mouth shut.

If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. The SUV has stopped. My door is opened by the silent driver. I undo my seat belt and slide out.

Rounding the car, I find Milos already at the front door, holding it open for me. I stop. “I appreciate the ride, but you don’t have to come in. Don’t you have the meeting with Carlo to get to?”

“Allow me to offer assistance where I am able. You will also need a ride home. My brother can handle the meeting.” His eyes are running over me, heating me so thoroughly I barely feel the twenty-four-degree weather.

It was his brother. He’s here with me when he should be with Carlo—Carlo who takes offense at the smallest slight. I’m drawn forward to him as if he were physically pulling me.

The moment I enter the clinic, I hear, “Celia, what are you doing here? You’re not supposed to work for another three hours— Oh, hello.” Darla is flushed as her eyes run over Milos. “Can I help you?”

I love Darla, but she’s such a slut. And I mean it in the nicest way possible. It’s how she refers to herself. She’s man crazy, forever flirting with every male who comes into the clinic.

“I am here for Celia and the kitten she saved from my vehicle.” He nods at me, stepping behind me. His hand is low on my back, urging me forward.

How the hell do I feel his touch when I’m wearing a shirt, a sweater, and a coat? I hold up the kitten. “Kitten, his fur is singed. He’s a little one too. Maybe four or five weeks. And he’s so quiet.”

She waves me back, her eyes on Milos. “Go on back, girly. Hank and Sue are in surgery with Elvis the Frenchie. They should be out in a half hour or so, but Belinda is free.”

“You work here?” The words rumble out of him.

I’m not sure why he makes it sound like I was keeping a secret from him. I nod. “Since I was sixteen. Every day after school I’m here. It’s very loosely an internship for me to get experience.”

I go into the first empty exam room, wondering where Belinda is. Unzipping my coat, I put the kitten into the bowl scale. Ah, he’s only a little over three ounces. Now that I get a good look at him he’s skinny, too skinny.

The heat is getting to me, I begin taking my coat off. Milos is behind me, his large hands on my shoulders, taking it from me. I can’t contain my shiver at his hands on me. Even though I’m blushing and hate it, my eyes are drawn up to his.

“You are still in school? How old are you?” More smoke, way too much gravel, the words come from his chest. It’s one of the differences that is always most striking between Italian men and American: American men’s voices come from their throat. Italian men—the ones in the mafia I encountered who grew up in old Italian families—their words come from their chest, deeper, fuller.

I had no idea Russian men were the same. I’ve never met a Russian before, at least not that I remember. Definitely not a man like Milos.

“Nineteen.” It’s a whisper. There is no visible response, yet there is a shift in the air. He’s withdrawing from me. I don’t dare tell him I just turned nineteen two months ago, a week before Christmas.

The kitten meows, reminding me why we’re here. It’s ridiculous. He isn’t—wasn’t interested in me. I’m too fat and now apparently too young. Men who are rich, powerful, and gorgeous like Milos Levin have a flock of women who are sexy rolling out of bed. Women are accessories to them, the same as the Patek Phillippe watch around his wrist I know for a fact costs more than two hundred thousand dollars.

Now I know why Carlo had claimed it was stupid to spend so much on a watch when it was so plain, there weren’t even diamonds on it. Men who spent that much on a watch weren’t interested in someone who is short and fat and constantly battling to stay a size eighteen. I’m not pretty enough to be an accessory.

Carlo was ordering my mother to put me on a diet every other month since I was nine years old. He was constantly moaning it was bad enough I was a girl—couldn’t I at least be pretty? No one other than my sister or nonna ever called me pretty. Once a boy called me okay, telling me he liked my long brown hair and gray eyes. How I was lucky my clear skin and complexion didn’t really need makeup. He admitted he was gay and was hoping I would be his pretend girlfriend. But no offense, he found someone skinnier than me. So Carlo was right…

Slamming down the thought of Carlo and his insults, I focus on the kitten. “Okay, let’s get a look at you, sweetie. Oh good, the burn isn’t as bad as it could be. You are so lucky. Ah, oops, you’re a girl.”

I run my hands gently over the kitten, watching her for any reaction of pain to my touch. A sigh of relief leaves me when she doesn’t meow in pain. Studying her, she’s pure black, not a spot of color on her.

I snag a stethoscope to listen to her lungs. Considering how small she is and how cold it is, she sounds good. Her eyes are slightly goopy with a slight crusting around one. Hm, she could have a virus.

“She is healthy?”

I’m surprised he seems to genuinely care. “Yes, I think so. She might have a virus with her eyes being this way. However, with her lungs sounding so good I’m hopeful it’s just the cold. I’ll need to watch her—or someone will.”

“You cannot keep her?” That eyebrow is up again.

Shaking my head, I sigh. I open the mini-fridge to get a prepared bottle of kitten formula out. Offering it to the kitten, I’m relieved when she begins sucking with gusto. The hungrier the better. “I wish. My little sister is allergic. I could keep her for a few weeks until she’s healthy and doesn’t need to eat every three to four hours, but I’ll have to find her a home. It’s a part of the reason I work here and volunteer at the cat rescue—to get my cat fix.”

“You will nurse her until she is old enough for me to take her home.” It’s not a question.

“You want her?” I can’t believe it.

A half-smile tugs at the scar on his cheek. The scar should even out his looks. He’s far too gorgeous for it to be fair. Except it doesn’t diminish his beauty in the slightest. “She crawled into my vehicle. It is meant to be. Russians, we are a superstitious lot. You cannot avoid what is meant to be. I have dogs for security, they are not pets. Just last week my brother suggested it was time I adopt a cat to keep me warm at night. For the cat to come into my life so soon after the suggestion means she is meant to be mine.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you would need a cat to keep you warm at night. There must be a dozen women willing to keep you warm.” Oh god, I blush as I realize what I said.

A grin that cannot be described as anything other than wicked flashes, then is gone far too quickly. “The women I allow into my bed are not allowed to sleep through the night or stay when it’s over.”

I’m saved from making an idiot of myself by Belinda. “Hi, Darla said you needed me? Hi, I’m, um, hi. Belinda.” She offers her hand to Milos. “How can I be of assistance?”

“Milos.”

She’s still holding his hand. Jealousy surges inside me. Belinda is beautiful. Tall, blonde, with legs that go on for days. If she weren’t so nice I would hate her guts. Right now, though, I’m hating the way Milos is smiling down at her.

“A kitten,” I say way too loud and sharply as I thrust the kitten still sucking on the bottle at Belinda. She’s a nurse with more than ten years of experience who stands in for Hank—the veterinarian who owns and runs the clinic. “She was in the engine of Milos’ SUV. I gave her a once-over, but if you could…”

“Of course. Tis the season, every year during the coldest time kittens go looking for somewhere warm to hide.” She finally lets go of his hand, and takes the kitten from me. “Hi, sweetie. How are you? Oh my goodness, hungry, aren’t you?”

I step back from the table to give her room. I’m too close to Milos, the fucker who not surprisingly loves blondes and smiles wide at them and… His eyes meet mine. Yellow glows so hot it sucks all the air from my lungs.

“Sit, malyshka, you appear heated.” It’s an order.

Normally I would argue anytime someone told me to do anything, except my legs are wobbly. I nearly fall into the lone chair in the room.

“Would you please X-ray the kitten to ensure there are no hidden issues?” Milos turns his attention to Belinda.

“She seems fine, but I understand your concern.” Cuddling the kitten close, she leaves the room.

“She’s single. If you want her number, I’m sure she’ll give it to you,” I mumble as I stare at the closed door.

He doesn’t say anything, yet I feel his eyes on me as heavy as a touch. I’m so freaking hot I want to take off my sweater. I don’t dare. The shirt underneath is old and too tight. I’m only wearing it because it was the one of the few clean ones I had.

I give in and look up. His smile is barely there. It isn’t mocking the way I’m used to seeing on a man’s face.

“I have no desire to ask for her number. However, I will need yours. In order to check up on the kitten while you have her. Then you will call me when she’s ready.” His large hand goes into his inner coat pocket. The phone is sleek, black, expensive like him.

Shrugging, I dig into my jeans pocket to pull out my embarrassing old flip phone. I give him my number. Immediately, a text comes through.

You will save my number as Milos. I am saving your number as kotyonok, Russian for kitten. Not for the kitten but for the way you hiss and swipe, then purr with pleasure when you have a kitten in your arms.

I blush again. God, Belinda didn’t blush. I swear I don’t usually blush this much. Except a few times around Dominic and Tony Sabatini, they were so— “You know Tony and Dominic?”

A frown and both eyebrows go up. “Tony and Dominic were my entry into the partnership I formed with the Outfit. How well do you know them? Are you attracted to them?” The question is a warning.

The approval of the Sabatini’s adds another layer to him. Tony and Dominic were extremely selective of who they did business with. If they didn’t respect the person, it didn’t matter how much money could be made they didn’t deal with them. His question causes another blush, it’s embarrassing. I swear until someone mentioned them I never thought of the crush I developed, then died long ago.

“You are…to both of them.” Menace vibrates from him.

I shake my head. “It was a middle school crush thing. Tony’s old enough to be my grandfather or close, and Dominic would never…” I shrug defensively. “Okay, yes. I did wonder if maybe, but I grew out of it. They’re too…”

“Too what?” He growls.

Holy crap, he actually growled like an angry dog. Fear sends the words spilling from me to placate him. “Too mafia, too gorgeous to be interested in me, too much. Someone like me doesn’t even register to men like them. And in the end I was relieved nothing could or would come of it.”

“Relieved how?” The menace is finally gone, yet he’s still tightly coiled, as if he could strike at any moment.

“I don’t want anything to do with that world. Guns, money, death. I want boring, kittens, books.”

For some reason it doesn’t seem like he likes that answer. His phone rings, he answers it. I would never have thought Russian was a sexy language.

Ending the call, he slides the phone back into the inner pocket. “Was Russian your first language? You have only a trace of an accent when you speak English, but you also speak carefully, like many of us who grew up speaking another language, to select the right word in English.”

He nods. “Russian was my first language. While I was born here in Chicago, my father was adamant his children were raised speaking Russian. You were raised on Italian?”

I’m shocked when he asks the question in Italian. I nod. “On Carlo’s orders, it’s a mafia thing. You speak Italian?”

Another nod, a genuine smile causes my stomach to flip a dozen times. Wow, his smile is lethal to all my beliefs that I was immune to a gorgeous man. “I found it helps dealing with the Outfit. They are unaware. I am asking you not to tell anyone.”

I blush at the honor of him telling me. “I won’t tell anyone—especially Carlo. Tony and Dominic wouldn’t work with you if they didn’t respect and have a certain level of trust with you.”

He nods. “They had their terms, in the end it was worth it.”

I’m confused.

“Their condition to give up our sex trafficking and work that made us so much of our money—my father was not happy. It took some talking to get him to agree.”

The recoil at his words isn’t something I can hide. He sees it and steps toward me. I take two steps back. “Trafficking is disgusting. Drugs, liquor, and gambling are taking advantage of a weakness already there. Stealing women and forcing them to fuck or die is horrific. You used them until there was nothing left, then threw them away like trash. Did you even throw them away, or did you kill them?”

His eyes go wide. Whatever he was going to say is lost when Belinda reenters the room.

“Okay, clean health report for this one.” Belinda smiles as she offers the kitten to me.

I shake my head. “I need to go home and get ready for work. Can you watch her for me until I get back?”

“Sure.”

Leaving the room, I ignore Milos. As far as I’m concerned, he no longer exists. Walking into the front reception area, I tell Darla I’ll be back. I open the door to the clinic and bypass the SUV still in front.

Shit, after the time in the warm building, it feels even colder. It was twenty-four degrees when I left my house this morning, I can’t help wondering if it’s dropped a few degrees.

“Stop. I will see you home. Get in.” His hand is around my arm.

I try to tear away but it’s like fighting with steel. “Fuck you, go away.”

Goddamnit, he lifts me up and tosses me into the back of the SUV. He slams the door closed behind me. I try to open the door to find it already locked. “Let me out, you fucker.”

“You are a mouthy little brat. I thought all mafia raised their daughters to be meek, mild, and sweet.” He’s annoyed.

Fuck him, he would prefer someone who didn’t talk back. Thank god that isn’t me. “I was raised by my grandmother whose husband treated her so badly for so long, she celebrated his death. She didn’t want me to just lay there and take it the way she had to. Nonna raised me the same way she raised her son—not to take shit from anyone.”

“Your nonna exceeded herself. Behave. I’m taking you home, then you need not worry I will ever see you again. You can flee into your little fortress of naivete where everyone who doesn’t do what you want is the bad guy. I am the villain in every story; why should yours be any different?” His voice is colder than the wind outside. “Put your seat belt on.”

It’s a slap in the face—naïve is another word for young and stupid. That’s why he doesn’t want anything to do with me. It doesn’t matter my father’s underboss of the Outfit. I’m a bastard, painfully poor, and fat—the man is so far out of my league it’s laughable for him to care what I thought of him. Why would he want to see me again?

I sit up and put my seat belt on. Keeping my face out the window.

“Your address, malyshka.”

I give it to him.

We’re almost home when I give in to what I’ve wanted to know since he first said it. “What does malyshka mean?”

“Little one, basically baby.” He’s bored.

“Like I thought, a generic name for women who come and go to men like you.” The SUV stops outside my house. I get out, and I can’t hold back from slamming the door. Walking inside, I’m proud of myself for not looking back, especially when I felt his eyes on me the whole way. I really wish it was one of the Sabatinis I’d run into instead.