Chapter 26

Emiliano

When we came to a stop in front of a bakery with a line out the door, Isabella groaned. “I can’t eat more food. Besides, if we stand in this line, we’ll miss sunset.”

“It would be criminal to bring you to Little Italy without getting the best cannoli you’ve ever tasted.”

I tugged her past the line.

“What are you doing? Em, we can’t cut.”

We came to a stop at the counter. As soon as Beatrice, one of the owners, saw us, her smile widened. “Emiliano.” She reached for a small white paper bag. “For you.”

She’d obviously gotten my text message.

“Beatrice, you’re the best.” I reached for the bag and handed it to Isabella before reaching for my wallet.

“No. Go.” She shooed us with a brush of her hand. “Can’t you see I’m busy.”

“I can’t—”

She smiled. “Next time you can pay.” Her gaze went to Isabella at my side. “I’m sure you two have plans. Go.”

“Gracias.”

“Prego. Go.”

“Does everyone flirt with you?” Isabella asked as we stepped outside.

“Beatrice is sixty years old if she’s a day.”

“That doesn’t mean she can’t flirt.” She opened the white bag. “Oh, those smell delicious.”

By the time we reached the parking garage, my willpower was failing. I opened Isabella’s car door but before she could sit, I pinned her against the car, my left arm caging her. She tipped her face upward, soft suede irises meeting mine as she nibbled on her lower lip.

With my other hand, I reached for her chin, freeing her lip. “Whenever I see you do that, it makes me want to bite your luscious lip to see how good it tastes.”

Her smile returned. “No biting.”

My grin quirked. “You don’t know. You might like it.”

She dropped the cannoli to the seat and lifted her arms around my neck. “I know I like your kisses.”

Fuck yeah.

Cupping her neck, I pulled her toward me until our lips met. She tasted of sunshine and garlic. When a soft moan came from her throat, I was ready to blow a wad.

Beyond our bubble, I heard the distinctive click of a cocking gun.

“In the car now.” My timbre changed. “Lock the doors.” Isabella looked confused. I shoved her into the car. In less than a second I shut the car door, hit the thumb safety on my Beretta, and then pointed my loaded gun toward the shadows. Twenty feet away, standing near a large concrete pylon, I saw the culprit. “Drop your gun, motherfucker.” With my arms straight, I walked toward him. Step by step, my boots echoed on the concrete as he remained in my sights.

The asshole couldn’t be over fifteen years old. He was shaking like a leaf. If he wasn’t careful, he’d shoot himself or possibly me. Even though I was his target, I had better things to do than take a bullet.

“Drop the gun now.” I was less than ten feet away.

Fuck. The darkening of his sweatpants let me know he pissed himself.

“Put the gun on the ground, fucker. I’m not going to say it again.”

He did as I said and stood straight, looking as if he might get sick.

“Now kick it toward me.”

“No hablo ingles,” he said with his hands in the air.

“Te voy a matarte.”

He kicked the gun and fell to his knees. “I was supposed to rob you.” Praise God. He miraculously learned the English language.

I walked closer, my barrel pointed at his head. “What’s your name?”

“Daniel. Don’t kill me.”

Fucker wasn’t in the position to make demands.

“Who told you to rob me?”

“The man on the street. He offered me a hundred dollars. I was supposed to bring your wallet and the girl’s purse back to him.”

“More specific, asshole. What’s the man’s name?”

“I don’t know.”

I took another step.

“I can’t say.”

“This Beretta is already cocked. All I need to do is pull the trigger and your brain will be splattered all over this garage.”

He closed his eyes as a tear ran down his cheek. “He goes by Manuel. Manual Lopez.”

Fucking common name.

“Where was he on the street?”

“We watched you walk out of the bakery on Cedar.”

The barrel of my gun made contact with his temple. “Daniel, tell Manuel Lopez that if I find him, he’s a dead man. If he tries to fuck with me again, he’s a dead man. Can you do that?”

“Sí. I’ll tell him.”

“If I see you again, you’re dead. Now get up and get the fuck out of here.”

I carefully picked up the Glock he’d kicked by pinching the barrel. Turning around, I saw my car and like a punch to the gut, remembered that Isabella was inside. Hurrying back, I popped the trunk and threw the Glock inside.

When I came around to the driver’s side door and peered in, Isabella was staring my direction, wide-eyed. I opened the door. “Are you all right?”

“Are you?”

I got in, closed the door, and reached for her hands. “I’m sorry if that scared you.”

“You went toward him.”

“That’s what I do.”

A smile slowly curled her lips as she reached down to the floor and lifted the paper bag. “I smashed the cannoli when I accidentally sat on them.”

Relief flooded my nervous system as I grinned. “You’re amazing. And the idea of eating them after your ass smashed them…” I wiggled my eyebrows.

A faint pink hue filled her cheeks. “I’m not the one who went after a shooter. Did you…? I didn’t hear a gunshot.”

I shook my head. “He’s alive. He was a kid, probably not even fifteen. Someone paid him to rob us. I sent a strong message back with him to his boss.”

She leaned her head back against the seat. “Maybe I should leave this part out of the tour when I talk to Mia.”

“Do you want to go back to her house or to Imperial Beach?”

“My tour isn’t over yet.” Her smile grew and glistened in her eyes.

“Then onto the sunset.”