Not Mine to Keep: Chapter 5

Parked down the street from Calliope’s house, I grabbed my phone to send Hudson a quick update. I hated keeping my brothers and sister in the dark, but it was for their own benefit right now.

Me: I think she believed me.

Hudson: And that means?

Me: That I’m probably getting hitched once we convince Armani.

Hudson: As long as Rocco doesn’t kill you for stealing his shot at marrying into the DiMaggio family. That kind of alliance would make his family truly unstoppable.

Me: I know, I know.

I shook off the anger at that idea as best I could. I was still working to wrap my head around this fucked-up alternate reality I currently found myself living in.

Me: But we need Rocco to try and come after me. Remember? I’m the bait to draw that motherfucker out from the dark hole he’s been hiding in and break the truce his father made with my family.

Before he could respond with any cautious warnings, I fired off another message.

Me: I received the file you sent me.

Hudson: You really plan to show her that? It’s gory. I mean, it’s the things nightmares are made of. Fuck, I didn’t sleep at all last night after compiling it for you.

I peered over at the passenger seat, which had the documents Hudson had emailed me inside an envelope, sitting beneath my black ball cap. I’d printed all twenty-five pages and then erased any evidence I’d ever used the hotel’s printer.

Me: If she doesn’t either run or choose me, then she needs to know the truth about the man her father’s going to force her to marry. This should convince her. Well, as long as she believes I didn’t just print the script for a horror film. Going to see her now.

I checked the time. Two minutes to 0800 hours. When I’d driven by her house five minutes ago, I’d clocked her father’s “guard” parked two houses down and fast asleep. Some protection.

Hudson: Keep me posted. I assume if she goes through with the “tying the knot” plan, you’re flying commercial to Italy, so your family doesn’t find out?

I groaned at the thought, but I had no choice.

Me: Unfortunately. And I’ll need to make a stop first. Swing by The League leader’s place in Sicily.

Hudson: Emilia Calibrisi’s? Well, she’s married to an Irishman now. Billionaire family. The McGregors. Guess she’s not as crazy about keeping her bloodline pure Italian like Armani. But you think she’ll just let you walk up to her door and ring the bell? You don’t actually know her, and you can’t ask your old man to call first since he’s in the dark about your plan.

Me: I’ll figure it out. I need her on board or this whole plan falls apart before it starts.

Hudson: Pretty sure you need your bride to accept your proposal first.

Me: You’re loving that part of this, aren’t you?

Hudson: Better you than me. But none of us ever thought we’d see the day you’d be married, so yeah, it’s . . . crazy, to say the least.

Me: And you’re one to talk? You’re as bad as me on the whole bachelorhood thing.

Hudson: No one is at your level when it comes to women, man. Give me a break.

Me: Yeah, yeah. Well, this whole thing is an assignment. Temporary. I’ll be single again soon enough. I won’t be treating her like she’s actually mine.

Hudson: I need to make coffee before we start discussing your sex life with your future wife. Give me a minute.

Me: Fuck off, I’m going dark now. Be in touch.

I pocketed my phone, slid my hat on backward, then snatched the file and made my way down a side street to slip into her backyard unseen. Her guard may have been asleep, but I didn’t need him waking at the wrong time and finding me on her doorstep. Or hell, finding myself on the other side of Mr. Crabby’s shotgun.

I’d thought that was her nickname for him, but when I did a quick background check on her neighbors at 0400 hours, unable to sleep, I’d discovered that was his actual name. Just thought she was being cute.

She is cute. Shit. I could not think about this woman in any way other than as an assignment. Someone to save. And a way to get justice for Constantine and to prevent Rocco’s family from being so powerful they could unleash hell on the world. Period.

Once at her back door, I knocked twice, and I was surprised she didn’t waste time in opening up. Prompt. I liked it. What I didn’t like was that when she swung open the door, she was in skintight black yoga pants and a white tank top, wearing an adorable scowl and a sexy-as-fuck messy bun.

“Hi.” She folded her arms, using her hip to keep the door propped open, blocking my path with her gorgeous figure.

“Glad to see you’re dressed this time.” Not the morning greeting I’d planned to go with, but this woman had an uncanny ability to trip me up when talking.

You’re off-limits. I can’t have you. So of course, I want you. I was addicted to the chase, and it’d been forever and a day since the chase involved a woman and not a criminal. That’s all it is, though. My addiction to the hunt, I rationalized. Oh, how my therapist would be proud at my self-reflection. She was going to have a field day with this whole situation in our next session. Well, I couldn’t exactly tell her why or who I was marrying, but I’d learned to be creative in our conversations to hide the truth.

“How much of me did you see last night?” Calliope-Callie—I was still uncertain what to call her, even in my head—waited for my answer, scrutinizing me.

No puffy eyes from a night of crying that I could tell. In fact, she looked well rested. But her casual attitude concerned me. If she wasn’t even remotely afraid of me, I’d need to keep a better eye on her.

I lifted a brow. “Truth?”

“That’d be ideal.” Damn the sexy, just-woke-up, morning rasp that had my cock twitching beneath my jeans.

“Panties, which are basically like bikini bottoms, right?” I shrugged, then walked my focus down from her face to her tank top that accentuated the fullness of her breasts. “Maybe a hint of a bit more, too.” Way more than a hint. I saw her tits. Those perky nipples. And damn . . .

“Well, you, uh . . . you certainly look different today.” The stumbling of her words was unexpected, and I forced myself to meet her eyes again and push away thoughts of her nearly naked body from last night. “More military-like than billionaire vigilante in the jeans, black tee, sneakers, and backward hat.”

I laughed. Actually fucking laughed. What the hell? “You ready to talk?” I had to cut to it before this woman cut through me. Shed a few layers of whatever armor I’d worn so damn well that I’d thought I was invincible for decades. Because somehow her slight tease coupled with that smile was more dangerous than the predator I’d hunted last week in Central Park. I’d scared the bastard enough that he’d turned himself in to the police, preferring to deal with them than the likes of me.

“Tongue-tied or lost in thought?” When I didn’t respond, she let her arms drop and tossed out, “I’m going for a walk. We can talk when I get back. I need to clear my head.”

“You seem shockingly not tense to me. Seems to me you’re clear enough.” I shoved the envelope her way, remembering it was in my hand, but she only examined it with mild disinterest.

“My aunt is always reciting the saying, ‘Confidence in one hand and coffee in the other.’ Well, I’m faking confidence right now because I already had my coffee. But in truth, I’m far from clear minded.”

I nudged the envelope at her again, doing my best to stay focused on the mission. “This is information on the man your father plans to have you marry. I want you to look it over.”

She took it, shifted to the side, and tossed it somewhere, then faced me.

“I’ll walk with you,” I said, making up my mind she shouldn’t be alone since her guard was auditioning for the role of Sleeping Beauty outside.

“I don’t walk with people I do like, let alone someone I don’t.” She shrugged. “Walking is my ‘me’ time. I’m not sharing that with you.”

“You don’t know me well enough not to like me. You just don’t like what I told you last night, and with good reason,” I countered, not ready to give up. I wasn’t one to wave a white flag and surrender. Hell, rejection would only push me forward even more.

She stepped out onto the small porch, forcing me to back up so we didn’t collide. After locking the door, she pocketed a single key on the side of her yoga pants before maneuvering around me to go down the three steps. “Fine, walk with me.”

“Let me guess . . . but don’t talk?”

“That’d be ideal.” She motioned me along. “Come on, follow me. I know a way to give us a head start before my father’s men catch up and wonder who you are.”

“Your shadow is asleep right now. We’re safe, but I’ll let you lead the way.” As long as she didn’t put up a fight about my keeping her company, I was good.

A few minutes later, she was the one to break the silence she’d supposedly wanted. “Bicentennial Park is just ahead. There’s a greenway there I like to walk. Has a nice view of Harpeth River. And I know a path no one ever takes. Always empty.”

“You shouldn’t be alone on pathways that are usually empty. It’s not safe.” I hated the idea of her traipsing through some wooded area alone. What was she thinking?

She abruptly stopped, and I nearly slammed into her since I’d been right on her ass, keeping up with her fast pace. “The place is safe, I promise. Been going there for years.”

Facing me, Little Miss Tennessee Whiskey boldly flicked the brim of my hat to better see my eyes, since on our speedwalk I’d swiveled the cap around to shield myself from the morning sun.

But whatever words she’d planned to hiss at me (and based on those narrowed eyes, they wouldn’t be delivered with honey) didn’t come.

“Tongue-tied, sweetheart?” The side of my lip hitched so I could flash her a hint of my signature cocky smile. Usually worked wonders. Not on her.

The woman sent me daggers and an adorable scowl back. But then her shoulders fell, defenses coming down a touch, and she let the slight breeze carry her soft tone my way as she shared, “Struggling to believe this is my life right now. Still feels like I’m dreaming.”

I almost palmed her cheek when I lost sight of her eyes to the pavement. “Does this mean we’re talking while walking now?”

“No,” she said without peering at me, and she abruptly turned.

I mindlessly snatched her arm and brought my mouth down over her ear. “You’re not dreaming. Dreams are nice.” I let my breath hit the shell of her lobe as I added, “What you’re experiencing is a nightmare.” Maybe she needed a little fear to convince her to get on board?

She tugged her arm free from my grasp, shook her body as if a chill had rocked through her, then began walking.

It took her another fifteen minutes to speak, but she was the one to break first. “Do you do what you do because of what happened?” She stopped walking, hanging back beneath a thick tree with sprawling branches. A few looked like they might snap and take her out, and I couldn’t have that happening.

I grumbled under my breath, “What do you mean, ‘because of what happened’?” I reached for her hand, laced our fingers together, and guided her away from the overhanging branches.

She looked down at our clasped hands, and I quickly pulled away. “Your sister. I may have done more research on you last night when I couldn’t sleep. She was murdered about fourteen years ago, and you and your brothers were arrested for her killer’s murder, but then you were all let go.”

Yeah, we made a deal to trade in our souls for our freedom. I locked my arms across my chest, growing tense at the conversation. “In part, yes, I do what I do because of Bianca’s death.”

“And her killer? What happened to him?” She copied my move, folding her arms.

“What do you think happened?” The words sliced like a blade through the air, my anger toward the loss of Enzo’s twin catching up with me whenever I thought about it.

I spied the movement in her throat as she swallowed. “So you did kill him?”

“I had a hand in her murderer’s death, yes.” Story for another day. Or for never. “What else did you discover in your Wikipedia search of me and my life?” I’d dug through the details of her life all night. Hacked. Poked. Prodded. Knew almost everything about her I could find online, right down to discovering the deleted photos of her old boyfriends from her Instagram profile, post breakups.

From what I could tell, she hadn’t dated since she’d moved out of her ex-boyfriend’s home last year, which was right before Armani had come into her life. I didn’t blame her if he’d been secretly trying to set her up and she didn’t want to risk accidentally falling for one of his plants.

Since the photos of her and that bartender—I’d identified him as Braden Davis—remained on her Insta and Facebook, I had to assume they were only friends like she’d said. Not that it mattered. He was a veteran, and I hadn’t been able to find a reason to dislike him other than the way he’d looked longingly at my future wife last night.

Wife. Temporary. Not real. Well, just under the eyes of the law and God if the plan worked out. So it would technically be real.

My stomach banded tight, like I’d just done a thousand sit-ups. What was this feeling? Foreboding? Panic?

“You didn’t lie about serving in the military. Army Ranger.” She pulled me free from my thoughts. “Parents are from Sicily. You started school in New York when moving here at eight. And your family has a lucrative business. Nothing I could find on your supposed side gigs, though.”

“We don’t exactly take ads out in the newspaper for jobs,” I shot out, forgetting I wouldn’t win this woman over by being a dick. “Anything else interesting about me?”

“The fact you held my hair back last night doesn’t seem to be a playboy-like thing to do. Probably should say thank you for that.”

“Get the feeling one isn’t coming.”

“Not sure if I can trust you yet. Still on the fence.”

“I need you to hurry up and get off that fence.” I huffed out a semi-exasperated breath, the word she’d called me just now registering. “And playboy, huh?”

She stepped a touch closer to me, her eyes meeting mine like a dare. “You date a lot.”

“I don’t date,” I grunted.

“Okay, sleep around.”

I mulled over what to say to that. It was hard to defend the truth in who I was and how I lived my life if I said it aloud, which was why I rarely did when my shrink tried to push me to open up. It’s not like I had a heart to give anyone anyway, so why waste a woman’s time? “Maybe I—” I let my words go when I spotted a flash of movement in the distance. Not just a flash . . . but two shadowy figures were watching us from behind a bank of trees. It wasn’t the guard who’d been parked out by her place, that was for sure.

It’d been a relatively quiet morning while on our walk so far. Not many people out. Most probably on their way to church. So whoever was playing hide-and-seek behind the trees would soon make their move.

I focused back on her and gently snatched the sides of her arms. “Do you walk every Sunday morning around this time? Always in this park?” Why the hell had I left my sidearm locked in the rental?

“Yeah.” Her eyes went wide. “Why?”

“Someone, other than your guards, knows of your routine. They’re here for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Probably someone who doesn’t want Armani to have an heir,” I snapped out, gearing up for an impending fight. I pointed to the tree with those dangling arms for branches I hadn’t been a fan of before, but now I needed her to . . . “Get behind the tree,” I finished aloud. “And get down.”

She blinked in shock, remaining frozen in place instead of moving like I needed her to do. I looked over her head, realizing the shadows had morphed into two hooded men who were coming in hot and fast.

“Go.” I unhanded her, tossed my hat, and cracked my neck, spying knives in their hands instead of firearms. They wanted a quiet kill. I can work with that. When she’d yet to get her ass moving, I gritted out, “Just do what I say, and take cover. Now, dammit.”