THE ENFORCER (The Gafanelli Mob #4)

3. About Time

About Time

DELILAH

I want the alcohol more than my next breath, but I need the air more.

I burst out of the back door of the building to The Sweet Spot, the cool Bay air hitting me hard. My goddamned demons hit even harder, and through the chill of an early spring evening, the remnants of winter’s winds whip against my skin, waking every single sense I possess, one by one.

I can’t breathe. Can’t think. At least not about anything but yesterday. The fear I felt outside of my daughter’s school is still fresh in my mind, and at random intervals throughout the day, my stomach retched, my body reacting at the thought of what might have been.

Even a gallon and half of ice cream couldn’t cool the fire furling under my skin. For most of my Saturday, I hid from the world under a pile of blankets and several sappy episodes of “This Is Us.” Sometime around sunset, I emerged out of my sugar-coma, dragged myself—stomach full of cream—to my shop where I baked, breaded and burned my fingers damn near to the bone.

I rip my hair from the bun that sits atop my head, letting my brunette hair fall past my shoulders. The street is silent this time of night. The quiet is more like a roar, and as new tears start to fall down my face, I let them run, my mascara running with it, black streaks decorating my face.

I don’t care. I let them fall down.

My employees are gone for the night, and in the aftermath of a day filled with emotion, I let the anger spill out of my eyes and onto the cold ground. The black asphalt in the parking lot behind my cupcake shop overlooks the hills and in a place where the horizon is filled with houses as far as the eye can see, I feel more alone than ever.

Solitude wraps itself around my shoulders, and as I stalk back into the empty building, making my way through the stockroom, a soft rustle outside my door makes me stop in my tracks.

My breath catches. I listen closer, leaning towards the doorway. The walls seem to whisper as the wind outside the store wails, crying down the sides of the building. I sigh, releasing a long breath, beginning to walk again to the front of the store.

I don’t hear the soft scuff of a shoe against the floor until it’s too late.

The touch on my shoulder is soft, a caress almost. It makes me whirl on my feet, and the gasp I release from my lips is nothing but a scream trapped in my throat as I turn to see a set of green eyes glaring in my direction, a mass of dark hair framing a face seemingly chiseled out of stone.

I stumble backwards, my body falling into the closed curtain. Thick fabric and phantom hands entangle my body, holding me and I flail at both, my fists beating against skin and silk. But the hands are too quick for me. Fingers grip my arms and shoulders, spinning me, and before I can say another word, my lips are clasped shut behind a calloused palm, the soft smell of men’s cologne overwhelming my senses.

I whimper, but it’s no use.

I am trapped. And the knowledge makes me claw. My fingernails break into skin, and as I pull at the fingers over my face, a voice, low and rumbling, ruffles the strands of my hair, puffing slowly over my skin.

“Stop. Stop fighting,” the voice exhales. My chest heaves. Trapped front to back between a man’s torso and locked forearm, my mind goes into panic mode. The panic turns into a frenzy when the voice calls out louder, its reminiscent tone striking some small chord within me.

He breathes my name. “Delilah.”

I mumble, fighting for breath. His hand releases my mouth, moving ever so slowly. I lick my dry lips, my tongue searching for the syllables. “Who…” I swallow, my voice gasping. “Who—who are you?”

“What would be better?” he responds, his words a molten flame, “The ugly truth? Or a pretty lie?” He releases me, stepping back. “Knowing you, I’d almost say I have a better chance with the lie. But then again, wasn’t your job once built on exposing them?”

I turn, still in his arms, and take a deep breath. The fingers that hold me drop, and as I blink slowly, the face in front of me comes into focus, the stranger’s strong features coming into light with every agonizing second that passes.

My heart beats double fast, my throat growing dry. I wrap a hand around my neck, still feeling the warmth of his fingers. My body goes numb.

“Is it…?” I look closer, squinting. “It is you. What the hell are you doing here?” My voice feels small. I know his answer…even before he says it. His face is permanently imprinted on my brain.

The dark-haired man nods. “You were expecting the Easter Bunny?”

His eyes hold my own. His voice holds something entirely different, and as he glares at me, his green eyes glowing under the muted light, I find a ravenous look in his emerald irises, a subdued hunger that makes me shudder, sending chills running up and down my spine.

He looks…hungry. And I’m the meal.

I squeeze my fingers together, my stare slanting in his direction. I search for a weapon in his hands and find none. My own hands ball into fists, the digits tightening hard enough to throb. I exhale the question on a shaky breath. “The Easter Bunny wouldn’t attack me in the middle of the night.” I let my gaze peruse his body. “You don’t look homeless. But then again looks are deceiving.” I cut my eyes at the shadowy figure in front of me. “With you, they always were. Are you here because you need money? Fell on hard times? Are you here to rob me?”

He blinks, his eyelids moving fast. “What? God, no. No, I came here to talk.” He glances at his hands, now marked with red welts. “Guess that’s out the window now.”

I back up, my eyes still searching for the exit. I still don’t know if I trust him. My stomach still twists at the sight of Javier Mondello. A whole fifteen years later. Green-eyed and gorgeous, his dark hair curling down into his eyes. My pulse flutters, creating a dizzying effect under my skin. I bite my lip, fighting to maintain control.

This blast from the past is like a bomb, and I’m too close to the strike radius. My mind searches for answers and comes up empty. I keep my distance, backing away.

“What on Earth could you want to talk about? How did you even find me?”

“I followed the yellow-brick road.” His eyebrows raise. “And besides getting scratched the hell up?” He grimaces, his hands pushing the fabric of a long-sleeved shirt up his forearms. The fabric is just as black as his hair and dark brows, the texture just as thick. Criss-crossed veins pulse beneath his tanned skin, and I can practically see them pulsating. His skin seems alive, the air between us almost crackling from the electricity.

The room is charged when he says, “Looking for you, actually.”

I frown, and he points. “Yeah, that’s exactly the reaction the Bureau gave me. Took me another ten minutes before I could actually convince them that coming here was worth a damn.” He examines a cut on his wrist. “If you ask me, I should have asked for more money.”

My bottom lip falls to my chin. My head starts to pound in beat with the pulse of Javi’s bronzed body, and I search his tall frame for cues, taking in each bit of him. The dark jeans. The black shirt. A jaw sharp enough to cut glass…and no badge. Not a single sign of identification on him.

He looks just as dangerous as the day I met him. It’s my turn to raise a brow. I lean back. “The FBI? You work for the FBI?”

He nearly grins. “Don’t look so surprised.”

I scoff. “I can’t say that I’m not. I always knew you’d end up with the Feds. Though when I thought of you with them, I imagined you’d be in handcuffs, not carrying them.” I note the bulge in his pocket, a circular ring that I assume must be a pair. I don’t let my eyes stray any farther. I shift on my feet, feeling small next to his tall frame. My gaze continues to roam over the rest of him. “Where’s your ID?”

He doesn’t blink. He reaches into his back pocket, brandishing a black wallet. The man on the badge is him, alright, but three more inches of ink black hair and a beard make a world of difference. The person in front of me is a totally separate one.

The real life version has eyes that are hard, and unlike the young man with the crooked smile in the picture, this older edition wears none. The fine lines on his face are hardened by his frown, and I fight a shiver, remembering the grin I once knew the one that used to dance constantly on his lips. Over his teeth. Against my skin.

My breathing starts to quicken. I swallow.

“What could the FBI want with me?” My voice quivers over each word as I ignore Javi’s last scathing ones, the sarcasm dripping from his lips, tinted with disdain.

I watch his green eyes blaze. “In the short form? Everything. But they’ll settle for what you know about the Gafanellis.” He takes a step closer, his eyes inspecting me. “Remember them? A little crime family you used to write about?”

“Back when I was a journalist, you mean,” I interrupt, my voice turning cold. “I don’t know how you know that…but I’m not involved in that life anymore.”

“No, you aren’t.” His next step echoes loudly, his body moving nearer than it should. His hunkering frame crowds me. “But your sister is. Or at least she was before she disappeared. Back when she was a lawyer hired to defend New York Senator Robert Fletcher. Back when she almost failed to do so.”

My heart beats hard. I look up at the green-eyed giant, glaring. “My sister is my business. And what I do or don’t do is none of yours. Excuse me.”

I turn on him, heading towards the front of the store. My skin prickles as I hear his steps follow. I open the front door and point out of it, my finger sticking in the direction of the street. I slump against the doorframe, afraid that I will fall without it.

I can barely stand straight when he’s looking at me like that. Fifteen years have done nothing to soften his piercing gaze.

“I’d say it’s been a pleasure having you here, but…that would be a lie.” I plaster on a fake smile. “Thank you, Javi. Thank you for scaring the s**t out of me and making me even more uncomfortable in my own skin. Thank you for showing up unexpectedly on my doorstep after fifteen years of silence and asking me for a favor before even saying ‘Hello.’ Thank you for reminding me that I want nothing to do with you. Thank you…and please do not come again.”

The face looking back at me hints at nothing. If it weren’t for the darkening of his gem-like eyes, I’d think he hadn’t heard me. Because he doesn’t move. And when he does, it’s like the Earth tilts the wrong way on its axis, the ground beneath my feet shifting to break my equilibrium, ready to bring me tumbling down.

I’m stuck to the floor. My feet won’t budge, and neither will anything else as Javi languidly walks towards me, his eyes fixed on my face, his gaze unblinking—unbelievably hot. He stops within arm’s length of me and stares. His breath is minty, a breeze across my face as it blows, and for a second, I think he’s going to touch me.

God help me, a part of me wants him to. I inhale deeply, taking in his dark citrus scent. My head swims as he speaks, the sound low.

“Trust me,” he growls, “this is business. Not personal,” he finishes. “Four years ago, when you were a journalist, you wrote about a man named Marco Morelli. Three years ago, that man went to prison. He was the Gafanellis ‘Enforcer,’ their key hitman. And your article, your family…” He trails off, his voice dipping in octave. “They helped put him there. Now the Gafanelli family is back, bolder than ever. And so is a new Enforcer.” His eyes search my face. “Do you really think you’re safe from his replacement?

He hands me a card, his fingers brushing mine.

“You give me a call when you want to talk about it.”

And then he leaves, stalking out of the door past me, his skin and hair and hard torso sweeping against my outstretched hand. I glare at his retreating back, wanting to call out to him. Needing to. But doing nothing.