“No. Your job is to stay home and keep your legs open for your husband, to take his cock whenever he needs you to. Protecting you is my job.”
His hand suddenly grabs my ass as he leans in, crushing his lips to mine as his fingers burrow in my hair. My heart pounds as his tongue shoves inside my mouth, tasting me. Heat burns my face as I imagine the people in the mall, staring at the spectacle we’re making. Nothing compares to the horror I feel—Rafael is watching. He’s going to know something is up.
He ends the kiss, breathing hard as he rests his forehead against mine. “I can’t fucking stand it—can’t take it that he fucking had you in a motel room.”
Bile rises up my throat. “Tony, nothing happened.”
His hands shake at his sides as he looks away from me, overcome with emotion. He can’t look at me.
It’s as though he can’t stand the sight of me.
My voice is small. “I’m sorry.”
He explodes. “That fucker is the only one who’s going to be sorry. He fucked my wife!”
The bottom drops out of my stomach. That’s what he thinks? “I didn’t let him. Tony, I swear!”
“FUCK!”
My heart hammers against my chest as he stands up, yanking me with him. I’ve never seen him so upset. The grip on my hand is almost painful as he marches me through the crowd, his chest pulsing like a bull’s. His arms are flushed with blood. “I’m going to inflict as much pain on that bastard as possible.”
I dig in my heels, stopping him. The face that looks at me isn’t one I recognize. It’s ugly, full of hate and a twisted malice.
“Nothing happened. I didn’t let him touch me.”
“It doesn’t matter to them!”
His nostrils flare as he looks at me with a tortured look.
Them?
“My boss—all my fucking colleagues are going to think that I’m some fucking joke.”
“You know what really happened. Who gives a fuck what anyone thinks?”
He stares at me for a moment, his face blank. “My reputation matters, sweetheart. If people think I’m a chump, why the fuck should they pay up on time?” His seething heat surrounds me as he grabs my upper arm. “You matter to me. I care what people think of my wife. A man who can’t keep his wife in line isn’t a fucking man.”
“I’m not your goddamn property.”
Then he draws me closer, until my fists are against his chest and a warm smile spreads across his face. “Yeah? That’s not what you said last night.”
I’m amazed at how hot my face gets when he gives me that searing, confident look and the smile that always makes my butterflies out of control.
Tension balls in my stomach as he leads us outside.
It feels like a fist inside me, squeezing my organs until stars burst in my vision. Oblivious to my anxiety, Tony pulls my hand and leads me into the crisp outdoors.
“Where is he?”
I expect Rafael to jump from around the corner, gun blazing.
“He’s probably gone by now. He must know I didn’t do what he wanted.”
Anxiety trembles through my voice. My plan fell apart like a house of cards. I expect to see a shadow of him lurking somewhere, but there’s no sign of him. It makes me uneasy. Tony yanks me across the parking lot and into his car.
Tony makes a few calls while he drives us away. I keep silent as he talks on the phone, trying to suppress the desire to lower my head from the window. Tony looks on edge, too.
Then he stops in front of Le Zinc, and a man comes outside to greet us.
“Go with him inside. I’m going to find parking.”
He says it in a voice that bids no argument, and I reluctantly open the door to walk the short distance from the curb to the restaurant, the man following behind me.
It reminds me of when my dad was still alive. Dad sent his guys to chaperone me to places, usually when he was in hot water. The familiarity calms me down somewhat. The restaurant is closed, but all of Johnny’s people are there, standing in the middle of the dining area. At the sight of the Montreal boss, my insides tighten. He’s never liked me. Tommy stands apart from the guys, his arms crossed. I can feel the judgment rolling from his gaze heating my face.
He still thinks we’re running a scam.
A wide, toothy smile spreads on Johnny’s handsome face. He beckons me closer and I slide into a chair.
“You want anything to drink?”
I still haven’t forgiven him for refusing to help me track down Tony. “No.”
No, thanks, you mean.
The rudeness doesn’t slide past Johnny, who frowns at me, saying nothing. I hate sitting here, being surrounded by all these men I don’t trust. They look down at me. Occasionally I catch a glimpse of a sneer and I wonder if they made their own minds about where I was last night.