TWENTY-EIGHT |

"I have to go."

I said it I stalked away through the building, growing increasingly agitated by the jostling limbs of drunken dancers.

I hated this club.

It was one of my minor investments, the kind that could be shut down and packed away quietly without too much concern. It wasn't a place for my men to do business, not anymore. I'd gifted it to Renzo to keep him occupied, a side-hobby to distract him from taking risks. He'd transformed the place into my worst nightmare.

By the time I reached the exit my mood was sour. My head was swimming with alcohol, memories of Florence walking away from me replaying again and again. I grabbed a tumbler of whisky that had been abandoned on one of the tables nearby and swallowed it in one.

Why couldn't I just get her out of my damn head?

I should never have let her walk away. I should have made her listen, forced her to understand. She'd already come so close to being destroyed by my world, how couldn't she see? Did she not realise what it would do to me if she were to be hurt because of my career, because of me?

It was my own weakness that allowed me to share my life with her. I'd never fucking wanted to, I didn't ask for this, I never thought some random girl who walked into one of my clubs one day would end up being the woman I'd do anything to protect.

And the part that made me angry – no, furious beyond words – the part that made me throw back another two glasses of scotch while glaring out across the hideous club, was her willingness to walk away from everything.

I needed to get out.

When the bouncer who was stood by the exit didn't open the door for me straight away I almost threw my fist into his nose.

Fucking useless. This place was no better than a grotty Gambino establishment.

I had to get out now because if I didn't then I would start taking my anger out on people. Things. Possessions. Anything within punching distance would be fair game, and I knew come morning I'd be counting my losses. But the crackle of broken cartilage was tempting...

"Boss."

I'd only just stepped outside when Renzo's voice called out behind me. I immediately tensed, my right hand clenching into a fist.

When I turned to Renzo I was a tightly wound wire, ready to snap.

"What is it?"

His eyes flickered down to my fist then back up to my face. Usually Renzo wasn't the type to shy from a fight but I knew he'd never square up to me. The gun tucked into the waistband of my trousers said it would be the last thing he ever did.

"The girl," Renzo said, "she's not doing too good."

I didn't miss the step he took away from me. He leaned back against the brick wall of the club and lit a cigarette.

"So?"

"Looks like she's gonna throw up or pass out or something," he shrugged.

My fist was held so tight my knuckles ached.

"Go and fix the problem then," I challenged through gritted teeth. "It's your club, is it not?"

Renzo stared woozily back at me, his green eyes glassed over and bloodshot. His jaw fell open, as though he might speak, but then instead a hoarse laugh came out.

I frowned. "Have you been taking something?"

"A little of this, a little of that," Renzo replied, dragging on his cigarette.

"Did you give her anything?" My voice came out in a low warning as I watched Renzo carefully. His hazy eyes were unfocused and far away. "Renzo," I snarled, grabbing the collar of his leather jacket and shoving him back into the wall. "Did you give her something?"

He tried weakly to push me off but didn't have the coordination or strength. I shoved him again. "Well?"

"She asked for it, man!" he whined.

"What did you give her?"

"I don't know..."

"What did you give her?" My right hand dropped the collar of his jacket and moved to his throat, squeezing the air out of him. He flailed against the wall, too out of it to properly fight back. I wasn't going to get an answer out of him tonight.

I'd known Renzo since I was a boy and had worked with him for almost as long, but that didn't mean I was opposed to beating the shit out of him when he behaved like an idiot.

Spurred on by the image of Marco blocking me from seeing Florence and the alcohol that licked through my veins, I threw my full weight behind a punch that hit Renzo square in the jaw, causing it to crack as his head smacked back against the brick.

I didn't wait to see if he had fallen unconscious.

I found Leila in exactly the same place I'd left her, except now she was slumped over the bar. My suit jacket had fallen off her shoulders and on to the floor, pooling by the edge of her stool. I glared at it for a few seconds, fighting the urge to pick up a bar stool and throw it through a window.

That was my favourite fucking jacket.

"Leila," I called, shaking her shoulder.

She simply groaned in response.

"Can you hear me? It's time to go. Alzarsi! Velocemente!"

(Get up! Quickly!)

Another groan. Exactly what I fucking needed right now. I had better things to do with my night than look after some random girl who couldn't handle her drink. I should never have let Renzo talk me into coming here. It was a mistake, taking out my anger on Florence with cheap liquor and cheaper girls.

The sooner I could get back to Marco's the better.

Picking up my jacket off the floor, I put it over Leila's shoulders and lifted her up off the bar stool, carrying her through the club. Her tiny frame made it easy to carry her down the stairs which led to the more private area of the building, where I had an office, a bathroom and a bedroom. I made sure I had multiple safe places to go should it come to hitting the mattress.

Despite Leila being light as a feather, I found myself resenting the hard boniness of her frame in my arms, missing the soft warmth of Florence's body as I held her when we slept.

Bitch. Of course she had to walk away from me. I couldn't have anything good in this life. The family were all I could rely on, the only constant I had.

I set Leila down on the bathroom floor and knelt down beside her, lifting the toilet seat up. "Leila."

"Hmmm?" Her eyes were just about open as she managed to sit up.

"You need to be sick to get this out of your system," I told her with a sigh. This wasn't how I envisioned my night – nor, I was sure, how she envisioned hers.

"Hmm?" She was still swaying dangerously, clearly too out of it to comprehend what I was saying.

Standing, I walked over to the sink and ran a face cloth under the faucet until it was cool then handed it to Leila. She stared at it for several seconds like an idiot before I knelt down again and moved her hands up to her forehead. She was burning up, so when the coolness of the cloth hit her skin her eyes flew open fully.

"I'm going to be—"

She never finished her sentence. I tied her hair up for her with a tie I found on her wrist and then leaned back against the wall as she threw up whatever god-awful cocktail Renzo had given her.

I hoped his jaw was fucking hurting.

As I stared up at the ceiling, images of Florence and I in the exact same position years ago flashed before my eyes. I could still remember her taunting me in French as though she were doing it right now. She'd always managed to surprise me in the worst and best ways.

Motherfucker. Why did she have to leave me?

"I...I think I'm done," Leila said after a while, wiping her face with the cloth I'd given her.

My eyes shifted from the ceiling to her. She was kneeling right in front of me, her knees practically touching my feet.

"Took you long enough," I said with a sigh. I really was fucking done with this whole night.

Leila's cheeks tinged pink as she looked down at her hands in her lap. "Um..." She ran her tongue along her plump lips, eyes finding mine at last. "I just wanted to say thank you, Arturo."

Her use of my first name caught me off guard.

"For tonight, and..." she continued, leaning closer making her coconut scent filled my nose again. Her tan skin was just inches away, long hair falling around us. We were alone and she worshipped me, practically kissed the ground I walked on. She wanted me, and Florence didn't. "...for everything."

"Leila." I put my hands on her shoulders and held her there, our faces close enough to share breath. I could feel how small that distance was between us, the warmth of her half naked body, her smooth bare skin under my palms. She tilted her head slightly, the moisture on her lips glistening, and I knew it was a question. Do you want me too? Her eyes were pleading for an answer, begging for my hands to roam her body, feel her warmth, taste her scent on my tongue.

I could do it.

I could do anything. I could prove to Florence that it didn't matter if she didn't want me. I could hurt her as much as she hurt me, make her angry like she made me, drive her insane as she had driven me.

But no other woman would ever be Florence.

"Arturo," Leila breathed.

I pushed her back. "I have a girlfriend."

"Oh." Leila sat back, her eyes going wide with surprise. I'd give it to her, she looked genuinely remorseful as she stared at me in shock. "I'm so sorry," she breathed quickly, "I had no idea..."

At least something had managed to sober her up.

I took the face cloth out of her hands and went to rinse it in the sink. Hopefully Leila would go to sleep soon and I could get the fuck out of here.

"How long have you known her?" Leila asked from her position on the floor.

I didn't glance her way as I replied, "Four years. Follow me, there's a bed you can stay in tonight."

"Do you love her?" she continued to question.

"More than anything," I responded without hesitation. I didn't even need to think about it; I knew beyond doubt that I would give my life if it meant keeping Florence safe. That was the whole fucking problem. She made me weak.

"Fretta," I snapped suddenly when Leila remained sat on the floor. "Get up, come on."

(Hurry)

Finally she scrambled up at my command and I led her into the bedroom next door to my office, leaning against the doorframe as she walked inside.

"Are you sure you don't mind me staying here?" she asked, sitting on the bed and starting to remove her heels.

"Knock yourself out," I shrugged. "I'm going home."

Florence

When I woke up the next morning in Marco's spare bed, a wave of anger and sadness hit me in the chest. Sleep had acted like a blissful reprieve from all my worries, but upon waking the events of the past few days came flooding back, crashing into me ten-fold.

I was grateful for Marco's wise words, but that didn't mean I was ready to forgive Arturo. I could understand his paranoia and distrust for me, but the lying? The way he controlled everything, including my job? That I wasn't so understanding of.

After I'd finally emerged from the bathroom last night, Marco and I sat and played GTA on his console and chatted aimlessly about nothing in particular. He said the game was a good form of stress relief, and after I hijacked a few cars and took a machine gun for a few rounds, I could see why. Mostly, it was just nice to have a conversation that didn't revolve around Arturo or the mafia. When I told Marco that any of those topics were off-limits, he more than happily obliged.

The problem was that now morning had come, I had no idea where to go from here. The only thing I knew for sure was that I didn't feel ready to face Arturo. I couldn't return to his house, see all of his belongings and feel like I was part of them. I didn't want to feel like somebody else owned me.

I trudged downstairs in the shirt Marco had let me borrow, reluctant to put on the clothes I'd been wearing since I got thrown in prison. For the past few months, it felt like I'd been living out of other people's closets – when I agreed to live with Arturo I'd left my whole life behind in England. So many possessions I held dear to me, clothes I loved, so many memories that seemed to have been left on pause.

"Morning, fiore," Marco greeted distractedly, his attention focused on the mess that currently was his kitchen.

On the stove, two pans were sizzling, one with scrambled egg in and the other cooking bacon. The kettle was also boiling, steam screaming out of the spout, and just as I opened my mouth to say hello four pieces of toast popped up causing us both to jump.

"Need a hand?" I asked, brow raised. I could barely contain my amusement.

The smell of bacon would have been mouthwatering had it not almost burned to a crisp along with the eggs.

"I'm managing," Marco said, just as the fire alarm started blaring. "...Or not," he grinned.

As he went to fix the alarm, I took over the pans, rescuing what I could and binning the food that had been beyond cremated. Apart from the burning, I was impressed that Marco had even attempted to cook. While Arturo was excellent in the kitchen, I'd hardly seen the other man eat anything except ready meals.

"Are you working today?" I asked Marco as he handed me two plates from the cupboard.

"Si," he nodded, "the boss needs me at the docks."

"Oh."

I caught Marco glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, gauging my expression. "He's coming round here to pick me up in half an hour."

"I see."

"You don't have to speak to him..."

"I won't," I said abruptly.

I knew I'd have to face Arturo eventually, just as we would have to face our problems, but I wasn't ready to do either of those things just yet. I was still hurting from the discovery of his lies.

"I was thinking of doing some shopping today," I told Marco to change the subject and dispel the now-tense atmosphere.

"Sounds nice." I passed him a plate of food which he set down on the island before taking a seat. "We'll be taking the Don's car when we leave so you can have mine for the day."

Marco slid a set of keys across the counter and I stared at them incredulously. "You've got to be joking."

"Does my Porsche offend you?"

"No, it's just...you can't possibly trust me to drive that thing around! It's so...flashy! And expensive!" Any time I went near any of Arturo's cars I saw his sharp eyes watching me, keen to make sure I didn't leave so much as a dirty fingerprint on the bodywork.

"You're not exactly going to drive her hard," Marco shrugged, tucking into his breakfast as though we were talking of something as simple as borrowing a household appliance rather than a hundred thousand pounds sports car. "You'll be fine."

"And what if I'm not?"

"Make sure you are." At the sight of my terrified expression Marco burst into laughter. "I'm joking, fiore, money isn't a problem."

I folded my arms. "It isn't for you," I reminded him, "but sadly I'm currently unemployed."

"You wouldn't have to pay me anything, Florence."

"I would," I argued, but my heart wasn't in it anymore now that my current lack of a job had been brought to the forefront of my mind.

I pushed the food around my plate absently, suddenly finding myself with no appetite. I forced down what I could before clearing away the dishes by hand. Marco had a top of the range dishwasher at his disposal but I was looking for excuses to stay busy.

Just as I finished drying and putting away the plates from breakfast, there was a knock at the door that made me freeze in place. Marco had been reading the paper at the island but he quickly put it down and went to the doorway, closing the door into the kitchen while he went to greet Arturo.

The sound of a hushed conversation could be heard through the kitchen door but I couldn't make any of it out. After a few moments, the door opened again and Marco leaned his head around. "There's someone here to see you," he said, "she can keep you company on your shopping trip."

"Um...what?" I asked, confused, but no sooner had I spoken than Amber stepped into the room.

Immediately a huge smile lit up my face.

"Florence!" she exclaimed, dropping her bag and rushing over to embrace me. "It's so good to see you."

"You too," I said into a mouthful of her hair as she crushed me in her arms. When she finally pulled back, I asked, "how come you're here?"

"Arturo said you missed me," she explained. "He offered to drive me to see you."

"That was...nice of him."

"You sound surprised. And upset. What's wrong? We've got so much to talk about!"

She was right. And I hadn't a clue where to start...