Angelo saw the last man out just as I finished with the final car. It was well past midnight, and we had just wrapped everything up. The guys had been more than efficient to my great surprise. If Miguel could get his hands on one of them, everything at the shop would be a whole lot easier. I had tried to poach one, but he had politely told me to get lost. Not surprising, considering they were all tied, one way or another, to the Italian mafia. Why would they abandon that to come to some lost hole in Oklahoma?
"You work well," Angelo complimented as I joined him at the front of the car I had been working on, wiping my hands. "I'm sure we could find a place for you here…"
"I don't like New York," I replied simply, hooking my rag to my belt as he chuckled.
"We're not just in New York, Bella. Name a city, and I'll find you a spot," he shot back with a crooked smile. I raised a brow at the nickname but didn't comment on his tone. There was nothing seductive about it, just light, easy teasing. I turned to face him, crossing my arms before resting my hip against the car.
"San Francisco," I answered with a faint smirk, and this time, he was the one raising a brow.
"You sound like you know your criminal organizations," he remarked, narrowing his eyes slightly.
I shrugged. You didn't need a degree in mafia studies to know San Francisco was the Bratva's headquarters, the sworn enemies of the Italians. Even if, for nearly twenty years, some fragile version of peace had been maintained between them. A peace that had been shaken by the death of Antonio Rasili a few months ago. I didn't know the reasons behind it, and frankly, I didn't care.
Angelo opened his mouth to add something, but his phone rang in his pocket. He excused himself and answered in Italian while I circled the car to put away the last of the tools in the carts.
"I'll have to go," he informed me after hanging up. "Mario should be here soon, well, I hope. He'll give you something for Miguel. You need to wait for him."
"Seriously?!" I groaned, undoing my hair from its half-bun. "I had plans." I sighed, and he winced.
"Sorry, Bella, but it's important. Use the couch to rest a bit while you wait," he said, pointing toward the office with an apologetic smile. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Sanaa. I hope we'll see each other again. Stai attenta, Bella." He gave me a wink before stepping out and closing the door behind him. I groaned before heading to the small locker room to change. As soon as Mario arrived, I'd grab his package for Miguel and head back to the hotel.
I washed my hands, stripped out of my work clothes, and slipped into my beige linen pants and a loose white shirt over my tank top. I ran a hand through my hair to tidy it up before stuffing my overalls and Crocs into my backpack. I quickly tied the laces of my white sneakers and stepped out, heading for the office.
I dropped onto the worn leather couch, letting my bag fall to the floor as I rubbed my face with a sigh. I was exhausted. I couldn't wait to get back and sleep. Hopefully, Mario wouldn't take too long.
I stretched halfway across the couch, using my backpack as a pillow. I had no intention of resting my face on that surface, which inspired anything but trust. I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened the last video Mrs. Taylor had sent me, Elio, asleep in his bed.
I had spoken with Mrs. Taylor earlier. She told me Elio had been looking for me all evening before finally falling asleep. I hesitated for a good ten minutes about going back tonight after a shower. But in the end, I decided this would be my last outing. The very last before fully stepping into my life as a parent. I wouldn't leave Elio's side again, not until he was grown. Never again. I closed my eyes, pressing my phone against my chest as I drifted off. Just a few minutes. Just a few.
"Cazzo!"
A sudden voice snapped me out of my light sleep. My eyes flew open, but I didn't move. I scanned my surroundings, no one. I slowly sat up, tightening my grip on my phone. It was almost two in the morning. Damn you, Mario.
I stood and took a cautious step toward the door leading into the warehouse where the cars were kept. I leaned slightly, searching for the source of the noise, and my gaze landed on a silhouette bent over the back of the black sports car I had noticed as soon as I arrived.
I straightened, grimacing as I pressed myself against the wall beside the door. Great. Just what I needed, a thief. What if I just went back to sleep? Not my problem, right?
I turned to leave, but stopped when Angelo's words echoed in my mind. He had said the owner of that car was obsessed with it. What if that was Mario? If I did nothing and his car got stolen, it might come back on me… or worse, on Miguel. Damn it.
I pressed my lips together, rolling my eyes before slipping silently into the warehouse. I moved like a shadow, my steps making no sound against the floor as I approached the man still hunched over the engine, muttering in Italian.
I grabbed a wrench from one of the carts and crept behind him. He wore a black T-shirt, black pants, polished black shoes, everything about him screamed quality. I nearly snorted. The guy had clearly gotten rich off stealing. I raised my arm, ready to strike, when a thought suddenly crossed my mind. What if it was Mario?
Too late. I had already acted, driven by irritation and boredom.
My arm came down, aiming for the back of his neck— But suddenly, my back slammed against the concrete wall. A hand wrapped around my throat while another gripped my wrist, holding my raised arm in place. He had moved so fast I hadn't even seen it.
I opened my eyes, ones I hadn't realized I had shut from the impact and blinked. The first thing I saw was his torso beneath the black shirt. Broad. Muscled. Then his shoulders. Wide. His neck just as solid. My gaze traveled upward. Well-shaped lips. A straight nose.
And then—
Eyes as dark as mine. Almost black. The first thing I noticed was his height. He was a giant. Easily close to two meters. The second thing— His dark, tousled hair. He had beautiful hair. His brows furrowed as his gaze studied me in return. His eyes traced my messy hair, my cheeks, my nose, my lips… then slid down my throat. His hand released it, moving instead above my head against the wall. I cleared my throat as his gaze began drifting lower.
"You don't look like a Mario," I finally said, lifting my chin.
His dark eyes snapped back to mine, and for a second, it felt like being struck by lightning. There was something in his gaze. Something intense. Something unsettling in a way I had never experienced before. Not to mention his scent.
God… he smelled good. Woody. Fresh.
"Mario? Volevi uccidere Mario?" he asked, his deep voice resonating around us. His gaze dropped to the makeshift weapon still trapped in my hand. My hand trap by his hand, three times the size of mine. "Con una chiave inglese?"
Damn it, Sanaa. Snap out of it.
"I don't speak Italian," I snapped, not understanding a word he was saying. I tried to pull free, but he didn't let go. My eyes fell to his long fingers wrapped around my wrist. He was a colossus "Fuck, let go of me, Goliath," I growled, yanking again. Nothing. Yeah… he had a grip.
"Goliath," he repeated in that dark voice. I frowned, lifting my gaze to meet his. "No one's ever called me that before," he replied in perfect, accentless English. If I hadn't heard him speaking Italian a minute ago, I would have never guessed.
My gaze lingered on his features, the way the corners of his mouth twitched, the quiet gleam in his eyes, the steady rhythm of his breathing. His shoulders barely moved. He was calm. Too calm.
I didn't like him. He was dangerous. I could feel it. And I was never wrong about that.
"Let go of me before I become your David," I hissed through clenched teeth, tightening my grip on the wrench. Our gazes locked for a brief moment, long enough. And he understood. He released me and stepped back, raising both hands.
"Alright, David. How about we start by calming down?" he said, a smirk tugging at his lips, dimples appearing on both cheeks. God really decided to test me tonight with those dimples.
And this one? He was exactly my type. Just my luck. Though I had always had a taste for danger.
"I am calm," I shot back, pushing my hair behind my shoulders before pointing the wrench at him. "But I can't let you steal this car." He stared at me for a second.
Blinking once.
Twice.
Then he laughed. A deep, sensual laugh. Oh, for fuck's sake. Did he have every quality? The sound echoed against the concrete walls as he shook his head, trying to compose himself. The gesture oddly reminded me of Angelo.
"Steal?" Goliath finally breathed, running a hand through his beautiful hair. No. Just his hair. Get it together. And yes, I had decided to call him Goliath. It suited him.
"I can't steal this car," he continued, stepping toward it and placing his hand on the roof with a proud smile, "because it's mine, Diavoletta."