Page 20 of Play With Me
“It’s complicated. My life is complicated, and you know it. I’ve told you time and time again not to wait for me, Luca. I’m not going to change my mind.” She sounds like she’s talking to a child throwing a tantrum, her voice softer than I thought she was capable.
“And we both know it’s just an excuse you hide behind. Do you think Mick is going to challenge my father? We both know he’d let you go if you told him you want to be with me.” Even though Luca is standing right in front of her, I doubt he notices the brief flicker of pain that crosses her features at his words. Whatever is going on with her and Mick runs deeper than just a casual fling, and I add it to my mental list of things to look into.
Before she can respond, he lets her go and takes a step back. “Is this because of that detective?”
Instantly, her face morphs into pure annoyance as her hands find her hips. “What does Detective Brooks have anything to do with this?”
Yes, Cara, whatdoI have to do with this?
“I saw the way you two looked at each other. If you haven’t fucked him already, you will. He wants you just as bad as you want him. And don’t think I don’t know what you were doing in your office before I walked in, Cara. Right after he left? Your cheeks were flushed, just like they do when you come. Not red, like when you’re angry, but rosy, like when you’re aroused,” Luca accuses.
What did you do after I left the other night, baby girl? Did you touch yourself and think about me when you came?
Switching my weight to the other foot, I adjust myself to ease the strain of my erection as I watch hersputter indignantly. “You…I was not…you have no idea what you’re talking about!”
Luca lets out a long sigh before he shakes his head. “I’m not going to wait forever, Cara.”
“I didn’t ask you to! In fact, I’ve told you multiple times not to! One of those being thirty seconds ago!” She storms past him, angrily muttering to herself as she makes her way back out of the hall.
Luca watches her go, and I watch him, wondering if he’ll go after her. Something about him doesn’t sit right with me, but I can’t dissect if it’s because he’s the son of a mob boss or because he knows what it feels like to be inside Carmela. He doesn’t strike me as dangerous, not toward her anyway.
After a few minutes, he leaves, and I silently follow him, watching as he exits the building before making my way to Carmela’s office, where she’s still inside.
I feel like a stalker. Waiting at one end of the hall until her door opens and she makes her way out of the club, completely unaware that she’s being followed. We should have assigned someone to be with her at all times, but at least I have peace of mind as long as she’s within sight.
No town car is waiting to take her to her destination, and she doesn’t hail a cab. Instead, she takes her time walking, barely looking up from her phone as she unknowingly leads me a few blocks away. We pass a few people—men who stop and stare at her,deciding whether or not to say anything before they catch my warning glare.
This one is spoken for.
In more ways than one.
Our walk ends at a beige brick building that looks like an upscale apartment complex. A dark brown awning hangs over glass doors that lead to a lavish-looking lobby. There’s a doorman who tips his hat, offering her a smile and a, “Good morning, Miss Lane,” as he lets her in.
Is this her apartment? Is it Mick’s? A secret love nest where they can hide their scandalous relationship from the rest of the world? It isn’t on any main roads, tucked away, and not overly large. There can’t be more than twenty residences. Yet, it’s bougie enough for a doorman and what looks like a twenty-four-hour concierge.
I wait a few minutes before casually making my way across the street to go inside. The doorman peers at me skeptically, but opens the door anyway. Marble flooring gleams under gentle recessed lighting, and the small lobby is littered with real, large-leafed plants. The concierge watches me perceptively as I approach the elevators, realizing they need a key card to operate. Not that I’m planning to surprise Carmela at her front door or anything.
“Can I help you, sir?” the man behind the desk asks.
Walking back over, I flash my badge—somethingI’ve always hated doing—and watch his eyes widen. “The woman who just walked in, Miss Lane? Does she live alone?”
He nods enthusiastically. “Yes, she’s always lived alone since moving here. Is she in some sort of trouble?”
Ignoring his question, I ask another. “Does she bring anyone back here, ever?”
“No. I mean, sometimes Miss Parks—ah—Mrs. Kennedy visits her. But other than that, no, sir.”
The tension melts from my body as I nod and read the man’s name tag, “Thank you, Ed. Let’s keep this little chat between us, okay? Miss Lane isn’t in any trouble. I can assure you of that.”
Ed promises to stay quiet as I leave. Grabbing a cab, I realize I didn’t do any of the shit I set out to do, getting distracted by Carmela once again. But still, I got answers tonight. They have nothing to do with the case and everything to do with my growing personal interest in this damn woman.
However, I can’t deny that I’m incredibly pleased with my findings.
Carmela
My nerves are steel as I enter Romanesco, an Italian eatery owned by the Morronis. Even though it’s the afternoon, the lights are dim, and the brown leather booths are full. Garlic permeates the air as I walk through the space—past the dining room and the kitchen, down the hall that houses the restrooms, and through a door that looks like it leads to the back of the house but really leads to an office where I’m meeting Vinny.
I don’t wait to be announced, slipping through the door like I belong. It’s not my first time here, and it probably won’t be the last. I’ve been here on business, and I’ve been here as a guest of Luca’s for dinner. Both times were easygoing. The Morronis have never made me feel like less than family. But this time, there was an edge to Vinny’s invitation in the voicemail he left early this morning.