Page 16 of Loathe Me (Touch of Death 1)
When I’m done, I go to pick up the plates, but Una grabs my wrist, stopping me. “You aren’t the maid, Adelina.” Her pointed glare lands on Nero first, then Gio, Tommy, and finally Sasha.
“Fuck me,” Tommy whines, but they all get up and take their plates to the dishwasher, lining up to load it in turn. I dip my chin to my chest, trying not to laugh at the scene.
“Thanks, Adelina,” Tommy says, squeezing my shoulder as he passes.
“Yeah, thanks,” Gio adds.
Nero simply nods. And Sasha, well…he leaves. I get the impression he’s not exactly a please and thank you kind of guy. I don’t care, though. He ate the omelete, and I feel like I’ve won some unspoken standoff between us.
Everyone seems to slip away. Una goes to bathe Dante. Nero and Gio said they needed to discuss business in the office. And Tommy stays.
“Don’t you need to do business stuff with them?” I ask.
“Eh,” he shrugs. “Not really my thing. I’m kind of like the stray dog they took in.”
That seems harsh. “What do you mean?”
“Half Irish, half Italian.” He lifts a brow. “Both mafia.”
“Ah, that’s rough.”
He nods. To be half Italian and half Irish, torn between two mafias, and both would hate him. “Nero and I have been friends since we were little.” He smiles. “The bastard and the half-breed.”
“Nero’s a bastard?”
“No! No. But, back then we thought he was. Well, he kind of is, but it’s fine.”
I laugh at his fumbling words. “I won’t ask.”
“So, why are you here?” he asks me.
“I’m a job.” I sigh, leaning heavily on braced elbows. The cold, hard granite grinds over my bones. “Sasha is protecting me.”
“Protecting you…Sasha? Sasha’s playing bodyguard?” Tommy lets out a sharp bark of laughter when I nod. “From what?”
“You ask too many questions.” We both jump at the whiplash of Sasha’s voice. He separates from the shadows and moves farther into the kitchen.
I feel bad when Tommy shrinks back. “It’s fine. I don’t—” I start.
That arctic gaze lands on me, and I stop. “I did not ask if you mind. I assure you, I care very little for your thoughts or feelings.”
I feel like a chastised child, and it has my temper spiking. I turn away from Sasha to focus on Tommy. “Would you like to watch a film?”
“Uh, sure.”
I hop off the barstool, and Tommy follows. He pauses in the living room, but I grab his arm, pulling him up the stairs. I can feel Sasha’s eyes burning a hole in the back of my head. He can’t possibly think that Tommy is a danger. Tommy hesitates before stepping over the threshold into my room. Going to my bag, I scoop up my tablet and sit cross-legged on the bed with my back braced against the headboard. He hesitates in the doorway, and I can’t help but giggle.
“What’s funny?”
“You look like a teenage boy that doesn’t want to get caught in a girl’s bed.”
He blushes, his pale skin turning a bright tomato red. “No, I’m fine.”
I pat the bed next to me. “Come on.” I need something normal. Or maybe I’m just so lonely that I’ve latched onto the first semi-decent human being I’ve come across since I got here.
He tentatively walks over and takes off his jacket and tie before sitting on the bed. He leaves several feet of space between us, and I try hard not to laugh at his awkwardness.
“Pick a film.” I pull up Netflix, and he chooses something. Truthfully, I don’t care what it is. I just need to escape for a while. The credits start as the introduction plays to the start of some sci-fi action flick. I shuffle closer to Tommy, and he stiffens. “What’s wrong?”
He sighs. “You’re trying to get me killed; that’s what’s wrong.”
I frown. “What?”
“Sasha will break every bone in my body until I fit into a feckin’ shoe box. That’s what.”
This time I do laugh. “Pretty sure he’s only protecting me from my would be kidnappers. Not you.”
He snorts. “You think? He just looked at me like he wanted to reach down my throat and tug out my intestines.”
“You like to graphically picture your own death, don’t you?”
He shrugs. “Best to be prepared for the worst.”
I laugh harder, and it feels so good. We watch the film, and at some point, I must have fallen asleep. I wake up to a low rumbling before the bed lurches, and there’s a pained cry. Sitting up, I wince against the bright rays of early dawn that pour through the glass windows. Tommy is sprawled on the floor with Sasha looming over him. The Russian’s entire body is strung tight, his fists clenched and muscles corded, though his expression is a cool mask, as always.
“Shit, I’m sorry, okay? I fell asleep,” Tommy says in a rush.
