Yet she smiled.
Yet she lived.
Damn, she pissed me off.
Because she was one puzzle I honestly couldn’t figure out. The numbers didn’t match. They certainly didn’t compute.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Andi
I LOVED SHOOTING THINGS.
It was a strange obsession I never could quite figure out. I loved the feel of the heavy gun in my hand. The way my finger hovered over the trigger and squeezed when I found my target. I’d never really been scared of guns, maybe because I’d grown up around them, and knew they served a purpose. The minute you started to fear something was the minute you gave it power.
Just like cancer.
If I feared it — suddenly it was bigger than me, something I couldn’t conquer, something that could choke the life out of me.
Without fear, it was just a word.
And the power behind the word was meaningless unless I chose to give it power, which I didn’t.
I could never understand why people allowed themselves to become overpowered by things they had no control over.
Control was a façade. A word people used in order to feel better about life. When really, the word in and of itself was a fabrication.
People thought they could control cars, but really? Cars controlled them; they were mechanical; the tires could go flat; the brakes could stop working.
Even remote controls were fallible — everything in our life had the potential for error.
Which meant there would never be a situation or thing you would have real control over.
Maybe it was because I’d lived a life outside my control for so long — it was easier for me to swallow.
I shot a sideways glance at Sergio. He was in mafia mode, his sharp eyes taking in every detail around the perimeter of his house as he barked orders to the men.
Surprisingly, Nixon let him.
More surprisingly? Had I been in Nixon’s position, I would have too. There was a scary awareness about Sergio. Like he saw everything, even the dust particles in the air, and was able to measure just how fast the bullet would go if it was shot against the wind.
Man had skills.
I knew that.
I just didn’t want him to know I knew that, lest he get a big head. Already I felt the need to bring him down a peg — or ten. He was cocky as sin; then again, he had the looks, body, and intelligence to basically make his smug attitude understandable.
I licked my lips and looked around the house. Nixon had brought ten men with him.
All of them armed to the hilt.
I’d been around organized crime my whole life, but it surprised me how loyal the men seemed to Nixon.
In the Russian mafia? Sometimes it seemed like every man was out for himself. With the Italians? Well, a part of me wondered if it was more than just a job to them, more than even a lifestyle, but a belief system.
Almost a religion.
Protect blood.
Luca had said that a handful of times, and I was beginning to see it play out before my very eyes.
Regardless of what Sergio had done to the family, he was still blood, Nixon would die for him.
And Sergio would return the favor.
Neither of them would hesitate.
My chest clenched a bit. What would it feel like to have that type of real loyalty? Or even that type of love?
I was Sergio’s punishment.
I wasn’t blood. Not even really a wife other than on a piece of paper.
Whatever. I wasn’t going to go there because I knew if I went down that road, it would only lead to selfishness and a stupid pity party that would only leave me depressed about life.
My vision clouded a bit.
I sighed, irritated that the dizziness was getting worse. How the hell was I supposed to shoot things if I was dizzy?
I stopped walking, waiting for the moment to pass.
Sergio turned around. His expression showed concern for about one second before it turned to irritation, his mouth forming a thin irritated line. “Tired already?”
I swallowed back a snappy retort and blew him a kiss instead.
His bewildered expression told me that it was the right thing to do. Keep him on his toes — I kind of thought of myself as his entertainment. Clearly, he needed more happy in his life if I was the one cheering him up.
Maybe I’d be sainted when I went to heaven for putting up with his crabby attitude and all around gloomy outlook on life.
Was the sun shining? Yes.
Was he alive? Yes.
So why be grumpy?
The man lived in a mansion, and so what if I’d snuck into his room the night I moved in while he’d been passed out on the couch from drinking too much?
His closet was ridiculous.
Like something out of a movie.
There were still tags on some of the suits. And the suits weren’t just expensive — they screamed money. I’d probably sleep better in one of his suit piles than I had in his bed.
The fabric was that rich.
His shoes were a completely different story. Even I was jealous, and I’d been spoiled my whole life.
Prada, Valentino, Versace — there was so much Italian leather in that boy’s closet that I half-expected him to have cows out back or something.
“Andi!” Sergio barked. “Did you hear me?”
“Er…” I scratched the back of my head with the tip of my gun. My shirt rose above my hips.
Sergio’s eyes dipped to the exposed skin.
When all else fails, distract him. “Yes?”
Sergio slowly lifted his gaze to my face. “I said, the gates just opened. Make yourself scarce.”
I pouted.
“Andi…” He stomped toward me. “…they don’t know you’re here. According to the agency, you’re still attending Eagle Elite and dating the star quarterback.”