Hit and Run: A Mafia Hitman Romance (3 page)

“College? I said you were getting older and the restaurant was no place for you to blossom. How did you misunderstand that?”

I scoff at him, yelling up at Ed. “Back me up here, Ed.”

“This is between you and your dad,” Ed intones.

Great. So much for loyalty from the guy who’s protected my life for the last several years. “I won’t do it. There’s no way.”

“Of course you will, Lizzy,” my dad says sternly.

“No. I won’t. I can’t do-“

“They’ll kill me. They’ll kill me if you don’t.”

I stop my hyperventilating to process this. “What are you talking about?”

“The Maggianos and I made a deal. No more fighting. But you were part of the package. It was the only way, Elizabeth.”

“How on earth – “

“Listen to me,” he says, taking my hands in his own. “The fight tonight was symbolic. The joining of our two families.”

“You are telling me that Cain is a Maggiano?” I ask, my jaw dropped. “But you didn’t even recognize him earlier. At the restaurant.”

My dad shrugs like this is no big deal. “It’s been a few years since I’ve seen their youngest, alright? So sue me.”

We pull up to our house. My heart has finally stopped racing, thank God. “You’re serious. They’ll kill you if I don’t go through with this. Look me in the eyes and tell me that.”

“I’m dead serious, Elizabeth. I swear on your mother’s grave,” he says.

I know he means business when he says that.

So that’s it.

I’m getting married to a trained killer. A thug. A goon. A minion.

This is
not
how I was expecting my day to go.

CHAPTER SIX

CAIN

I stand outside Tony’s brownstone, my best suit on, shivering my ass off.

I hate New York in the wintertime.

In my hand is a hastily-purchased bouquet of flowers. I stopped by a bodega on the way. It finally hit me when I walked into the store: I’m marrying a woman I know so little about, I don’t even know what kind of flowers she likes.

I knock on the door.

It opens a few minutes later and Elizabeth is standing there in sweatpants and a sweater. She says nothing as she walks away, leaving the door open.

“Good evening to you, too,” I say sarcastically, walking inside the warm house. I brush my dress shoes on the mat. “Should I take my shoes off?”

“Do whatever the hell you want,” Elizabeth calls back to me.

I leave them on. Never know when you might need to make a quick escape. “Nice place,” I say.

“Do you want coffee or what?”

“Uh, yeah. Coffee. No cream or sugar.” I walk down the hallway, peeking into the living room. I recognize the guy who had to restrain Elizabeth sitting in the front living room. He looks absurd perched on a floral fabric settee with a newspaper open in his hands.

I walk into the kitchen. It looks like a chef’s dream setup. Eight-burner gas stove, double oven, copper range hood, a dozen perfectly shining copper-bottomed pots hanging from a ceiling rack, dark marble countertops and mahogany cabinets – this place is incredible.

But it’s not as incredible as the woman I’m staring at wearing a ratty sweater and skin tight yoga pants.

“Nice of you to get dressed up on my account,” I say bemusedly.

Elizabeth rolls her eyes. “Sugar, I
am
dressed up. And I look fabulous.” She points to her body, her mussed hair in a messy topknot on her head. “It’s all for
you,
honeypie.” She turns around and fills up a coffee mug from the expensive coffee maker.

“Like I’m going to complain about you wearing yoga pants,” I say.

She whips around like lightning. “Stop staring at my ass.”

“I could stop staring at it if you’d let me touch it instead.” I grin at her.

She rolls her eyes, shoving the mug of coffee towards me so violently a third of it splashes out of the mug and lands on the countertop.

I pick it up gingerly, not wanting dripping coffee all over my fingertips.

“You drink coffee like a little girl playing tea party with her stuffed animals,” Elizabeth says. “Not so tough when you’re outside the ring, are you?”

“Nice of you to notice,” I spar back at her.

Elizabeth walks over to the oven and sets a timer for thirty minutes. “My father wants you and I to get to know each other before our wedding in three weeks.” The word
wedding
sounds like poison in her mouth. “You have exactly half an hour before I either kick you out or Ed drags you out of this house by your ears.”

“What, am I keeping you from a
Murder She Wrote
marathon on Netflix?”

She glares at me. “Fuck you.”

I shrug casually. “I’m just saying, looks like daddy has you all locked up in your tower here. Must be a pretty boring existence to never be able to leave the house without a bodyguard.”

“Fuck. You,” she retorts. “If you’re planning on using my hair to climb up and rescue me, I’ve got news for you: it’s not nearly long enough.”

“Sweetheart, when I take the chance to pull on your hair, you’ll be screaming but it won’t be for rescue.” My eyes flash at her and her cheeks even turn a little pink.

“You mean when you
get
the chance to pull on my hair.”

“I mean when I
take
the chance that
you’re
going to give me. You’ll be asking for it. Then it’ll be my decision, and you’ll fucking love it. You’ll be begging for me to finish you off so loudly half of New York will here you screaming.” I lean closer to her.

She’s really blushing now. She finally glances over at the clock. “You’ve wasted three minutes of your allotted time.”

“Nah, it wasn’t wasted. You said you wanted to get to know me. And I just told you a lot about myself, I think. A lot about my
abilities
,” I add with a significant look.

Elizabeth turns around without a word and grabs a rag, wiping off the spilled coffee from the countertop.

“I’m boring. Let’s talk about you,” I say, sipping my drink. Damn, this coffee is delicious.

“No,” she replies shortly. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on. At least tell me what your favorite flower is.” I point at the bouquet on the countertop. “I had to grab a mixed bouquet.” It looks pathetic and wilted in the confines of this expensive kitchen. “I was hoping I’d get lucky that your favorite was somewhere in there.”

Elizabeth gazes at the flowers. “No. It’s not in there.”

“Then what is it?”

She raises her eyebrows challengingly. “I suggest you just keep trying to figure it out.”

I laugh. “You sure are a stubborn one, aren’t you?”

“Don’t fetishize my righteous anger,” she spits back at me.

“What if I like sparring with you? There’s no harm in that, is there? It’s like foreplay. I think you like this.”

“I like
what
?”

I point at the air between us. “All this built up, unresolved sexual tension. I’m guessing your dad doesn’t allow conjugal visits.”

She throws the rag at me. “That’s it, I’m cutting your time short.”

“You’re not even going to put the flowers I bought you in a vase?”

“They can wither up and die and you’re welcome to join them as far as I’m concerned.”

I laugh. “You’re quick. I like that.”

“Get out,” Elizabeth says, pointing at the door.

“See you later.
Wifey
.”

She roars like a lion and I’m out the door.

I knew she was a firecracker before, but now I really can’t wait to bend her over and fuck her on our wedding night.

I step out into the streets of New York, my conscience pinging at the back of my skull. I brush it away.

This is all part of the job. Mr. Romano hired me to work for him, sight unseen. I was the first step in reconciling my family with his. And then he set up this ridiculous game.

Why shouldn’t I enjoy the perks of that?

I push my guilt aside and step into the crowds of people pushing through to get their holiday shopping finished.

Elizabeth will come around.

No woman can resist this.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ELIZABETH

“Ouch, don’t poke me with those,” I whine at the seamstress sitting at the hem of my dress.

“If you’d stop moving, I wouldn’t be poking you,” she shoots back. She has grey hair pulled up into a harsh bun. My mind needs anything at all to distract me from what’s happening. So I start asking questions in my head to pass the time.

I wonder how old she is. She looks about ninety years old. I wonder if she likes having this job.

I can’t imagine fitting dresses for spoiled brats like me is how she would
choose
to spend her days if she didn’t have to. She has two hearing aids and I wonder if she ever turns down the volume to ignore people. I would if I were her. Taking people’s shit for ninety years? No thanks. If I make it to that age, I’ll have earned some peace and quiet.

I’m ripped out of my thoughts by the appearance of my older sister. She has her arms crossed and she’s smirking at me. “I’m not wearing the bridesmaid dress you picked out.”

“Thanks for your never-ending support, Maria,” I reply, putting my hands on my hips. I look at the tulle and lace monstrosity wrapping up my body and feel a surge of nausea.

“You look like a slice of Italian wedding cake,” Maria says.

“No cake before the wedding, you’re fat enough,” the seamstress intones.

“She said I
looked
like a cake, not that I
am eating a cake
!” I yell at her.

“Stand still,” she replies.

I roll my eyes at Maria. “I don’t understand why you aren’t the one being married off.”

“Because I already have a lug of a husband.”

“Oh yeah, him.” I hate Maria’s husband. He works for my father too and he’s not good enough for my sister. “At least you got to choose yours.”

Maria slides down the wall and pulls out her phone. “Right, okay.”

“I could use a little support.”

“I suggest an underwire bra, then,” she says, taking out a piece of gum and smacking on it loudly.

I stomp my foot and the seamstress stands up. “I’ll be back when you’re done acting like one of my toddler great-grandchildren,” she says.

I pick up the enormously poofy bottom of my dress and sit down in one of the worn chairs in the corner. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“You should just run away,” Maria says absently, still scrolling through her phone.

“Run away
where
?” I reply.

Maria puts her phone down. “As much as you act like a tough bitch, you’re never disobeying Daddy. I know that. But you should stop making life a living hell for everyone around you, Lizzy. It’s annoying.” She puts down her phone. “At least the one he picked for you is hot. I’d fuck him, anyway.”

“Maria!”

She shrugs. “What? I’m just saying, you could do a whole lot worse than Cain.”

I feel the poisonous words on the tip of my tongue before they spill out and make the air toxic. “You’re right. I
could
do worse. I could be marrying
your
husband.”

Maria recoils at the sting of my retort. “Fuck you, Lizzy.”

She walks out of the dressing room. I hear the chime of the front door and a slamming of metal and glass. She’s left.

Now it’s just me and the seamstress, and the worst part is that I know I deserve it.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CAIN

“You not going to eat that?” I ask Elizabeth, pointing at the meatballs on her plate.

She shoves it towards me. “Go ahead. Something’s made me lose my appetite.” She looks at me pointedly.

I laugh. “Sweetheart, this face has never made
any
woman lose her appetite.” I fork one of the meatballs and move it onto my plate. “If you’re worried about not fitting into your wedding dress, I’d like to make a request.”

She looks simultaneously intrigued and angry for
being
intrigued. “What?”

“I’d like to request that you never diet a day in our lives together.” I bite and chew thoughtfully, staring at her. She’s blushing again. “I prefer you curvy. Just more of you to love.”

She looks like she’s about to smile, but she crosses her arms and rolls her eyes instead. “Nice pickup line. But you don’t need to waste it on me. Remember? We’re already getting married.”

“Yeah, I heard something about that,” I reply drily, wiping my mouth on a cloth napkin. I look around the empty restaurant. The only people here are Tina the manager and the chef. I never bothered to learn his name. All I need to know is that he can make meatballs.

“Do you really think our families are going to get along on the day of the.you know. Wedding,” she says the word like it’s a curse.

I shrug. “I dunno. I guess. I think it’s right to hope for it. I’d hate for there to be a food fight. Be a waste of perfectly decent Italian food.”

Elizabeth laughs. “Food fight.
Right
. Because our two families definitely use
food
to fight, and not colt forty fives.”

I push my empty plate away and lean back in my chair, satisfied and full. “We should go over our vows.”

“Vows? No. I’m just repeating after the minister. No special vows.”

“Come on, Lizzy. It’d be fun. We can say whatever we want, up in front of all of those people. Here, I’ll write yours for you.” I affect a high-pitched voice. “Cain, I love you always. Your strong, rippling, physique, rugged good looks, and dogged determination to win my heart have swept me off my feet. I’m hopelessly in love. My panties are soaking wet every time I even catch a glimpse of you.”

Elizabeth is enjoying this. She’s biting her lip and a smile is playing at the corners of her mouth.

“I will love you all the days of my life, which will be long, happy, and full of spontaneous car sex.” I end my monologue. “Your turn. You do me.”

She clears her throat and lowers her own voice. “Elizabeth,” she says.

“Hey,” I object. “You’re making me sound like a cave man.”