MIA
Traffic was brutal. Romolo did his best to navigate through it while I studied the styling deck, but it was still a few minutes past seven by the time we pulled up to Late Republic.
I jumped out of the car, nerves jittering beneath my skin, and jogged to the door.
It was locked.
Inside, there were no customers. Only staff tidying up.
I knocked lightly against the door. A security guard glanced my way and just shook his head.
Damn it. I kicked myself for not calling ahead. What was I going to do now? Nothing else was open, and most of my contacts hadn’t answered my texts.
I could see if Fabi, Nina, or Zo had anything, but I was looking for something so specific that it was unlikely they would.
On the other hand, the perfect coat sat right there, just behind the glass.
Romolo appeared at my side. “They’re closed?”
I nodded, needles pricking the back of my throat. “Yeah. I think I’m officially screwed.”
He took a step forward and began to bang on the glass.
“Rom, I already tried,” I said, alarmed at how hard his fist hit the damn thing.
So was the security guard inside. His head snapped toward us, brows knitting together, his frown deepening into something hostile. He stomped toward the door, already shaking his head like we were a couple of hooligans trying to break in.
The door cracked open just enough for him to scowl at us. “Store’s closed.”
Romolo didn’t acknowledge that. Instead, he asked, “How much do they pay you per hour?”
The guard blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Your hourly rate.” Romolo’s voice was smooth, unhurried. I wished I knew where he was going with this. “What do they pay you?”
The man dragged his tongue over his bottom teeth. “Thirty bucks an hour.”
Romolo reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and produced a staggering number of hundred-dollar bills. He counted them out efficiently, stopping when he reached a grand, and held out the cash.
“That should cover an hour of overtime.”
My mouth popped open. Was he trying to bribe him? I’d never bribed anyone in my life. Never even thought to try.
The security guard’s annoyance gave way to apprehension. He let out an uncomfortable laugh. “Look, man, that’s generous, but we’ve got a store policy. I can’t let you in.”
My stomach sank. I hadn’t even realized I was hoping that trick would work, but I guess I was desperate enough that I was okay with bending a few rules.
I took a step back, ready to leave, but Romolo didn’t budge.
He put the money back into his wallet and slid the wallet into his slacks. I watched as his hand brushed over the side of his jacket just enough to tug it back slightly.
The guard’s eyes flickered downward and widened. His face lost all color. “Ah, shit.”
What had just happened?
Then I remembered when I’d had a similar reaction back in my studio.
My pulse skittered against my neck.
Romolo was flashing his gun.
“They don’t pay you enough to handle that,” Romolo said in a low voice that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight. He sounded so damn scary. If I were the guard, I would have peed my pants.
The man swallowed hard, throat bobbing. I could see him putting it together—the gun, the money, the way Rom carried himself. It only took a second for him to decide this wasn’t a fight worth picking.
“Shit. Yeah, of course. You got it, man.”
He stepped back and pulled the door open, dipping his head slightly as he gestured us inside. His voice was suddenly respectful. “Please, sir. Come on in.”
Romolo’s palm settled on the small of my back, guiding me forward. The touch was warm, firm, possessive, and it made something far hotter than fear bleed into my veins.
The security guard locked the door behind us before rushing toward the two sales associates and whispering in a hushed, frantic tone. Probably something along the lines of act normal and don’t piss him off unless you want to die.
There was a lot I wanted to say to him, but I settled on, “You’re nuts.”
“Comes with the territory.”
“What territory?”
He leaned down, pressing his lips to my ear. “The territory you waded into when you slept with a gangster.”
My eyes widened, and my thighs… God, they clenched. That was the first time he’d ever referred to himself as that in front of me, and it should not have made me feel so hot.
“What if they call the cops?” I whispered, squeezing my legs together to relieve the sudden ache.
“I’ll handle it,” he murmured. “Now go get what you need.”
I hesitated, glancing at the sales associates. They stood frozen behind the counter, their nerves written all over their faces.
Romolo jerked his head in their direction. “One of you. Come here and help my girl.”
The statement of ownership in that sentence sent a shiver through me.
All of this felt surreal. I should have been horrified by what he’d just done. This man had bribed and threatened his way into a closed store for me.
Instead, I felt like I was floating off the ground.
He was taking care of me.
I didn’t have time to process that and what it meant, so I turned to the sales associate and explained to her the kinds of pieces I was looking for. She gave me a nod and said she’d be right back.
The faint sound of Romolo’s voice drifted through the store, smooth and low as he spoke to the security guard. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the security guard was visibly sweating. Maybe Romolo had simply told him his last name. I had to remember that most people feared that name, just the way I used to fear it.
But not anymore. I wasn’t afraid of the mobster who casually flashed his gun at people, showed up to appointments with bruised knuckles, and threatened to snap a man’s neck just for talking to me.
Our eyes met briefly across the room. The smirk he wore seemed to convey he was perfectly in control of the situation. He gave me a wink.
It brought a smile to my lips and heated my cheeks.
The assistant brought out a dozen or so pieces and laid them out in front of me. The coat I’d seen in the storefront window was a given. A bold red dress caught my eye. It would look perfect layered with a turtleneck Eliza already had. The wide-cut pants in a psychedelic print screamed seventies, as did the scarf with a similar print.
After some back and forth on sizing, I had what I needed. It hadn’t even been an hour.
I headed to the register to pay. The attendants, who now seemed a bit more relaxed, even gave me a few shaky smiles as they folded the clothes and placed them into glossy red paper bags.
As I pulled out my wallet, one of the women shook her head. “He said he’ll pay for everything in cash.”
Awkwardly, I slid the wallet back into my purse. I guessed Romolo didn’t want any record of us being here, which made sense in case the staff tried to report this. But there were cameras hanging up above—
An arm wrapped around my waist. A warm, solid chest pressed against my back. “The security guard will erase the footage. They won’t say a word about this.”
My heart pitter-pattered against my ribcage. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Romolo’s lips drifted over my temple before he let go of me and moved to the counter to pay.
I stared at his back, attraction simmering inside my veins. I wondered how I’d gotten here. No matter how hard I tried to summon some disapproval for what he’d done in the past hour, I wasn’t getting anywhere with it.
Instead, I was grateful and…turned on.
I swallowed. Good girls didn’t sleep with gangsters.
But maybe I was tired of being good.
