Angel's Mafia (gxg) ✓

III | Lover

MY MOUTH OPENS. CLOSES.

"We did . . . we did what?"

In a matter of moments, the woman has closed the gap between us. In the next ten seconds, the gun is in her hands and a smirk is on her face.

"Next time you point a gun," she says with a wink, tossing the gun carelessly onto the bed, "make sure you turn the safety off."

I step back, frantic. I back into the nightstand, and objects scatter and collide onto the floor. Weapon―I need something, anything.

My fingers close around a water bottle.

"Don't come any closer!" I warn, brandishing it like a knife.

The woman steps closer. "If I wanted to hurt you by now, I would have." She grins wolfishly. "And besides . . . don't you want to know what happened last night?"

Yes. "No. I don't believe you. I would have never stolen something from the Museum."

"Well . . . I was quite persuasive."

I shake my head. "I don't remember anything. It . . . it never happened. I don't want to know."

Something like disappointment flits through her eyes. So quick I almost miss it, but―

"Oh, that's not what you were saying last night," she says, her smile sharp enough to slice.

What the hell was I saying last night?

"I don't remember anything!" I snap. My eyes flick to the grandfather clock. Shit. Seven minutes to get to class. "I was drunk, okay? I didn't know what I was doing."

The woman crosses her arms. A strap of her silk pyjama shirt slips down her shoulder. My mouth dries as she says, "You know, when people get drunk, they call their exes and sing bad karaoke. You planned a heist for a painting worth half a million dollars, and executed it perfectly."

She gestures to the painting behind her, as if to say, Exhibit A.

I planned a heist? And pulled it off?

I shake my head again. Firm. "No, even if I could, which I couldn't, and even if I did, which I didn't, I . . . I just . . . it's not possible."

I slam the water bottle back onto the nightstand. More cash flutters to the ground. I want to ask why the hell she has so much loose cash, but instead I grab my wallet.

Stiffly, I add, "Also, I need to go."

The woman looks me up and down, her gaze lingering over my dress, my heels.

"In that? It's a little early in the morning to work at a strip club."

I push open the bedroom door, not daring to look at the painting I allegedly stole. I flick my chin at her―Vittoria, my roommate, said it was the equivalent to giving the middle finger.

"I have a university class to get to in―" I check the clock in her kitchen. "―six minutes!"

"Wearing that?" the woman calls out, following me through the apartment.

"Yes," I hiss. "I don't have any other clothes. And there's no time to go back now."

"You know, you could wear something of mine."

My chin tilts higher. "I am perfectly fine going like this." Damn my pride.

"Could I at least give you a ride? The university is halfway across town."

Shit. If I say no, I'll be late. But if I say yes . . .

It's my first day of class. I can't be late.

"Fine," I say coldly. "Thank you."

"WHEN YOU SAID RIDE, THIS ISN'T what I was picturing."

I cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the warm wind that ruffles the edges of my dress.

The woman buckles the helmet beneath my chin. She only had one, and she said I needed it more than she did.

And who said chivalry is dead?

The woman straddles the seat of the motorcycle and pats the space behind her. "Are you coming or not?"

She revvs the engine, and a thunderous roar burns through the empty cobblestone streets.

I refrain from asking, Is this safe? Mostly, because I'm terrified the answer will be a grin and not of course this is safe, don't be ridiculous.

I hop onto the back of the motorcycle and tighten my arms around the woman's stomach.

Breathing in the scent of leather, I close my eyes as the woman pushes the motorcycle into gear and we go flying.

Wind rushes into my ears, drowning out the sound of my heartbeat.

Blood pumps hard and fast through my body, until my fingertips tingle and dizziness washes through me.

I feel alive.

After what feels like forever but is definitely only a minute, I open my eyes and squint at the world around us. Cobblestone streets and pink brick buildings blur as we speed past the people walking and the shiny metallic cars driving.

Straight into the heart of the city.

Strands of the woman's dark hair whip my face. I taste lemon and verbena.

But angels above, it's glorious.

When we finally thunder to a stop in front of the university, students turn to gape at us. The woman gives me a wry grin as I let go of the firmness of her stomach and jump off the seat.

I unbuckle my helmet and hand it to her.

I'm already late, but I pause.

"Um. Thank you."

The woman's eyes are like pools of honey. She blinks at me. A ferocious grin curves her mouth.

"You're welcome."

The engine roars, and the motorcycle takes off with a rush of wind.

I'm already on the marble steps of the Accademia, four minutes late, before I realize―

I don't even know her name.