The phone went dead.
What the hell was with people hanging up on me lately?
"Shit," I muttered and smashed the phone against the ground. It spread into three pieces. Knees cracked as I bent down to retrieve the battery and sim card. It had been a cheap phone. Most agency phones were, because — newsflash — they aren't as easy to hack as an iPhone or any other phone that was basically like a computer.
Listening devices, my ass.
They couldn't do shit with crap track phones.
To be safe, I separated the pieces then put them in my burn pile just in case.
My life, or the life I'd led for so many years, was over. There had to be some poetic justice in that. I was married, and now I was turning over a new leaf, one that included taking care of a Russian lunatic.
As if on cue, I heard Andi singing "Barbie Girl" at the top of her lungs. Damn, I already missed the agency.
Slowly, I made my way out of the room and down into the kitchen.
Andi was wearing the outfit I'd thrown at her. In my haste, I hadn't really paid attention to the clothes I'd chosen.
I really should have paid attention.
The white T-shirt rose just above her hips.
The jeans had holes right below her ass and on her thighs.
And the combat boots just made her look — shit. They made her look bad ass and completely screwable.
"Sunshine of my life," Andi said in a singsong voice. "What's the plan for today?"
"The plan?" I grabbed some OJ from the fridge. "I'm sorry, were you under the impression I was your cruise director? I don't make a daily itinerary for you, Andi. You're an adult. Pretty sure you don't need me to write shit down."
She put her hands on her hips.
I ignored the jolt of electricity that went through my body while I blatantly stared at her trim waist and curvy body.
"What? No honeymoon trip?" Her lower lip folded down into a pout. "And here I was so excited about wearing a bathing suit."
"Here's a thought." I put the OJ back and slammed the fridge door. "How about I turn on a sprinkler outside, and you can run through it?"
She smirked. "But it's cold outside. What's the fun in that?"
"I'll put a heater next to the sprinkler. Think of it this way. You can run back and forth until your hearts content. Isn't that what dogs do anyway? Until they tucker themselves out and take a lazy afternoon nap?"
"I don't know. You're the bitch here. You tell me." She said it in such a sweet little voice I nearly choked on my tongue. Nothing sweet about the words coming out of that mouth.
"Good one." I rolled my eyes.
"Husband." She skipped up to me then steadied herself by putting her hands on my shoulders. "Whoa, sorry, kinda dizzy."
I jerked back. Not because I wanted her to fall on her ass, but because it made me feel like a complete asshole that she couldn't even skip without getting dizzy, and I hated that she made me feel worse than I already did on a daily basis.
"Woo!" She took a deep breath. "Okay, so this is what I think."
"Wow, I don't recall asking for any of those deep thoughts about shoes and lipstick."
Andi got a starry look in her eyes. "I do love shoes. And before you start being an ass again, don't think I didn't see those Prada loafers in your closet."
"Why the hell were you in my closet?" I shouted.
She waved me away. "Besides, you like clothes the way I like chocolate."
I snorted. "How do you figure?"
With a saucy grin, she trailed her fingertips down my chest. "You love the way they feel against your skin, just like I love the way chocolate feels against my tongue. All lush, sweet, deep."
My body twitched on cue.
"As I was saying."
What? What were we talking about?
"I think we should do a honeymoon. After all, I only get one, and I think you owe it to me to make it bad ass."
"I owe you?" My thoughts were too jumbled by talk of chocolate and licking it off her body to actually form a better sentence or comeback than that.
"Yup." She shoved her hands in her pockets, drawing my attention back down to the skin peeking through her jeans. My mouth. Right. There. I could almost taste her. "I've even compiled a list!"
"Why does that not surprise me?"
She held up her finger then reached into her back pocket. I peeked around her body and received a smack on the chest when I checked out her ass a little longer than necessary.
"No looking if you don't intend on tasting." She winked.
"Wait, what?" Did she just say taste?
"You can look…" She nodded slowly. "…but only if you intend on following through. Otherwise, off limits."
"Don't you have that backward?"
"No." She shook her head, a perplexed look crossing her cute features. "I don't think so."
"So I can look, but I have to touch?"
Andi answered my lame-ass question by quickly grabbing my hand and placing it on her ass. "Any questions?"
I wasn't easy to shock. Hell, it was damn near impossible. So the fact that she'd managed to do that in under twenty-four hours was pretty impressive.
Clearly, my body agreed with me, considering my hand plastered against her ass, then squeezed. Blood quickly rushed into all the wrong places.
She let out a little huff as her cheeks tinged with red. Anger replaced the lust. I hated that she wanted me almost as much as I hated how much I wanted her.
I jerked her against my body. "Don't get yourself too excited, Russia. I don't screw corpses."
"Oh thank God, I'm still alive then." She fanned herself. "You should probably work on your game though, because I'm not going to make it easy for you when you do eventually want to partake."
"Partake? What is this? One of your historical romance novels?"
"You'd be a sexy Duke." She winked and let out a light laugh. "Now, the list."
A piece of crinkled paper was smashed into my free hand.
"You can take your hand off my ass now." She smirked.
I pinched, just because I could.
She let out a little yelp then narrowed her eyes. "Play fair."
"Never." I chuckled then started reading the list.
My stomach clenched tighter and tighter as I mentally checked off all the things she wanted to do for our honeymoon.
"There's like a hundred things on here," I pointed out.
"Ninety-nine, but hey, it's okay that math isn't your strong suit."
"The hell it isn't!"
"Ah, he doesn't like to be the less smarter one in the room. Gotcha." She smacked my check. "You're super smart, Italy. Swear."
I muttered a curse and shoved the list into my pocket. "Fine, we'll do some of these things, but that's only because it's a better alternative than jumping out of my window — something I was actually pondering after the FBI decided to—"
What the hell was I doing?
Confessing?
Andi's body froze, and then she slumped a bit, as if the energy from before had completely drained out of her. "Is it because of me? That they fired you?"
"Firing would have been a nicer word to use." I sat on the barstool and eyed the eggs she had been busy sprinkling with cheese. "And no, it's not because of you. It's because of me."
"They gonna try to kill you now?" she asked, her face serious.
"Ha, now wouldn't that be convenient for you." I was lashing out, trying to make her feel bad because I felt bad, and because I hated that she looked like she pitied me.
"Actually, no." Andi grabbed two plates and started piling food on both of them. "It's convenient that I have my own sexy bodyguard who's going to dress up as a duke later. I mean, if I didn't have you, I'd have to go hire someone."
"I never said I'd dress up."
"And I already bought the costume so…"
"Costume?" I repeated.
Her answer was to hand me a fork and a plate. "Besides…" She shoveled food into her mouth. "…I like your muscles."
"What?" I choked out a bit of egg; it fell onto my plate. Embarrassing. Huh, and I didn't do embarrassed. Always a first time for everything.
Andi smiled, mouth full of eggs, cheeks stuffed to the brim. On anyone else, it would have looked messy — slothlike. On her? It may or may not have been slightly endearing.
I looked down, breaking eye contact.
"Muscles. For when I can't walk anymore." She said it in a happy voice, but I could tell there was a bit of sadness there. How could she not be sad?
"So not only am I your husband-turned-protector-turned-duke, but now I'm your damn nurse too?"
"Ask me if I got an outfit for that too."
"Almost afraid to." I sighed. The doorbell rang, and then the door slammed shut.
"Are we expecting company on our first day of wedded bliss?" Andi's voice sounded hurt.
I looked into her eyes and cursed.
They were pooling with tears.
What the hell?
"Russia…" I wasn't sure why I felt the need to explain myself. "…Nixon's stopping by to add some backup, just in case the FBI decides to tie up a loose end."
"Me?"
I shook my head. "Me."
"Don't worry." She placed her hand on mine. "I'll protect you, Italy."
I bit back a smile. "I wouldn't will you on anyone."
"Aw." She took that same hand and put it on her heart. "You and your compliments. Don't make me blush."
I was about to say something in response when Nixon waltzed in.
"How's wedded bliss, Andi?"
"Great." Andi shoved more eggs into her face and shrugged. "We're going to play dress-up later."
Nixon bit down on his lip, probably to keep from laughing his ass off. "Oh really?"
"Yup." Andi smiled. "Want me to record and upload to YouTube?"
"Hell yes," Nixon said at the same time I said, "Hell no."
"Andi…" I was already exhausted. She ran conversational laps around my typical mornings where I didn't even speak until two hours after waking up. "…why don't you clean up while Nixon and I check out the perimeter."
"I'll come with," she said cheerfully.
"No." I laughed. "Sorry, Andi, but this is guy business."
Her eyes narrowed. In an instant, she had pulled open one of the kitchen drawers, pulled out a gun I'd never seen before in my house, loaded it, then pointed it in my direction. "Dude, I got your back. I told you this. Why don't you listen?" She turned to Nixon. "He always this dense?"
This time Nixon did laugh. "So, married life seems to be going well."
"Bite me," I muttered.
"Andi…" Nixon nodded toward the door. "…feel free to help us out. We could always use an extra set of eyes."
"Awesome."
I rolled my eyes. "Don't forget to duct tape her mouth — it's a dead giveaway to the bad guys."
"Ooo, say bad guys again, only this time make your voice lower and whisper in my ear," Andi said in an excited voice.
"Russians." I looked heavenward.
"Thought they didn't smile," Nixon said more to himself than to me. "And she hasn't stopped since I got here."
"And she probably won't," Andi said triumphantly. "I've got a lot to be excited about."
She was kidding, right? And this is why I kept reminding her of death, because she seemed to forget every damn second! Why the hell was I the logical one in this situation? Newsflash. Dying. Death. The End. Do not pass go. She had to realize that.
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.
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.