Page 54 of I Would Beg For You
“You’re sure it’s her?”
“Positive.”
“Need backup?”
I appreciate how he’s gone into soldier mode. I gave Carlito the afternoon since I planned to spend lunch here then attend to some business with an associate over in Nolita. I’ll reschedule. I can’t let the chance of meeting Naomi pass me by.
“You’re packing?” I ask.
He nods to the kitchens. “I can find something. You?”
“They can double down?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
We’re leaving the restaurant five minutes later each with a semi-automatic tucked in the waistband of our pants at the small of our backs. Marco brought his Ducati. I was going to walk. I hate getting on the backs of these things—it feels like I’m sitting on a cloud waiting to get ejected. But I bear down as he hands me a spare helmet, and we start towards the address Naomi sent.
He stops the bike in a small alley accosting the nondescript building which might’ve been a warehouse in the past. I push the back door open and do a quick sweep. It looks empty. I nod at Marco then go in, punching in the code Naomi sent. The elevator starts up, crawling to the loft apartment on the top floor.
I have to blink and catch my breath when I push the metal accordion-style door open. Because there, bathed in the sunlight flooding the place from the wide industrial windows, stands Naomi like an angel of light. She’s wearing pants and a cashmere sweater in pale pink, delicate flats on her feet.
I’ve barely taken a step inside when she’s rushing to me and smacking into my chest. It’s all I can do to wrap my arms around her and brace my hip against the wall to not fall from the velocity of her crashing into me.
She wraps her arms tight around me, and as I breathe in the lavender scent of her hair, something feels off. I tear myself from her and peer down into her face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She gulps, then shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”
“Naomi,” I warn softly.
“I missed you, that’s all.”
I can’t help but feel there’s more she’s not telling me, but there’s no hiding the rawness in her voice when she says she missed me. And Lord did I miss her, too. It feels like I can suddenly breathe, like her scent opened up my airways and I can now get decent oxygen in.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “What is this place?”
“It’s safe. Belongs to a friend. Someone we can trust.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I hold her to me with one arm while I sweep the place with my gaze. A bedroom opens off the living room to the side, and there seems to be a bathroom adjoining the open-plan kitchen to the right. If someone’s hiding here, they won’t have much space to do it. Plus, it’s a keyless property—no one can come up without the code.
I let out a breath, and my shoulders drop. I pull Naomi to me and drop a kiss onto her temple.
“Give me a minute,” I ask, retrieving my phone to text Marco.
Me:Del Piero.
Marco:10:10?
Me:Si.
Marco:Angels be with you.
I can faintly hear his bike start up below. He knows I’m safe, having just exchanged our code. Mamma and Zia Renata were huge into astrology and all that woo-woo stuff. Whenever we’d see 10:10 on a clock, they’d say it was a sign we had angels on our side. Alessandro Del Piero wore the Number 10 jersey at Juventus, and this became an inside track between me and Marco.
