Page 6 of Texting Mr. Stranger
“The deposit went in?” she asks, sitting beside me with her notebook. She always makes a point of working on her poetry when she returns from work.
“Yeah. They’re coming tomorrow. He seems real excited for his little sister.” I imagine a young girl, her face full of excitement, the same thrill that burned through me when I first heard the beauty of the violin.
“He must berich,” Emily says. “What’s the name on the payment account?”
When I tell her, she quickly types into her phone and then shrugs. “I can’t find them online.”
“Maybe they don’t have a website. I don’t know.”
“I’m looking a gift horse in the mouth,” Emily says, shaking her head.
“You’re right too. It’s not every day something like this happens.”
“Or maybe we’ve both been poor for too long.”
Emily had it even worse than me growing up. I had Mom busting her ass and running herself ragged to give me violin lessons and the freedom to try my hardest in high school. Emily had a dad with a depraved mind and a mom with selective sight.
She grabs my hand. “This could be it, Bella. Your big break. You might even be able to quit the restaurant?—”
“Crap, the restaurant!” I jump to my feet. “I need to get ready. Dang, I won’t even have time for a shower.”
“Yes, you will,” Emily says. “Use some of that deposit to grab a cab.”
“That’s a waste.”
I usually get a bus and a subway to get to and from work.
“It’s better than losing your job. Anyway …” She leans in, nudging me playfully. “You’ve got the money.”
It seems surreal and incredibly difficult to believe, but for once, she’s right.
“Okay, yeah, just this once.” Heading to the bedroom, I mutter, “Now I just need to make sure I do a good job tomorrow.”
CHAPTER THREE
MATTEO
The rest of the day goes off without a hitch, which is the most a man can ask for in a life like mine. I get a hard workout in the gym, soaking the floor with sweat and flooding myself with adrenaline. After a shower, I lie in bed, expecting to fall flat out like usual.
This is by design. I hate lying awake thinking about everything I’ve done and have to do. If a person could function without sleep, I wouldn’t even bother. It’s boring. It’s pointless.Tryingto sleep makes me restless half the time.
Rolling over, I close my eyes even tighter, trying not to see blood and chaos, trying not to hear gunshots and screaming. Sofia’s words return to me. She’s determined for Bella to see her as just another student. She doesn’t want the respect and fear of being a DeLuca.
Do I? It’s odd to even think about what I want. I rarely do it. The Family has to come first.
Rolling over again, I shift uncomfortably. This mattress costs more than some people’s rent for the year, yet I can’t sleep. What sort of ungrateful ass does that make me?
Grabbing my phone, I intend to go to my emails. Since I run the Family along with several legitimate businesses, there’s always something to do, a never-ending list of tasks. Yet somehow, I find myself on Bella’s page. I bite down when I see her profile photo.
She’s standing in nature someplace, with the sun behind her and the lighting emphasizing her shape. The adrenaline from the workout is usually enough to linger during my deep sleep, letting me wake up primed and ready to go. Today, all the energy goes right to Bella.
Clicking her photo, I zoom in. She’s wearing a dress that cuts off just above her knee, showing a tempting glimpse of her thigh. Her cleavage isn’t over the top, but,fuck, there’s enough there to get me thinking.
I imagine walking into that sunny scene, gently taking the violin from her hands, and pulling her into my arms. A groan escapes me as I zoom in on the photo, adjusting the frame so that only Bella is in it: no background, no nature, just her. She isn’t smiling. She’s got a dreamy look on her face like she’s fantasizing about all the masterpieces she could compose.
The base of my dick twitches as I imagine tasting her lips, nearly feeling the thick gorgeousness of her hips and the heat of her skin. I don’t let myself think about how unlikely this is ever to happen.
Even if I wanted a woman, it would be cruel to pick a civilian, somebody unaccustomed tothe life. It would involve too much explaining, and what if there’s another war? I don’t think about it right now—just the fantasy.