Liam O’Grady was furious.
There was no doubt about it.
Someone was targeting Bianca. And it was because of her proximity to them.
“She’ll not be going in to work again,” he growled and heard his brother sigh.
“It’s not that easy, bro,” St Just began but O’Grady was having none of it.
“She’ll stay home. Any work she gets done, it’s going to be at her apartment. Where Barry and the boys can keep an eye on her.”
*
Bianca stepped out of the shower, her eyes red-rimmed, and looked into the mirror.
‘I look like a certain red-nosed reindeer,” she thought in disgust.
She sniffed.
There was no point in weeping over the infidelities of a Mafia Boss she knew, because the minute their bodies touched, she was lost to reason.
Again
Scowling, she threw down the towel and stomped across to get into her pyjamas.
At that moment, she did not know who she hated the most: herself or the man who had just left.
Because no matter what he did, she loved the Mafia Boss; no room for doubt over there! she thought to herself glumly.
Her phone beeped and she looked at it puzzled.
Who could be calling her at this time of night?
She lifted the phone and immediately, Mal’s hysterical voice came over the line.
“Oh Bianca, Oh, Bianca!”
Bianca stared at the phone.
Yes, Mal had been quite tipsy when they had parted but THIS drunk? No!
Perplexed, she glanced at her wristwatch, which was on her bedside table.
It was almost 4 a. m. Why was Mal calling her now?
“Hey, hang on, what’s the matter?” cried Bianca, trying to calm her hysterical friend.
Mal continued to sob and Bianca shook her head in exasperation. All she wanted was to climb into bed and sleep. It had been an eventful day, after all!
The night out at the pub had been fun, alright.
But what had happened after that?
She shuddered.
Anything but fun!
Finding out that O’Grady had been with another woman and then being taken roughly by him; only to have his mistress or whoever she was, walk into their room and screech in a fit of hysteria!
She sighed and spoke, hiding her irritation thinly,
‘Look, Mal, better tell me what you want or I’m cutting the call, cos I want to go to bed!”
Mal made a half-strangulated sound and said,
“That girl, Bianca, that girl!”
Bianca sighed and crawled into bed. Resting her head on the pillow, which still smelt faintly of O’Grady, she sighed unhappily, unable to stop thinking of the large, muscular Mafia Boss who had been making fierce love to her, just a while ago.
Her core muscles clenched in want as she thought of him and she shifted restlessly, annoyed wither own reactions.
Was she a horny cow or what?
“Which girl?” she asked, yawning.
“SHE’S DEAD!!!” screamed Mal and Bianca opened her eyes in shock.
Who was she talking about?
Somewhat curious, Bianca said carefully,
“Who’s dead, Mal?”
“Amy, Nash’s fiancee…someone shot her, Bianca…while they were leaving the pub…”
Bianca sat up as the full horror of what Mal had said dawned on her.
Amy, with the dark hair and the shy smile, the one who had been shivering in the cold because she hadn’t brought a jacket when she came to the pub?
The girl who had been cold, the one she had lent her hoodie to?
And then, a slow dread crept through her.
Had Amy been mistaken for Bianca?
And had she, Bianca, been the intended target?
*
The sudden sound of the doorbell had her stiffening in fear.
Who could be at the door now, at this time of the night, or rather, morning? she thought, her heart racing.
Carefully, she rose to her feet, grabbed the nearest heavy object, her accounts textbook, and walked to the door slowly.
Peeking through the keyhole, she saw St Just’s blonde ahead and sagged in relief. She threw open the door and fell into his arms.
St Just grabbed her as she sobbed into his chest and noticed the heavy book in her hands.
“Were you studying?” he asked in surprise.
She sniffled into his shoulder.
“No, I…” she raised her face, biting her lip as she said in a low voice,
“I just thought that I … if it was an intruder…”
He roared in laughter and scooped her up in his arms, one arm under her knees, the other around her back. She clung to him as his shoulders shook.
Over his shoulder, she saw Barry’s bearded face and sighed.
Of course, Barry and his biker friends would be on guard.
St Just lowered her gently to the bed and said, his hand on his hips, his eyes dancing in merriment,
“You were going to attack an intruder with that BOOK?”
She scowled and sat up, cross-legged. It sounded lame when he put it that way…but.
He smiled and lowered himself onto the bed beside her as he spoke gently, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear,
“I’ll get you a gun, babe. A small, lady’s revolver.”
She giggled.
“You are so…,” she spluttered, leaning against him,” A LADY’S revolver? Seriously?”
And then, her face sobering, she said,
“St Just, I just heard. That girl at the pub…”
He sat up and pulled her onto his lap tenderly.
“Ya, babe.” He said and she shuddered as a wave of sadness washed over her.
He went on, kissing her soft mouth tenderly, trying to erase her pain,
“Call me Finn, babe. St. Just is a mouthful.”
Suddenly, she was weeping, unable to control her tears.
He held her wrapped in his arms as she wept. But his heart almost skipped a beat when she raised her tear-washed eyes to him and whispered,
“Finn, do you…do you think they wanted to…wanted to kill me?”