“Don’t you think I have a right to know?”

He shifts his attention to my hand, takes it in his. He turns it over and pushes the three-quarter sleeve of my dress to my elbow. He studies the skin of my wrist, traces a vein up the inside of my arm. His touch sends shivers along my spine.

“These are my enemies, Natalie. Not yours.”

“But if they’re at my house, leaving me funeral flowers, they’re my enemies too.”

“I said I’ll take care of it and I will.”

“How?” Why am I asking? How much of this do I want to know?

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll fix it.”

I shake my head, look down at his hand, at his fingertips light as a feather as they tickle my skin. He’s watching too. Holding my small wrist in his big hand. It makes me feel vulnerable. Makes me think how easily it could be snapped. By whose enemies hardly matters. It would break all the same.

It’s strange what I’m feeling for this man whom I’ve known for only weeks. Who is dangerous. Whom I know I should run from. But thing is, I can’t imagine walking away. Can’t imagine not having him in my life.

But I’m being stupid. I can’t disregard what happened tonight, even if he ‘fixes’ it. I pull my hand free of his. “What about the next time? I’m guessing you have more than one enemy.”

I reach for my whiskey, but he recaptures my wrist and takes my glass, swallows its’ contents.

“Is this normal for you, Sergio? Normal life? Nothing out of the ordinary in someone leaving funeral flowers at your doorstep?”

He rubs the scruff of his jaw, the back of his neck. He’s looking at me but he’s in his head. I see him struggling with something. Maybe it’s the same thing I’m battling.

It takes him a long time to speak. “I have many enemies. And I don’t want it to be your normal. I’m a dangerous man. It’s dangerous for you to be with me.”

“What are you saying?”

His eyes burn. There’s so much inside them, conflict and rage and an intense darkness. An almost palpable violence.

He finally turns away, then answers. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

I go to him, touch his shoulder. “You want me to leave? Walk away? Is that what you’re telling me?”

He faces me, gives me a small smile, exhales loudly as he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s too late for that, sweetheart. I won’t let you go. That’s been the problem from day one.”

“I don’t want some man following me. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“You don’t have a choice,” he says. “Not on this one.”