“He won’t know. I’m not about to tell him and neither are you.”

“He’ll know.” He pushed his latte mug at her. “Make me another one.”

“What part of ‘I want you out’ didn’ you understand?”

“The part where you’re acting crazy. Just make me a latte and do what I tell you to do and don’t cry. Don’t even look like you’re about to cry.”

That stopped her. She turned back to him when she’d nearly walked into her kitchen to avoid talking to him. Why shouldn’t she look as if she were about to cry? There was an undertone to Timur’s voice, as if he were just a little nervous. Very slowly she lifted her gaze to the higher walls of her bakery and took a long look around. She couldn’t see anything but the smooth walls. Still . . .

“Did you put cameras in here?”

He tapped the latte mug on the counter. “Seriously, Evangeline.”

“Seriously, Timur.” She couldn’t believe she was challenging him. He was mafia. A mafia bodyguard. Maybe even a hit man.

She was crazy to challenge him. She should just shut up and do what he said. That wasn’t exactly in her nature. She didn’t want to ever do what anyone said again. She’d made herself that promise, but then she’d promised she’d never be around criminals. She’d work hard and find a really nice man who had a boring job and he’d come home to their little house every night. She wouldn’t have to worry about him cheating on her because he’d be so crazy about her . . .

“Evangeline.” Timur’s voice was sharp.

She didn’t care if he was angry with her. She was done. Done pining away for a man who was absolutely, completely inappropriate and wrong. What had gotten into her? Alonzo Massi—and that wasn’t even his real name—was as cold as ice. His emotions were frozen, if he had any, and she doubted he did. She didn’t think he could feel at all. He was a walking, talking robot and she had built too many fantasies around him. Stupid, but then she didn’t have a lot of experience. She should have gone to bed with him, it would have been awful. She wouldn’t know what she was doing, and he would hate that. He’d be an icicle and she would hate that. Perfect.

The bell sounded and for the first time she whipped her head up, glaring. Instead of Alonzo, it was her second wave of customers pushing through the door. She plastered on her smile, ignored Timur’s empty latte mug and went on full automatic. Screw Timur and screw Alonzo as well.