Demand by Lisa Renée Jones

yourself. I am protecting you. Call me when you figure that out. I will be here for you.” He starts walking again, and I don’t stop him, a memory of my father filling my mind.
    I’m standing at the window of our living room and there are two men in official Army uniforms, though my father is dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, home for a rare month. I watch as one of the men steps close to my father and they square off.
    I hold my breath, afraid they’ll come to blows, but abruptly they step away from each other. The two uniformed men turn and start walking away. My father watches them get into the Army jeep, and I run to the door and open it, standing on the porch and waiting. It’s not until that jeep is driving away that he walks toward me, his jaw set hard, his body stiff. He climbs the porch steps, and I don’t ask a question, but rather, wait for whatever lesson he will deliver, because there is always a lesson.
    He stops in front of me. “Never judge a man by his uniform or his attitude, good or bad. The truth is in his eyes and his actions. Never forget that, baby girl.”
    â€œSo were those men good guys or bad guys?”
    â€œSignora? Do you need something else?”
    I blink and bring our waiter into view. “The ladies’ room?” I ask, struggling to bring myself back to the present. He motions to a corner sign that reads TOILET , and I murmur, “Thank you,” and head in that direction, keeping my pace until I’ve traveled down a small hallway to the one-person bathroom.
    Inside, I lock the door and sink against it, inhaling and letting it out, affected more by the memory of my father than I am by Gallo. That day was—I think—about six months before he died. Before he was murdered. Who were those men? Why were they there?
    And what did Gallo say that triggered the memory? Was it his reference to murder? What the hell was that thing about Kayden and a politician and murder?
    I have looked into Kayden’s eyes. He wouldn’t kill someone for money. And damn it, I played this all wrong. I didn’t find out anything Giada has revealed to Gallo, nor did I find out who inside the Hunters is betraying Kayden. Maybe I should have pretended to doubt Kayden. No. No, that would have just empowered Gallo even more.
    A piece of paper slides under the door. I frown and pick it up, opening it to read: I know. That’s it. Just, I know. Nothing more. Nothing less. A chill runs down my spine and I open the door to find the hallway empty. Grinding my teeth, I whisper, “Your actions define you, Gallo. You really are an asshole.”
    I glance at the note again. I know. I have no idea what it means. Maybe it’s about the butterfly? Or Niccolo? Or both? Why wouldn’t he bring them up, if he knew any of this? Maybe he’s just trying to spook me into a reaction I won’t give him.
    Officially ready to get out of here, I open my purse, wanting Charlie handy, then shove the note into my coat pocket with my phone and head back into the bar again, relieved that Gallo hasn’t reappeared. Wasting no time, I cross through the seating area, and reach the front door. Exiting, the cold air makes me walk quickly down the narrow brick pavement that’s now lined with pedestrians. The crowd provides coverage for me if Gallo is following, but it does the same for him.
    I turn onto the quieter walkway where I’d paused to Google a map earlier, thinking about Giada and the need to rein her in. I’m halfway to the end when I pass an alcove, and to my shock, a strong hand comes down on my arm and pulls me inside.

seven

    I know it’s Kayden even before I see him, the familiar spice of his scent enveloping me, his big, warm body pinning me in a corner, his jean-clad legs caging mine. “What the hell were you doing there with Gallo, Ella?” he demands, his hands bracketing my waist, his tone hard. His temper is unforgiving, but I