THREE

me," I groaned, covering my face. The alarm on my phone blared as I struggled to summon the energy required to shut it off.

Twenty four years of life, and I still wasn't a morning person.

I showered quickly and applied a light coat of makeup to my face, slipping on my usual work clothes: a cream silk blouse and a black pair of cigarette trousers.

A quick cup of coffee and a cereal bar was all I had time for before I darted out of the door to catch the bus. The wage I brought in from my internship at a local firm of lawyers only just covered the cost of my tiny, matchbox apartment. I could hardly afford a new microwave, let alone a car.

But I was surviving on my own, and I was proud of myself. I liked working, even though I was mainly used as a run-around for coffees and doughnuts, and more often than not my days consisted of sorting through reams and reams of paperwork. I knew, eventually, that it would all pay off, and in a strange way, I found hard work satisfying.

"Morning Florence," Claudia greeted me as I stepped inside the over-heated building. I had made certain not to tell anyone - least of all the nosey receptionist - that today was my birthday.

"Morning," I greeted with a smile.

"Henson threw a new folder on your desk this morning. More fact checking, I think."

I nodded my thanks and ducked at last into my small office. Although it was tiny - only just fitting a desk and two filing cabinets - the room had begun to feel like a second home to me in the last few months. It might have been the smallest office in the building, but it had the biggest window that looked out onto the quaint cobbled street, allowing a flood of light to brighten my days.

I sat down and began digging through the latest folder.

Christian Henson, or just Henson as everyone at the office liked to call him, was the big shot boss with a little firm on the outskirts of London. Just barely in his thirties, he walked around with an almost permanent cup of coffee in one hand and an even more permanent look of deep thought on his chiselled face. He and his father ran a small chain of firms in the London area.

There was a sharp knock at the door. Henson opened it just a crack and leaned around the corner. His eyes flickered to the open folder on my desk. "Have you had the chance to look through it yet?"

I tapped my fingers against the paperwork and smiled. "Previous gang affiliations, found with a weapon suspected to have been used in the murder of Josh Barnes."

Henson's lips twitched as if he might smile. "Which is unusual because...?"

"That crime was committed twenty years ago. This guy is only eighteen."

"Interesting." He pushed the door open further and set a coffee and muffin on my desk. "Isn't it?"

"That the weapon wasn't just disposed of, yes." I leaned further over the file notes, scanning carefully. "It's so unusual that the weapon was discovered with Barnes' blood still on it." I shook my head. "People are usually so much more careful than that."

"Not if they want to frame someone."

"But twenty years after the original crime was committed? It makes no sense."

Henson nodded approvingly. "You're right." He took a sip of his own coffee and held the styrofoam cup to his lips for a second as if in thought. "How about you come with me tonight to the station to question this guy?"

I practically choked on air. "Me come with you? I'm just an intern."

"Meaning you have to learn at some point."

I glanced down at the folder and then back up to my boss. "I don't know," I shrugged. "What if I mess everything up for you?"

"Highly unlikely." Henson tapped his knuckles on the edge of my desk once and then sauntered back over to the door. He paused on the way out. "Come. Then I'll take you for birthday drinks."

He closed the door before I could say a word.

The rest of my day was spent scanning that very same folder over and over again. The crime was interesting, and it did fill me with a burning curiosity, but that wasn't why I kept flipping the pages with heavy sighs.

I was thinking. Thinking of ways to get out of "birthday drinks", ways to get out of this entire situation. I wasn't ready to meet a client like this, and I most certainly absolutely one hundred percent was not ready to go on a date.

Not that birthday drinks counted as a date. Or did they? I was only twenty three! Henson had to be at least thirty, maybe older. Did that make the situation weird? I hadn't dated anyone in years. Hadn't gone on a date since...well, since over three years ago. And he was my boss! I couldn't even begin to grasp how wildly inappropriate-

My thoughts were halted abruptly by another knock on my office door. This time the sound was softer but just as urgent.

"Come–"

Claudia burst through the door before I'd even finished welcoming her. Her cheeks were red and her eyes wide. "Florence," she hissed fiercely, "there is a man outside waiting for you."

I frowned and set my pen down, arching my neck to see out in to the hallway. "A man?" I inquired. The way she said it made it sound like it was some sort of alien.

"Henson told him that you're working but he refuses to leave until he has seen you!" She stepped further inside and closed the door. "You have to sort this out! He-he looks like he's about to start causing trouble. He's pretty insistent..."

Why did it feel like my day was about to become infinitely more difficult? Was it so much to ask that on my birthday I should just have peace and quiet?

I groaned and rubbed my forehead. "Send him in."

Claudia left the door ajar and ventured back into reception where there seemed to be some sort of quiet, tense argument going on. All I could see through the crack in the door was Claudia gesturing wildly and shaking her head. After a moment she returned to her desk and I picked my pen back up, staring at the papers in front of me as if I could focus even a fraction of my attention on them.

The door opened silently and I didn't glance up until it clicked shut. "Buon compleanno mio fiore."

(Happy birthday my flower)

My breath hitched in my throat and my words dried up instantly. Arturo was stood in my office, in fact he was leaning against the door as if he had any right to be there. His hands were shoved into his pockets, suit jacket trapped behind his arms exposing his red braces.

My jaw felt a little slack so I quickly closed my mouth and turned my eyes back to the papers on my desk. "I'm not your anything."

Silence stretched on so long that I couldn't restrain myself any longer. I glanced up quickly and saw Arturo placing a cigar between his lips. "You have been learning Italian?"

"You're not allowed to smoke in here." I completely ignored his question. Of course, I had learnt some basic phrases, but that was mainly so I could throw insults if he came to pester me again. It looked like my skills were going to come in handy, too.

Arturo removed the cigar from between his lips and paused with it in his hand. "Can't you make an exception for an old friend?"

"Old friend," I mimicked. "Is that what you'd call me?" Arturo shrugged. In the bright sunlight that shone through the window the faint lines of his tattoos were just visible through his white dress shirt. Don't get distracted. "Old friends doesn't exactly seem like the right name," I continued, setting my pen down firmly and finally making eye contact. "Considering you put a gun in my mouth and vowed you were going to kill me."

Arturo's jaw clenched and then relaxed. "You betrayed me," he said flatly.

"And you said you could never hurt me."

"That's different."

"Why? Because you never pulled the trigger? You smashed my head into the floor and took me to be murdered by my own family. If it wasn't for Lucas–"

"If it wasn't for him this would never have happened in the first place and I would still have you."

"Nobody has me," I snapped, voice growing audibly with irritation. I glanced at the door, conscious that people could be listening in, and lowered my voice. "Nobody has me, and nobody is going to have me."

"This wasn't what I came here for, Florence. I didn't come to pick a fight." Arturo pushed off the wall and finally stood up straight.

"What did you come here for, then?"

As he went to answer the office door came open and Henson stepped inside. He glanced at Arturo - I watched his eyes take in the expensive suit and powerful stance - then at me. "Is everything alright, Florence?"

I could tell it irked Arturo that my boss called me by my first name. "She's fine," he snapped without even turning to look at the other man. His eyes held mine steadily.

"Florence?" Henson pressed.

I tore my gaze away from Arturo and offered a tight-lipped smile. "I'm fine. Arturo was just leaving."

"I'm not going anywhere." The response was instant and dripped with malice.

"Mr..." Henson began, then faltered and changed tack. "Sir, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Arturo rolled his eyes and turned to face the other man. Although Henson was tall and well-built, Arturo still had a couple of inches on him and despite being less bulky he somehow seemed more powerful. I watched as his eyes travelled all the way from Henson's highly polished brogues right up to his styled blonde hair. His lips twitched - not quite a smirk, but almost one. "You can ask all you want."

"Arturo–" I warned quietly.

He paid me no heed and took a step closer to my boss. When he spoke I could hear the icy threat behind the words, and Henson must have too; his eyes widened slowly and he let out a shallow breath. "Go on. Ask."

"Henson," I practically pleaded, "don't."

Arturo's eyes snapped to me. "So you're both on a first-name basis." Slowly he pulled out a cigar and placed it between his lips, attention fully back to Henson. "You can ask me, but if you ask me then I will be angry. You don't want to see me angry."

Henson took a second to assess the situation. Clearly he was intimidated; although Arturo had shown no weapons, his whole demeanour exuded confidence and power. Shrinking suddenly, Henson shook his head and took a step back. I breathed a sigh of relief. "You really pick them, huh," he said dryly in my direction.

"What did you just say to her?" Arturo had my boss pinned up against the wall in a second, hands wrapped tightly around his collar.

"Arturo!" I jumped up from my chair, trying to pull him back. "Please!" He pulled away only a fraction of an inch but it was enough for Henson to get free. He stumbled back towards the door, wide-eyed. "I think it's best if you leave," I said, shooting him an apologetic glance.

Arturo's eyes followed Henson the entire way out of the room and didn't settle back on me until the door had closed. All tension now dissipated, he leaned against my desk with his fingers curled around the edge of it. I was stood half way between the desk and door, wondering how in hell everything had gone so very, very wrong.

"You just made me tell my boss to get out," I said through clenched teeth.

"I didn't make you do anything."

I don't think I'd ever felt so angry in my life. Who was he, to storm in and ruin my birthday! I marched over to him and snatched the cigar from between his lips, waving it at the door. "Get out."

Arturo's hands settled on my hips and my eyes snapped to his. We watched each other in silence, my arm still outstretched in mid-air holding his unlit cigar. "Florence Loretta Genovese," Arturo breathed. His forehead fell against mine and I didn't pull away. "I want you to go out with me."

For a very, very brief second, I allowed myself to feel his breath against my skin. I hadn't been this close to another person in months. When I closed my eyes and forgot everything that had happened between us, it was nice. I could feel my body leaning into his warmth, hoping it could support me.

And then I remembered, and my eyes opened, and the illusion fell apart.

"You are insane, Arturo," I said quietly. It took quite some force to pull away from his grip, but I did. "There is something not right in your head if you truly want that."

"You're trying to tell me that you don't?" He didn't look offended, he looked like he straight up didn't believe me, which made him even more crazy.

"No, I absolutely do not want to go out with you." When Arturo continued staring at me in silence, my frustration grew. "You and I are toxic for each other. We were never supposed to be together, and three years ago that was proved when you threatened to kill me and then almost died because of me. That isn't normal or healthy, but you want to know what was? My life, as of about five minutes minutes ago, before you walked through that door."

"Ouch." Even as he said it, he was smirking.

"I hate you!"

"No you don't."

"I do."

"You don't." How could he be so calm and confident? I opened my mouth to argue again, but realised we were at risk of starting a 'do not', 'do too' type argument, and I wasn't willing to stand here bickering like a child.

I sighed, folding my arms. There was only one threat I could think of which might have some kind of effect, and I was willing to use it. "I will call the police if you don't leave the premises immediately."

Arturo stopped leaning on my desk at last and stood up to his full height. Even though I was wearing heels, he still towered above me. "Alright, if that's how we're going to play it. But just remember, you asked for this."

"Stop messing around," I warned, though I knew my voice carried far less conviction than his.

"I'll leave," he said, "no problem. But only if you're coming with me. So, how I see it, you have two options. Leave of your own free will and have a nice, relaxed dinner with yours truly. Or, alternatively, I can throw you over my shoulder, carry you out of here and cause a scene. The choice is yours, bella."

(beauty)

"You're evil," I hissed.

Apparently, Arturo didn't care. He checked his watch, "time is ticking. You have exactly one minute to decide."

"Fine," I snapped. "If it will make you leave, then fine. I'll come with you."