Bartered Innocence (Made Men of Manhattan #1)

Chapter 1

Isabelle

My cheeks burn as I feel António’s eyes on me, so I continue to chop without looking up. It’s his job to observe and correct if needed, but something about his stare has always felt off. As if he’s waiting for me to slip up, even after he showers me with compliments.

We’re trying a new recipe this evening, and I want to impress him and my father. They’ve been kind enough to teach me the ins and outs of my family’s restaurant that’s tucked away in a small neighborhood bordering Queens and Brooklyn. It’s been two years since I graduated high school, and my father decided against sending me to culinary school since the one I wanted to attend was overseas, so I’ve been grateful to work directly with António instead. Tonight is the perfect opportunity to showcase how far I’ve come and instill more faith in me taking over the restaurant someday soon.

Sometimes I wonder if I’d have to work myself this hard if I'd been born my father’s heir. My older brother Ricky chose to become a Made Man, a soldier for the Famiglia. It left me to help with the family business, which they were a little reluctant about at first. Traditionally, women in the Famiglia stay home with the children they’re expected to have. Everyone is begrudgingly adjusting to new times, but some men still sneer about it so I’ve had to work twice as hard to prove I’m meant to be here. Others may view my job as a consolation prize, a pity gesture since Ricky opted out. I don’t care because I’d take a shift at the restaurant over trying to become a part of the “society” and marrying the first eligible bachelor who expressed interest in my child-bearing hips. The Famiglia has come a long way from older traditions and I’m sure I could have pushed for college, but the only thing I wanted was to become a chef.

“Do you remember how to make the spaetzle dough?” António asks, setting the bowl of spinach he just wilted on the counter. His eyes roam over my preparation and he nods in approval.

I smile up at him, trying to ignore the admiration that flares in my chest. “I’ve been practicing since I knew you wanted to debut this recipe at Luca’s meeting.”

I try not to wince at the familiarity of his name falling from my lips. Luca is the son of the Underboss of New York, but I grew up knowing him as Ricky’s closest friend. Sometimes it’s hard to forget that others don’t see him as often as my family does, especially living farther away from the more prominent parts of the city.

He nods again, lingering next to me. “Perhaps we should do a test run before preparing the entire dough.”

Annoyance has me gritting my teeth for a second. I haven’t messed up the entire time I’ve been training under him, but he still doesn’t trust me to complete the steps without his help. I force the smile back on my face. “Of course.”

The patronizing grin he gives me in return is a reminder that he has more experience and I still have a lot to learn—or so my father would say. António is one of the better chefs for the Famiglia, and while it’s nothing compared to the chefs Luca’s family has employed in Manhattan or even Little Italy in the Bronx, I know that my family’s restaurant has bloomed with the help of António’s creations.

It doesn’t hurt that he’s attractive for an older man. His dark hair is peppered with some gray, and from what I hear his lean frame makes him quite sought after by widowed and single women. He’s been enthusiastic to teach me, which is more than I can say about some sous chefs we’ve employed. I owe a lot to António, considering the possibility of me working here hinges on his agreement. Over the past two years, I’ve grown more confident under his gentle, if sometimes condescending teaching, and I think of him as a mentor turned friend.

The door to the kitchen swings open and then slams shut. Some dishes on the rack closest to the dishwasher rattle from the force. We both startle and António takes a step back from me. There’s nothing inappropriate between us and my brother has cameras to ensure it, but it doesn’t stop the scowl spreading on Ricky’s face as he glances between us.

“Can I have a moment with my sister?”

I wipe my hands on the apron and untie it, glaring at him for addressing anyone but me with that question. He knows I hate when men act like that, especially when we weren’t raised in a traditional household that tried to indoctrinate that bullshit. My father held his tongue in public, but behind closed doors he was more lenient about voicing his opinions of the old ways.

“I’ll get the dough started,” António says as I follow Ricky out of the kitchen and into our father’s small office. It’s crammed with boxes of supplies, leaving enough room for a single wooden desk and the standing safe. It forces Ricky and me to stand closer than we usually would, and I try to ignore the scent of cigarettes and something far darker coming from him. It’s more of a sinister aura that lingers around most Made Men.

He waits until the click of the door lock, and then he guards it with crossed arms and stares me down with a suspicious look. “Anything going on with you two?”

I roll my eyes. “You would know if there is. I’m sure you check the cameras religiously.”

My brother grins because it’s true. He’s texted me more than once about how hideous I look with my face flushed with sweat and hair sticking all over the place by the end of the night. Rolling his shoulders, he glances around the office, not looking for anything in particular. His eyebrows furrow and his eyes shift for a brief moment with an expression I don’t recognize. He clears his throat and turns back to me before I can ask. “Luca is coming by tonight.”

“I know. That’s why we’re preparing already.”

My brother nods, but it doesn’t seem like he’s listening. He’s dressed casually in a black t-shirt and jeans. His unruly near-black hair, similar to mine, is unstyled so I assume they didn’t go into the offices. Most of the time when they’re in Manhattan they all wear suits. “Have you heard the rumors about Luca’s father?” he asks.

Tommasso Genovese, Luca’s father, is the Underboss of New York for the Cosa Nostra. He’s the head of the Genovese Famiglia, but he’s been scarce in public outings the past year and Luca’s presence has increased tenfold.

While my family may be low in the ranks of the Famiglia, Ricky became friends with the Underboss’s son at school. I know our father doesn’t mind him rising in the ranks of Made Men, but some nights I worry about the brother I once knew and the cruelty he’s probably seen and been a part of.

“Some. Are they true?” I reply, my voice lower than a whisper. Since working at the restaurant, I’ve been more privy to gossip than usual.

Ricky shrugs. “Luca is keeping quiet, even to us. But there’s something else.”

He swallows and my stomach hollows, knowing it must be bad. “He’s gathering all the eligible women. I think he’s going to arrange a marriage with Chicago or Jersey.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? Marriages can bring peace, can’t they?” If Luca arranged with Jersey, that’d be the shock of the century. There’s been war between us and the Irish for decades. It doesn’t help that our borders are so close to each other. I heard the Irish technically hold Philadelphia as their most prosperous city, but they seem to reside in Jersey more.

My brother flinches, running a hand through his hair. “He asked, Belle. I couldn’t lie, he would see through it.”

An uneasy ache in my chest has me grabbing his arm. “What did Luca ask?”

His eyes darken with despair. “He asked if you need to be removed from the book.”

I let out a shaky breath, my mouth drying with the question. Everyone knows of the book , a relic from traditionalists that tracks the women of the Famiglia deemed “worthy” of marriage. “Oh god. He’s looking for virgins?”

Ricky doesn’t say anything, watching me silently as I continue to think aloud.

“That means it’s someone important,” I say, letting go of him and shaking my head. I hate everything to do with the traditionalists, especially their stupid fucking book. It also terrifies me because it’s been years since whispers of an arranged marriage have had any truth to them. While I’ve heard their archaic database of purity is not as closely tracked anymore, it's certainly frowned upon if they find out you’ve slept with someone before your husband.

Ricky studies me nervously, but deep down we both know I won’t be chosen given our family’s low status, virgin or not. I cock my head to the side when I come to the realization it will always be a possibility, and it would help lessen the chances if I wasn’t in that goddamn book.

“Okay. That’s fine. It’s an easy fix, I’ll just become not a virgin. You’ll tell Luca you didn’t know. And I mean why would you? You’re my brother. I wouldn’t tell you who I fucked.”

He flinches at the word, and I refrain from rolling my eyes. The man can shoot people, but I cuss and suddenly he’s uncomfortable.

“Dai, Ricardo. I’m twenty-one. I can say the word fuck.”

His cheek quirks again and he sighs. “I—Fuck. I think this was a mistake. Don’t lose your virginity, Isabelle. Luca would kill us both.”

“How would he know?”

Ricky pales, gripping my shoulders as his fingers dig in. “I swore an oath to the Famiglia. I love you and I wish I could protect you, but I owe my loyalty to them.” Translation: He won’t lie for me, and he doesn’t approve of me losing my virginity either.

We stare at each other, my jaw aching as I clench my teeth to remove the sting from the back of my eyes. Just once, I would have loved for him to have my side. My brother waits, and I know he’s expecting me to agree. His eyebrows dip and his fingers hold me tighter.

“Tell me you won’t do anything drastic.”

“I won't…”

He blows out a sigh of relief before I continue, “…tell you until after the fact.”

Ricky groans. “Isabelle, you don’t understand. The fact he ensured you are still in the book is an honor. We are nobodies.”

I push his hands off me and scoff. “Then it shouldn’t matter if I suddenly need to be removed, no?”

“Isabelle…” He rubs at his face. I know his defeated expression is trying to convince me that no one would believe I fucked a stranger beforehand, considering I work and then go straight home.“I’m telling you, don’t do anything dumb.”

That’s easy enough considering I don’t think losing my virginity to make myself ineligible to marry some pompous criminal is a dumb idea. A rushed one, perhaps. The only hiccup is not knowing the time constraints on Luca’s proposition, which means I’m left with no time to hesitate and limited options.

“Of course.” I give him a half-smile that does nothing to soothe him.

* * *

My heart is beating so loud that I’m afraid others can hear it. I’ve tried to keep my gaze on my towel, wiping down the counters as I work up the courage to ask António.

It would make sense if he’s the one who took my virginity. We spend a lot of time together, and things could have progressed naturally. There are times we’re left alone, and it’s plausible that temptation got to both of us. It feels silly to conjure an entire story or reason in my head, but there has to be no room for error. I feel his questioning look every now and then, causing my anxiety to spiral more. While I’m not blind to others' attraction to the man, I’ve never imagined myself with him.

Luca and his men are long gone and the normal dinner rush is slowly waning. António moves next to me as we clear out the remaining scraps. There’s been a lingering tension the entire night, and I know he’s noticed my odd behavior, no matter how much I tried to act otherwise.

“What did your brother want?”

The question is innocent, and I’m sure he’s worried it has something to do with the restaurant. Or perhaps, he’s offended that Ricky didn’t acknowledge him, but it gives me the perfect opportunity.

I let out a small laugh, hoping to keep my voice strong. “Just my brother being my brother. Protective and irrational.”

“Protective?”

“…of my virtue.” I try to control the blush working up my neck and cheeks.

António stiffens for a second and then nods. “He’s worried about the patrons? You don’t see them often.”

Glancing away, I shift on my feet and sigh. “No, not the patrons. I spend a lot of time with you.”

He reels back in surprise. “Me? I’ve assured your father that you are perfectly safe with me. I would never disrespect an honorable woman like you.”

Hope dwindles in my chest, but I try to conjure something flirty to convince him to not be so noble. He isn’t a bad-looking man, but his gentle character and skills with food add more value to his person than anything else. My mind blanks because I have no desire to have him touch me.

“I told Ricky that,” I say quietly after a more than awkward pause from his statement.

António exhales a relieved breath. “Good, good. I wouldn’t disrespect your father or Luca.”

“Luca?” My hands still, wondering if António already knows about him looking for eligible women. And if he knows, how? Is António closer to Luca than I think? Does Ricky know?

He nods. “Everything we do is a reflection of Luca. He would never forgive us if we did something like that.”

I frown, turning back to the counter and wiping it down as we finish the last of the preparations. “I thought Luca didn’t care for the old traditions,” I say, trying to figure out why António would assume that. He’s old enough to defer to the opinion of Luca’s father. António pauses briefly before giving me his back as he grabs the sauce bottles we still need to finish filling. “I’ve heard the same, but it’s always better to assume it’s only a rumor.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Perhaps, but you have to admit it’s a bullshit tradition. A woman’s worth tied to something that is unpredictable and debunked scientifically.”

He turns to me with tight lips. “It doesn’t matter what we think, only what the Famiglia wants. And I would advise you to keep those opinions to yourself, Isabelle. Times are more lenient, but there’s still a lot of traditionalists that hold Tommasso’s ears.”

Tommasso Genovese is not a man I like to think about. His photo with his big bushy eyebrows and thick mustache is what I imagine plastered in the dictionary under mafioso. I’ve only met Luca’s father a few times, and that’s more than enough for me.

My cheeks flame as I look away from him, ashamed by his scolding. I’ve never felt our age gap until now, a reminder he’s closer to my dad’s age than mine. I nod, keeping my head down, and we prepare for the rest of the post-dinner tasks in silence. When my shift ends, I hurry out the back door to my car without a word to António.

I understand where his apprehension comes from, but as a man, he’ll never have to consider the opposite. Women of the Famiglia have little control over their lives, but this is one thing I can control. Giving away my virginity is no hardship, and I don’t care to wait for marriage or someone I love. It holds no value to me other than to guarantee my freedom.

The only problem now is finding a random man to take it. My father and Ricky have given me a lot of freedom from their constant hovering since I started working, but my brother would definitely follow me into a bar to protect my virtue. So that leaves me with finding someone who doesn’t care about opposing him. A smile stretches across my face when I have the perfect wing woman in mind.