Hunter’s Keep (The Moretti Men #3)

Chapter 1

TERINA

Present

“Why does it feel like you’re kidnapping me?” I tug away from my brother’s hold, only to receive a withering glare.

“Because I am. Now, get in the damn car.” Renzo opens the passenger door to a black Escalade and practically shoves me inside.

“Whose car is this? And what the heck is going on?” I call out as the door shuts.

I have to wait until he’s slid into the driver’s seat for my answer.

He caught me off guard when he ambushed me after yoga class, thus the resistance, but now that it’s clear something is wrong, and he wasn’t just being a dick older brother, my defiance is fading.

That won’t stop me from getting answers, though.

Renzo starts the car and merges into traffic. “It’s my car—got it for the baby. And Biba Mikhailov’s funeral was yesterday. Today, his oldest son, Simeon, seized control of the entire Russian organization and ousted his younger brother, Pasha.”

Okay, the car makes sense now. His wife, Shae, is very pregnant. But what about the rest?

“Sounds messy, but what does that have to do with me?” I’m vaguely familiar with the Russians, but Renzo doesn’t exactly keep me well-informed with his Mafia world. I don’t ask, and he certainly doesn’t volunteer.

“There’s a solid chance they could blame us for Biba’s death.”

“Because…?” I prod him.

Renzo’s eyes cut meaningfully to mine, but he doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to.

Holy crap!

Did someone in the Moretti Family off the Russian mob boss? I had no idea we’d been responsible. My understanding was that some psycho called the Reaper was the one to blame. But as I already noted, I’m not exactly kept in the loop.

“So … what does that mean?” I ask quietly, the reality of the situation settling heavily on my shoulders.

“That’s exactly what we’re going to discuss at Mom’s place. She’s making grilled fish and caponata. Shae and DiAngelo are meeting us over there.”

My heart stumbles at the mention of my brother’s best friend.

I don’t run into DiAngelo often, but when I do, I find my brain tends to malfunction.

Nerves get the better of me, and I’m not even sure why.

It’s not like I’m interested in him or care what he thinks of me.

Not that he thinks anything of me at all.

His blatant indifference toward me makes that fact obvious.

He’s simply the man who helps Renzo run the Moretti Family. That’s it.

So why’s he joining us for dinner?

“What about Tommy and Danika?” Our younger brother and his new wife will surely be there if this is a normal family dinner.

“Busy.”

No one’s too busy when Mom cooks caponata—she takes the time to use exclusively fresh ingredients and roast the eggplant properly. Tommy’s absence is telling. If this isn’t a run-of-the-mill family dinner, then what is happening here?

Judging by the tension radiating off Renzo as his steely gaze regularly checks his mirrors and scans nearby cars, I decide it’s best not to push for more.

That sort of restraint isn’t easy for me.

I get anxious when I don’t know what’s happening, but I’ve been snapped at enough over the years to learn to pace my questions.

Thirty minutes later, we’re gathered in Mom’s large kitchen, which still bears hints of its 1980s construction in the glass blocks despite modern updates.

Steam rises from two tarnished pots on the stove, and the black granite island is dusted with flour.

My stomach growls at the rich aroma of freshly baked bread saturating the air.

She’s an expert at sourdough. I would be absolutely thrilled about the unexpected feast we’re about to have if it weren’t for the awkward tension pressurizing the room.

“Hey, sweetie. How was yoga?” Mom flashes a grin at me while starting to chop vegetables. Vigorously.

“It was good. How are you?” My eyes cut to Shae, who is engaged in a hushed conversation with my brother, her gaze flitting to me briefly before she gives me a tight smile.

DiAngelo watches me from his seat at the small kitchen table in the corner. He says nothing. No nod. No greeting. Just watching. Assessing.

Why do I feel like I’ve just walked into an intervention?

Mom waves her knife in the air nonchalantly. “Oh, you know. Life is life. We do what we can.”

If that isn’t unsettlingly ominous, I don't know what is.

“What’s going on here? Why are you all acting so strange?”

“Told you in the car,” Renzo answers vaguely.

“You told me the Russians think we killed Biba. That’s it.” I round the island and take the knife from my mother. “Let me do this before you slice off a finger.”

“What do you mean? I’m fine. This is how I always chop peppers.” Despite her argument, she acquiesces and shifts to cleaning up the flour dust. “It’s not like this is the first time things have been dangerous in this family, but I wish it wasn’t happening when the baby is coming.”

Shae rubs her rounded belly. Despite being nearly full-term, she’s not all that big around. I suppose it’s all that jujitsu. She has better abs than any woman I’ve ever known.

“That just means it’s even more fitting for you to stay with us. I know we’ll need the help.”

My brows furrow. “Mom’s staying with you guys?”

“Just for the time being,” Shae explains. “Until things calm down.”

“I don’t want her to be alone right now,” Renzo adds.

I still my slicing and look from him to Mom, back to him, then let my eyes travel to DiAngelo, who is still sitting silently in the corner of the room, watching our conversation unfold.

If Renzo had wanted me to stay with them as well, wouldn’t he have already mentioned it?

Definitely. He doesn’t beat around the bush.

So if he thinks it’s dangerous, and we need protection, but I’m not staying with them, that means his plan to keep me safe is…

“What is DiAngelo doing here?” I blurt.

Renzo sighs, then closes the distance between us. “It’s just temporary, okay? He’s going to shadow you, that’s all.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” DiAngelo cuts in, his deep voice filling the room with authority. Everyone stills. Even the boiling water on the stove seems to settle to a quiet simmer. “You don’t leave your place without me beside you.”

His words spark my body to heat in places it shouldn’t. That is, until their full meaning settles in, and deathly chill takes hold.

I’ve been assigned a bodyguard. Someone to stand in the way of danger to protect me with their life. Maybe another woman might be relieved or even honored, but those are the furthest emotions from my mind. All I feel right now is dread.

My eyes survey the giant man who dwarfs my mother’s kitchen chair—from the disheveled brown curls on his head to his chiseled jaw and down the corded muscles of his arms that make the tattoos on his skin dance when he moves. He’s too beautiful for his own good. He’s also a tank.

I’m tall for a woman. Five-foot-eight.

He’s got to be six-five if he’s an inch.

But that’s somehow only a fraction of the story.

DiAngelo’s gargantuan presence has everything to do with the air of power he exudes without so much as saying a word.

He’s the man your eyes are drawn to in a crowded bar not because he’s the loudest or the tallest but because a primordial part of your brain tells you he’s the most dangerous predator in the room.

Silent.

Calculating.

Ruthless.

All the best qualities for a Made Man, yet none of them mean anything when up against a bullet. He’s precisely the type who would sacrifice himself to keep me alive.

I would rather kill myself than let that happen.

And I’m sure the grumpy brute will be a bastion of understanding and patience about my perspective. Of course, that’s why the rest of them are walking on eggshells. They think I’ll refuse.

I should.

But I doubt any of them will let me. It’s a fact I’ve had to come to terms with since deciding years ago to stay close to my family rather than distance myself, as my older sister, Bria, did.

She told us when she and her husband moved away that it was purely about job opportunities, but I know there was more to the decision.

They wanted a different life. Something rural and quiet.

Too much of my heart is here in the city. There’s no way I could leave, so I have to figure out how to have a bodyguard without putting him at risk.

“Okay,” I finally respond after the maelstrom of thoughts settles in my mind. “I can manage that.”

Renzo pulls me into a relieved hug. “Thanks for understanding, Rina. None of this is easy, especially in light of the baby coming.” He pulls back and pops a chunk of carrot into his mouth.

“I get it. This stuff happens.” When you’re like us. When you’re part of the Mafia.

A huff draws our attention back to DiAngelo. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” He takes a slow draw from his glass of ice water.

“Believe what?” I jab back. “That I’m not upset?”

“That you’re going to cooperate.”

My hands go to my hips as the insult raises my hackles. “What exactly are you insinuating?”

“I’m just curious if you’re actually going to play along or if you’re simply telling us what we want to hear.”

I open my mouth to snap back at him when Renzo beats me to it.

“D, we talked about this,” he warns in a menacing tone.

DiAngelo shrugs one shoulder. “I’m just trying to do my job. She needs to know that I can’t keep her safe if she doesn’t cooperate.”

My jaw drops. “You have got to be kidding me. Just because I don’t like that no one deigned to include me in this new security protocol doesn’t mean I’m going to be difficult.”

“Of course not. You don’t sound difficult at all. And you certainly don’t have a habit of seeking forgiveness rather than permission.”

“Like you would know. You’re so impossibly—”

“Rina, that’s enough,” Renzo barks.

I gape at him as though he’s sunk a knife in my back. He’s my brother. He’s supposed to be on my side.

“All I’m saying,” he continues, “is you should take this seriously.”

Deciding she needs to join in the ambush, Mom adds her two cents. “We just want you to be safe. And hopefully, it won’t be for long.”

Sufficiently chastened, I slide my carrot slices into a strainer and mumble, “I didn’t realize you all thought I was so reckless.”

“It’s not that, Ree,” Renzo tries to reassure me. Or is he placating? Now, I’m not so sure. “We know you prefer to run your own ship, and this isn’t a great time for that.”

“Don’t you think I understand that?” I snap back, years of guilt and shame sharpening my words. “Don’t you think I know how easily bad things can happen?”

My unexpected outburst renders the room silent as we all acknowledge the memory of my dead husband. Yes, I’m painfully aware of the dangers in this world. They left me a widow after only a year of marriage.

Craig died a violent, tragic death because of my Mafia family. Did they think that after only five years, I’d somehow forgotten what can happen just because I don’t openly mourn him anymore? That my pursuit of happiness somehow banishes my fears?

I am the way I am because of those constant dangers, not in spite of them. Spontaneity and optimism are the only things that keep me sane because they give me hope and a surprising sense of control in a world where I am effectively powerless.

I live life on my terms. And when I can’t, darkness descends. I hate the dark times and do everything I can to avoid them, so yes, I know what’s at stake.

Four pairs of pitying stares are a thousand tiny needles pricking at my skin.

I can’t do this. I need a breather.

“I need to wash up before we eat.” I rinse my hands and quickly dry them. “And no need to worry. You guys have made your point crystal clear.”

“We’ll let you know when the food’s ready,” Mom calls to my back. “Take your time.”

Instead of responding, I take one last parting glance at DiAngelo on my way out of the room.

I don’t know why. I’m certain it’ll only irritate me to see his smug face, but the satisfaction I expect to see after winning our little tête-à-tête is decidedly absent.

Instead, his hazel eyes flash with determination.

I don’t understand that man, and I suppose I never will. All I can do is hope Mom is right and the danger doesn’t last long because if she’s wrong, DiAngelo and I might end up a greater threat to one another than the Russians ever could.

The loud scrape of chair legs cut through the quiet air before I hear my brother’s frustrated plea echo down the hallway.

“Just leave it, D.”

Heavy footsteps pound behind me.

DiAngelo is on the move, and he sounds pissed.