1. Case Of The Mondays
Chapter 1
Case Of The Mondays
Giordano
Monday morning briefings in the meeting room are my least favorite part of the day. I tap my pen against the pad of white paper and glance down at my watch.
Six in the morning.
Every first Monday of the month is designated to meeting with a few of the other Italian Mafia families.
Chicago —Xander Venerio and I.
New York —Don Zephyr Marchetti, and his eldest son, Roman. He’s the heir to take over when Zephyr steps down. Zephyr’s well in his sixties and isn’t expressing eagerness to retire yet.
Milwaukee —Don Francesco Bellucci.
There’s also the Russian Bratva, which we’ve yet to have an alliance with. Although, I have not a single doubt in my mind we can strike a deal. There’s one thing we all have in common. An enemy.
Francesco and Zephyr have some separate deals, which don’t involve us. Drug dealing isn’t our thing. Our things include: bribery, gambling, money laundering, extortion, and murder.
A fuckload of murder .
“Giordano, any closer to finding Aisling?” Zephyr pats the top of his thick, greying hair, which is completely slicked back with gel. The corners of his black eyes have a plethora of wrinkles from stress. Mostly because he’s still searching for his daughter.
“Closer each day, Sir.” I bob my head once in his direction.
“Have you found anything significant?” His facial expression remains unchanged. And his concern? Being the next target. The truth is, none of us know why Aisling O’Duinn, the head of the Irish Mob, killed my father, Vito Marzano, a year ago.
Everyone’s been on edge since.
I’d always been set to take over the Don role of the Italian Mafia in Chicago. One day . Before, I was more focused on my company Marzanetworks, Inc., the office we’re currently in. It’s my front, keeping our other activities under legal wraps.
“Nothing yet.” I sigh, disappointed in my lack of progress.
Zephyr hums, peering over at his eldest son. Roman doesn’t say a word—and never has during meetings. He stares .
“You’ll avenge his death, I promise,” Zephyr says calmly.
My gaze flicks up, meeting his cold, hard stare. Most would be intimidated by him, but instead, the comfort of his words ease me. “Grazie.”
Zephyr nods once and then turns to Francesco, beginning their own conversation in hushed tones.
“I’m going to pick up a coffee.” My jaw tightens as the exhaustion behind my eyes becomes more prevalent than before. We’ve been going at this meeting for over three hours already. “Want anything?” I ask Xander, my underboss.
“No, man. I’m good.” His sage green eyes don’t leave the screen while typing something on the laptop. He’s in the zone—tracking someone—where he needs to be.
It’s about a five-minute walk from the office headquarters to this nice little café tucked in between buildings. It has a relatively decent cappuccino. Some days.
The heated summer breeze is welcoming against my face. It’s going to be a scorcher later. The lake’s water reflects the sunlight as it kisses the horizon. The sky is painted gorgeous hues of pinks, purples, and oranges blending seamlessly with the fading dark blue.
I walk into the air-conditioned shop and stand in line, waiting behind this extremely short girl with silky, shiny caramel brunette hair. I catch a whiff of her perfume—divine— vanilla . I close my eyes, ingraining the scent permanently into my brain. My head involuntarily follows as she steps to the side after she finishes ordering.
“Hi, what can I get started for you?” the barista asks. Her question pulls me out of the trance. My eyes fly open, blinking a few times as I gather my composure.
Get it together.
“Hi, can I have a small cappuccino, please.” I give a tight-lipped grin.
“Okay, that’ll be three dollars and fifty cents.”
I tap my phone against the terminal and wait.
Declined .
It has to be their system. I have billions of dollars in this one account. I clear my throat, swipe up on my cards, switching to a different account, which has hundreds of thousands of dollars in it. Zero reason it should be rejected. I tap my phone against the screen, again.
Declined .
For a few measly dollars? What’s going on? I switch my card again and tap it one last time. I swear to God if it declines again, I’m going to flip my shit.
Declined .
Che cazzo?
“Look—I—” I stammer, swiping up on my phone to try a fourth card. Seriously? What’s going on? As if on cue, my phone blew up in my hand with messages from Xander. I didn’t get a chance to read it before the same woman from before stepped in front of me. The worst possible time to leave my wallet back in the office. I at least have cash in there.
“Here,” the woman, with curves I long to roam my hands over, whispers. She taps her phone against the screen. My heart beats fast against all pulse points—the sweat beads on the front of my hairline. Hoping , praying to God it’s only a system error.
Please be a system error.
Approved .
Not their system. The accounts. Someone’s hacked our accounts. All of them. Aside from one.
She beams up at me, with this gorgeous twinkle in her honey brown eyes before walking back to where had been standing originally—waiting for her own drink. Which one’s her favorite? Is she trying something new, or is it her regular like how a cappuccino’s mine?
I blink a few times, unsure of what to do or say to her. Thank you , for one. It’d be the polite thing to do, but instead I’m frozen. Like my bank accounts . Starstruck by how the flush on her cheeks spreads down to her neck with a dainty gold twisted chain.
“Sorry about that. My boyfriend’s having issues with our bank. Cards being renewed and all,” she says to the barista. Her voice. Her heart-shaped face.
My heart.
Who is this angel?
The barista’s facial expression clearly says I don’t care as she writes the order on the cup, and sends it off to someone else to make the drink.
Wait… She said boyfriend ?
She lied to make me look better in front of strangers? I appear broke enough I can’t afford a simple coffee, and she merely swoops in and pays for my drink? Who does she think she is? My fists clench into a ball.
She slides a bill into the tip jar at the same time as I step behind her. To keep up this facade of us being together, and not at all with this new obsession I’m developing. What is it about her?
She shows a stranger kindness without expecting anything in return. The world needs more people like her.
“Thank you,” I whisper in her ear. Would it be aberrant if I sniff her hair? Probably. It’s right fucking there. Tempting me. It takes all of my restraint not to do it. My jaw and fists clench tightly, holding me back.
She nods and turns to me, peering up at me through those luscious, long lashes. A flush spreads across her freckled, soft cheeks.
Cazzo. I’m done for.
“I know well enough how a good cup of coffee is the only thing someone has to look forward to some days,” she says quietly. A small smile spreads across her lips, revealing deep dimples on either side of her cheeks.
Dimples, too? She’s stunning. I gawk at her, weak in the knees. Standing this close to me, she’s about a foot and a few inches shorter than I am at six-foot-five. Her caramel brunette hair is flows to the middle of her waist. Her clothing isn’t designer, but she’s dressed for going to an office job; one clearly not paying her for what she’s worth.
And when she finally tilts her head up, her gaze locking on my own, it sends an electric shock straight through my entire system. She’s beautiful. That’s it. This one’s mine.
“I appreciate it. Thank you.”
“This is all the money I had until I get paid on Friday, but you look like you need it more than I do.”
Cazzo. I’ll have to figure something out for her when we get our accounts back. And also find her without it looking like I’m a stalker.
“Not because I owe you my life story or anything,” she blurts out quickly. Her laugh is melodious. “Sorry I’ll—” She attempts to turn.
I stop her, placing my hand under her chin and force her to pay attention to me. Sweet thing . What do I do best as the Italian Mafia Don?
Make deals to get what I want. Who I want.
“Consider this an I owe you, amore.” My Italian accent is undoubtedly coming through now. My gaze flicks down to her full, glossy lips, and then back up to her beautiful eyes.
Amore —love. The word left my mouth before I realized I said it. No regrets. It suits her. It suits us. She has love to give, and I want to be the selfish one to take it all.
“I owe you?” Her brows knit together as her head tilts slightly with confusion.
“No, I—” I point to myself while chuckling at her silly little remark. “Owe you .”
“Oh, here. Take this, too.” She pulls out a to-go container from her bag and hands it to me.
I glance down at the container filled with spaghetti. She thinks I’m hungry ? Well, I’m always hungry. I look back up to her still smiling face. She’s fucking beautiful, not only on the outside… but on the inside, too. My heart skips a beat in my chest. I swallow hard.
Important questions flood my mind. Does she know who I am? Is that why she’s being kind to me? Does she know what I do?
“My sauce is to die for. Or so I’ve been told…” She gives me a knowing smirk and spins on her black kitten heels to grab her cup off of the counter. Both of our coffees are sitting there—for who knows how long. Her smile brightens up her whole face. “Please wash and return this… if I see you again.”
Bellissima.
Oh, we’re meeting again. I’ll make sure of it.
“We will,” I say confidently.
“Sure.” She casts her gaze downward, unwilling to meet my own. She doesn’t trust me, but I’m going to make good on my promise to her .
I owe her.
I want to own her.
I don’t like being in debt to anyone. But for her? It may not be such a bad thing. In fact, I’d be more than grateful to do it again.
I keep my eye on her every move as she walks out of the coffee shop, walking to the right. The warm summer sun hits her silky hair in such a way it’s almost reflective. Soon, I hope I’ll be able to tangle my fingers in it.
I grab my coffee, leave the shop, and go to the left toward my office. I pull out my phone and call Xander immediately . Back to business.
“Che cazzo?” I growl. My once good mood is now ruined.
“There’s been a shut down. Everyone’s accounts—frozen. I’ve got our accounting team on it. Are you on your way back?”
“Sì,” I snarl, my top lip curling up.
“It’s not looking too good here. It’s not only the bank accounts they got to. If they can freeze our shit, they’re not far off from taking our shit.”
If he keeps on saying the word shit , I’m going to throw my phone into the lake. I should end the call now. “Capisco.”
“How far out are you?”
I take a sip of my lukewarm—at best—cappuccino. The disgusting flavor invades my taste buds. My tongue darts out as I try not to gag. Disgustoso . “Five minutes. Give or take.” I click the button for the crosswalk.
“Give or take… what ?” There’s a certain vehemence in his response. Do I enjoy getting a rise out of my best friend from time to time? Absolutely.
I ignore his earlier question, asking another. “What do you know about a brown-haired, brown-eyed, Italian girl?”
“You described over half of New York, quite a bit of Michigan, and like all of New Jersey,” he says sarcastically. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
I smirk, confident in my decision to find her and make this girl mine. “She paid for my coffee this morning and she gave me spaghetti!”
“Not the specifics I asked for, but okay. You let a girl pay for your coffee?”
“ Let wouldn’t be the right word. More like she bumped me to the side and tapped her card while I was trying multiple cards to pull out a few measly dollars from any account. I didn’t have much of a choice, given our situation.” I tap my chin, replaying the scenario in my head.
She’s a delicious, sly girl.
“I’m unsure how to find her. It’s a one in a million chance of ever seeing her again. I don’t know her name, her number, anything. Only what she looks like.”
“Did you save the receipt?”
Receipt .
Why didn’t I think of that? I let out a hearty laugh. “You’re a genius.”
“Something I don’t hear often enough. Glad to be of service. Now, run your ass back to the main office. We have an entire company to fix. Meet me in my office.” He ends the call before I can respond.
Stronzo .
The only one of my boys I let talk to me in this manner. He was my first friend when we immigrated here from Tropea, Italy when I was five.
I dig the crumpled-up receipt out of my pocket. I scan over the mix of letters and numbers all the way down to the card details and name. The card itself is unimportant. However, the name, her name. Yes!
Antonella Vitale.
I laugh, triumphant in my not-so-difficult search, and shove the piece of paper back into my pocket. Saving it for later, of course. As if her name isn’t now engraved into my soul. I’ll never forget it .
Xander, you crazy, stalking stronzo. I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of his extracurricular activities.
I’ll be able to focus on my kind mystery girl after I deal with the other vexatious issue at hand.
“Glad you’re back from your coffee break, Boss,” Xander says quietly behind his five computer monitors. With his black hair and all black outfits, I wouldn’t be able to see him if it weren’t for the dim glow of the screens reflecting off his eyes and face.
How does he do his work in the dark and use one tiny lamp on his desk? Usually, it’s left off anyway, which can’t be good for his vision. He’s working in a closet.
Like a hermit.
To a complete stranger, his face is completely devoid of emotion, yet there’s a little twinkle in his sage green eyes while he’s in his element. His department’s all of our technology. More specifically, hacking, security, and finding people. I don’t understand a goddamn thing about it—he’s the mastermind . A little scary, honestly. I try not to piss him off.
I grimace, scanning his office which has a large, mahogany desk and the single window is completely covered with blackout curtains.
“If I knew this was going to happen, do you think I would’ve left ?” I ask, giving him the same attitude in return while nudging his shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah. Take a seat.” He leans in closer to the screen.
I sit in one of the black plastic swivel chairs and pull up next to him. One screen is lit up entirely neon blue. I ask, “What am I looking at here?”
“Nothing. ”
“And?”
“There’s the issue!” He slaps my chest with his hand covered in tattoos. “It’s not supposed to look like this . It’s supposed to be our regular company website… all of the tech company bullshit.”
“Cazzo,” I growl under my breath. Straight to problem-solving. I grit my teeth together, jaw clenched tight. “How do we fix it?”
“Give me fifty minutes, a pizza, and I’ll have this portion back up and running. Our guys in accounting are working on getting all our money back in use. They didn’t take it, it’s only frozen, but it’s step closer. Though… them freezing it means they don’t have the assets or people to go further. If they could, they would.”
“I’m aware.” I nod along.“Wait… What’s the pizza for?”
“I’m hungry,” he says flatly.
“It’s seven in the morning.”
He inhales sharply through his nose. “Says the one holding a container of spaghetti right now. Go to your office and tell me what you find. A bug— anything .”
I laugh in disbelief. “You think someone would be stupid enough to come in here and plant a bug?”
“Yes.” He blinks. “It’s obvious someone did.”
“I’ll be back in a minute.” I stand out of the chair, and take lengthy, pissed-off strides to my private office down the hall.
My room is the complete opposite of his, similar to the board room. I pause in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows which line the back wall, allowing the Navy Pier and Lake Michigan to be in full view.
Sunrises here are breathtaking when I come in early.
I step over to my mahogany desk, scanning my two monitors and a high-backed black chair. Nothing out of the ordinary here. I sit in the chair for a moment and sigh, shifting my attention over to the bookshelves which line one other wall, completely stuffed with books I’ve read over the years.
I haven’t had time to read lately .
I’ve been too busy.
I examine my desk from top-to-bottom for anything out of place. I place the spaghetti container down as I squint at the actual computer. It’d be there, no?
Xander’s right —the stronzo.
There’s a bug on my computer. It’s small, almost invisible if someone wasn’t searching for it. I could hardly tell. It looks like a closed USB port, instead of an empty port. I grab a paperclip, dig the bug out, and drop it in a tiny plastic bag. I pull out my phone and text Xander.
Got it. Found the bug.
Xander Venerio
I could kiss you right now.
Don’t.
I go back to Xander’s office and drop the bag on his desk. A confident smirk on my lips.
“What’s this?”
“The bug.”
“This tiny little thing?” He picks up the bag by the corner, holding it out in front of his face, and grimaces as if it contains the fucking plague.
“Allora, it's not mine. Someone put it there. You got the computers up and running yet?”
“Sì.”
“Check the cameras.”
If this person is as smart as we think, the cameras would be shut off while planting said bug.
“Found him,” Xander says. Not smart. He pauses the video feedback on the face of someone.
“Who?” I gesture with both of my hands toward the screen.
He shrugs, making an ‘I don’t know’ sound.
“Okay… now find him .”
“Va bene.” He pulls out his phone and types a text, I’m assuming, to a few of our grunt men.
I leave his room and go back to my office down the hall. Now that the bug has been taken care of, I can do some more digging on my girl. I’m developing an obsession. Do I give a fuck? No . I want it to intensify.
I sit in the chair and leisurely take a sip of the cappuccino. “Mannaggia.” I wince and place the to-go cup on the coaster. I gag again, forgetting the awful taste from before. I should’ve thrown it out.
I need to get this God awful taste out of my mouth. I glance over at the container of spaghetti I put on my desk when I came in. It’s practically calling my name. My stomach growls. Try it out, huh?
I open the top of the container and take a bite. “ Oh .” I groan. Heaven. I’ve ascended to Heaven—even if it’s cold. This secures it. I need her in my life. Now . We will eat together and I’ll spoil her with everything she desires.
I type her name into a secure database Xander uses to locate people for… other purposes. One result pops up with her specific name and general location. Sure enough, it’s her. Her social media pictures match the woman I met.
Now to dig a little deeper .
Her age—twenty-seven. Ten year age gap? Fine, doesn’t matter to me. Court records show if she’s married or not—she isn’t. Never has been.
More questions flood my mind. Where did she go to school? Where did she go to college? Where did she grow up? Family life? The questions are all answered one by one. She doesn’t have any siblings and her parents are both alive, living in her hometown. She doesn’t have an active passport. Never had one, either.
Interesting .
“Huh…” I scratch my chin as I read her occupation. Cu rrently works at a newspaper station writing their online articles.
Everything I can find out about her—I do.
Questions still linger in the back of my mind. What’s her favorite time of day? What’s her favorite coffee? My best guess would be the iced caramel macchiato she ordered earlier, but maybe she has another. What’s her favorite color? Her favorite food?
What does she look like when she has an orgasm?
Those aren’t something I can find. All her social profiles are private.
Good .
One thing’s for sure. I need to find her. To know her. To see her. There’s a pull, deep inside of my heart, stronger than gravity, toward this goddess. There isn’t a single doubt in my mind—I want her in my life. She’s my missing puzzle piece. Consider me captivated.
Plus, I owe her.