Chapter 52 – Vincenzo
“You know this means I’m still a mobster, right?” Amanda quipped from the passenger seat of my red McLaren.
I shot her a side look. My arm rubbed against the seat. A soft sting reminded me of the grazing bullet. The strip of cloth had stopped the bleeding, but it was still a close call.
“You don’t want to be Made, Mandy.”
Her mouth opened, but words failed her.
I sighed. How did I explain this to her? She was going to see me as weak. A coward, who was desperately trying to escape his birthright.
“When I was in prison, I dreamed of a way out,” I began. “I built legal businesses. Granted, I still have dealings that are less than savory, but there’s no paperwork that will damn me. I did it, Mandy. I’m almost out.”
There. I hoped like hell she heard the pride in my voice.
“Enzo,” she said quietly. “Why would you want out? The mob is your family. You were born to be one of them?”
I shifted in my seat. The bandage rubbed. The wound smarted. “It’s nothing. Just a career change.”
“No….” She shook her head. “No, it’s not nothing. There has to be a reason.”
I bit my tongue.
“You can tell me.” The plea in her voice sent me spiraling.
I wanted to confide in her. To have that closeness where we were able to speak about our problems and find comfort in another human, who would offer support, not judgment.
But I judged myself.
“Oh, I get it,” she murmured. “You don’t want to go back to prison.”
Of course, she would figure it out.
“Do you know what it’s like in there?” My voice sounded gutted.
Her soft paw draped over my thigh. She gave my leg a squeeze. “Enzo, you were born to rule the night.”
“That’s why I built the chains of businesses,” I insisted. “I still have it all, but I’m free from the hangman’s noose.”
Amanda snorted softly. “Not even close. You do realize that men on Wall Street, suits working as CEOs, and the entrepreneurs behind Fortune 500s are just as susceptible to the threat of the law entrapping them, right?”
I flexed my jaw. “I can’t live under Damocles’ Sword.”
A long whistle sang from her lips. “If that reference doesn’t take me back to Ancient History at Thilton.”
I didn’t laugh.
“Look, here’s the thing.” Amanda tapped my thigh, then began to talk animatedly with both hands. “You will always be a mobster, even if you don’t run the streets with a crew. And no matter the mask you wear to dance the piper’s tune, I’ll be there. By your side.”
I pulled the car sharply to the side and rounded on her. “Say that again.”
Amanda’s broad smile was enchanting. “I’m yours. A Made Woman standing beside her Made Man.”
My eyes fluttered closed. Such a sweet confession was more than I could have hoped for.
“Whether you’re a car salesman, a doctor, or work on a ranch, you’ll always have that morally grey compass that chooses the right thing to do, not the legal thing.” She shrugged. “That’s why I’m such a good match. I can help you navigate the loopholes so Johnny Law doesn’t take you away from me.”
Surging forward, I pressed my lips firmly against hers. She tasted like magic and mystery. Her kiss was open, given without restraint. I drank her in, pouring the emotions I couldn’t express in words into the kiss.
When I pulled back, the sight of her hooded gaze, her flushed red lips, and the secret smile that played on them nearly drove me to my knees. If I hadn’t been behind the wheel, I would have fallen before her.
But the door in the two-story house opened, and a regal figure stepped onto his front porch.
“Come on,” I sighed, cutting the engine. “Let’s go take care of this, so I can take you to bed.”
Amanda laughed softly. Dio mio, it was good to hear her make those kinds of noises. Even if there was worry etched around her eyes, she wasn’t panicking. She was here, at my side. Right where she belonged.
The don took one look at me and shook his head. “You’d better come inside, ragazzo.”
We did.
“When I said bring your bride over for Sunday dinner, this wasn’t what I meant,” Don Morelli clipped as he led us into the kitchen. Quickly and efficiently, he cleared the cutting board, cast iron skillet, and ingredients off the kitchen counter.
I smirked, hopping onto the counter and lying down. “It’s not Sunday.”
The blood loss was a bitch. The moment I closed my eyes, the room spun. Keeping them open made me want to hurl.
Clenching my jaw, I focused on the bright spot in the room. The woman with golden hair, standing nervously near the breakfast table.
“Hello, all!” Joey called from the front hall, stomping his boots on the rug.
“We’re in here,” the don grunted. “How you boys took down a caravan of gangsters, and this is the only injury….”
He stopped talking and just shook his head.
“Oh, you know how V is.” Joey laughed as he entered. “Always eager to meet his maker.”
A soft gasp had me tensing. I didn’t feel the injury, but Amanda’s distress was a knife to the chest.
“Here, drink this.” Don Morelli handed her a rocks glass full of clear liquid. “I wish it was under better circumstances, but welcome to my home, Amanda. It’s good to see you.”
Those words brought some much-needed color to her cheeks. She saluted the don and drained her glass.
“Another?” Don Morelli plucked the glass from her still shaking fingers.
“No, but thank you.” Amanda cleared her throat. “I need to eat something first.”
“Ah, let me fix you a sandwich.” The don strode to his fridge and opened it.
“Actually, signore, I have pancake batter waiting at home,” Amanda said quickly. “I was going to cook dinner tonight.”
Those blue eyes turned to me. Our combined gaze clashed. The other men faded away, their comments about a sandwich now, dinner later, fell to a deaf audience.
Pancakes. My flower was going to cook for me.
I almost launched off the counter and went to her. But Joey chose that moment to splash antiseptic on my wound. I hissed in surprise.
“Want the lidocaine this time?” the doctor chuckled.
“No,” I said tightly.
Amanda inched forward. She placed her fingers in mine.
I squeezed her hand gently. Those slim fingers were warm and strong in mine.
“Pancakes?” I arched a brow.
Amanda shrugged. “I was hoping you’d be home from New York by now. The batter’s been in the fridge all week. Google said it would keep until the weekend.”
“I didn’t think being a lawyer left you much time to be domestic,” I teased.
Amanda huffed, but her gaze flicked to where Joey was stabbing my arm with the needle.
Squeezing her fingers, I demanded her focus. “How do you like your job?”
“Love it!” Her enthusiasm was infectious. “And the hours aren’t long, so I can come do some of the cooking.”
Our pleasant little banter was cut short when the front door banged open.
“Where the fuck is the little son of a whore?” a peeved voice boomed.
I shot upright, or would have, but Joey’s elbow in my rib forced me back down. He might be a grizzled old man, working at his deli six days a week, but a legacy in the mob, he was not to be underestimated.
“Watch your language in my house,” Don Morelli snapped. He handed Amanda a plate. “Mangia, carina. Mangia.”
Amanda set the plate down and still holding my hand, gingerly plucked the sandwich. It was thick, more than a mouthful. She tore a slice of bread with some meat, knowing that the don wouldn’t let her be until she showed some interest in the food.
“Apologies, Don, but do you have any idea the kind of damage your boy there did?” Matteo Deluca stormed into the kitchen.
“His father called with a report.” Don Morelli stared evenly at his capo. He knew how to handle this rabid dog. It had been years since the brute bit him. The lesson the don doled out showed that Deluca had learned his lesson, keeping his fangs away and only barking when shit went south.
Which it unfortunately had today.
A gang tried to make a quick buck by taking our export of black-market antiques.
“Mat, have a seat,” Don Morelli commanded.
The capo seethed, shoulders shaking. “What’s she doing here?”
Red clouded the room.
I launched from the counter, ripping stitches as Joey shouted. I didn’t care. It didn’t matter.
My hands gripped Deluca’s baggy tee, twisting the material. His fists shot out in defense, but I deflected, avoiding the blows.
“That’s my wife.” I shook the capo, lifting him off the floor.
Cold metal pressed against my head.
I glared into the capo’s eyes. If I was quick, I could snap his neck before I met him in the afterlife.
The don’s shout echoed through the room. But it was Amanda’s whispered ‘don’t’ that had me loosening the capo’s shirt.
“She’s just the dumb whore that he passed my daughters over for,” Deluca hissed at the don.
“Lower your weapon,” Morelli commanded.
I took a step back, not breaking eye contact. Mat knew he’d crossed a line. He kept the gun pointed at me.
“You will not draw blood in my house.” Don Morelli’s voice brooked no argument.
I held up my hands. My glare promised this wasn’t over.
“Boss, that woman’s father—”
“I know who he is and what he’s done,” the don barked. “She is a guest here. Even if she wasn’t married to the soldier you are currently threatening.”
“Tell me, Mat? Are you willing to suffer the consequences for killing me?” I taunted. “Is that worth it?”
“Enzo, stop it,” Amanda pleaded.
“I’ll tell you a secret, Mat.” My lips popped around the name.
A shadow moved along the far wall, the ghost creeping into the room.
I grinned. No one, not even me, had seen the assassin enter the residence.
“I would break the rules and kill you for her. But we both know you’re too much of a coward to do the same. ”
The capo brandished his weapon.
Guglielmo sprang from the wall, pressed the muzzle of his gun against the capo’s head, and hissed, “Make one wrong move, and it’ll be the last thing you do.”
Don Morelli bellowed. Surging forward, he plucked the pistol from his capo’s hand—and then cuffed him with the back of his hand.
Mat went sprawling.
“You disrespect me. Go. Now, before I think better of it and let this one take care of you,” he raged.
The capo scrambled to the sliding glass door, not bothering to take the extra time to go to the front of the house. Mat shot one look over his shoulder. I didn’t miss the way he glared hatefully at Amanda.
I marked him. Death was coming whether he hid or not.
“Now! Will you sit down, ragazzo? You’re leaking on my wife’s clean floor,” the don rumbled.
I obeyed.
Joey had to start the sutures over again, cursing at the even messier gash in my arm. I finally looked at Amanda. Her gaze blazed. She was fighting the fear, latching onto that beautiful wrath.
I couldn’t wait for a taste later when she unleashed it on me. I wouldn’t apologize. No one, not even a commanding officer, got to disrespect her. Ever. She was mine.
“Per sempre,” I murmured as Joey stabbed the needle into my arm.
“Mangia, Amanda,” Don Morelli insisted. “Mangia, mangia!”