6. Leon
6
LEON
T he celebrations of signing the alliance all too quickly fell away to the actual work involved with said alliance.
I’m not entirely sure when the light began to fade and the moon began to rise. I only stopped to switch on my desk light once the documents on my desk became too difficult to read.
At one point, the casino’s manager—Simon—had arrived with dinner and coffee. It was a habit he’d picked up after years of my sister chastising me for staying on top of meals when I was working late.
There was a stack of emails in my inbox pertaining to the merging of forces, borrowing of specialists, and access to resources. Sharing and caring from one mafioso to another.
However, the documents I was currently perusing were all intel-oriented. They were slowly allowing me to piece together a full picture of the Cartel’s influence over the last few years.
Amos Rubio was a drug kingpin who operated in Brooklyn. Interaction with the Prince’s Hand’s Manhattan casinos had been limited until recently.
Until my sister married Teo Vitale, and suddenly, the Guild seemed like a much more considerable threat. Until I’d burned down a building in Brooklyn, and the Cartel had taken that personally.
The intel in my hand currently was particularly engrossing, detailing how Giuliano Moretti had framed a man for being a mole in the Guild, only to be discovered supplying information directly to Amos Rubio himself…
“Hey!”
I almost drop the pages as I jump at the sound. My attention immediately snaps to the stern-looking blonde before me.
“Isabella,” I greet her as casually as I can, putting everything back on the desk with all the ease of a man who was absolutely not caught off guard.
The quirk of her eyebrow tells me she doesn’t believe it for a second. “I cleared my throat like four times.”
“I’m busy,” I say instead of responding to that. “Did you need something?”
“An invite to my brother’s wedding would have been nice. But I suppose it’s a bit late for that.”
Ah. Right.
She crosses her arms and gives me a long, hard stare—so reminiscent of how our mother used to look at me that I almost flinch back in my chair.
“Teo wanted it to be an intimate affair,” I reply, unashamedly throwing the man under the bus. “No one was supposed to know.”
“I’m your sister. ”
“Take it up with your husband.”
A fist slams down on my desk. I don’t flinch. “I don’t care what Teo did or did not want. I wanted you to want me there.”
I meet her eyes—the same brown as mine, though somehow hers always seem so much deeper. “Had it been a wedding and not a business transaction, I would have made you my best man. That better?”
“A business transaction with vows , Leon. In front of a priest.” She throws her hands up in exasperation. “She has your last name now, for fuck’s sake.”
“You didn’t miss anything important.” I try not to sound bitter. I try not to think about anything that would make me feel bitter. Or anyone. “You knew it was a possibility, and it all happened quite quickly in the end.”
Isabella’s eyes squint slightly. “I never thought you’d actually go through with it.”
“What choice did I have?”
“If this is about heirs?—”
“Of course, it’s about heirs!” I feel my voice rising and try to reign it in. “You’ve married into the Guild. Mother is dead. There’s no one left here but me, and I can’t protect the people I love forever.”
Her expression softens. “That’s not your responsibility.”
“I’m your brother. You and Irina are the only family I have left. Of course, it’s my responsibility, Issy.”
Isabella’s shoulders sag as she flops down into the chair opposite me. “I can’t believe Irina will have to call her Aunty Mia now.”
I grunt noncommittally. I hadn’t even thought about introducing my wife to what was left of my family.
“You know, the first time I met her, she screamed in my face for disrupting Cas and Rocco’s wedding and put a knife to my throat?” Isabella grimaces as she says it.
I grimace back. “The first time I met her, she nearly choked me to death with her thighs.”
Isabella’s mouth twitches up at the unspoken innuendo.
“Don’t,” I point at her before she can start. “It wasn’t exactly a happy reunion.”
“I can’t imagine why she’d even agree to marry you, honestly.”
I shrug. “She seemed to be under the impression that her father’s life was at stake if she didn’t.”
Isabella blinks at me. “Who the hell threatened Marco?”
“No idea. She thought it was me. I thought it must have been Teo.”
“Teo wouldn’t,” she says with a firm belief in her husband, which I’m glad at least one of us holds.
“Either way, it happened. We’re married, it’s…it’s legal.” I quickly skirt over exactly how legal it all is. “Mia Chiavari is a Natali now. That’s all you really missed.”
Isabella sighs and looks away from my desk, suddenly looking quite tired. “Can you give me a real reason?”
“I told you, I need an heir. The alliance needs me to have an heir, and I need the alliance to keep you safe.”
“Oh, screw the damn alliance for a second, all right?” she brushes me off entirely. “Why are you doing this?”
For a moment, I contemplate not telling her at all. My reasoning had been enough to satisfy both Teo and Mia before. They hadn’t needed anything else.
But I also know that Isabella wasn’t going to drop this. She needed to know that I had something at stake here beyond duty.
“I…a child, Issy. A fresh start for the Natali name. One that’s not tainted by…by her,” I admit finally.
Memories of my mother are always jarring to remember. The softness with which she nurtured Issy, the harshness of her disapproval of me. Until, one day, she’d turned that harshness on Issy.
The day she’d threatened her life.
I knew then the crone that I’d only tentatively called my mother had shown that she was a monster all along. Her love for Issy had been her only redeeming factor.
I sleep peacefully, knowing her blood is on my hands.
The same hands Isabella now reaches for, squeezing them gently in her own. “You already carry the Natali name so beautifully, brother.”
“Now there’s two of us,” I reply, though my voice lacks the emotion to make it sound lighthearted.
This makes her eyes narrow again. “Is it…do you think that maybe you two could, you know…”
“No,” I say firmly. “Like I said. It was a business transaction. She has no interest in me beyond holding up her side of the agreement.”
Isabella gives me a speculative look. One that sees far too much and makes me stand up from my desk. It’s getting late anyway, and I’m not sure how much I want to continue this conversation.
Thankfully, she seems to take the cue and stands as well.
“You’ll be careful with this, won’t you, Leon?” she asks quietly as she watches me pull on my coat.
“Always am.”
It’s strange not to be heading back to the hotel tonight. But Max had taken on overseeing the protection of the brownstone, and the family home had been prepared for me in record time.
Yet another reason to be thankful for the competency of my new second. Not that Max knew that my wife would soon be residing there, but it put me at ease knowing she could be there as soon as she got pregnant.
It was also a far nicer feeling walking up the steps of a family home than the impersonal elevator ride to a penthouse that lacked any personal artifacts.
The key twists in the door, and the warm light in the tall entranceway greets me. Already, a few pictures are hanging on the walls. The Caravaggio I purchased from a black market dealer in Italy hung pride of place.
I take in the familiar contrasts and brushstrokes as I loosen the tie from my neck and discard my jacket.
A drink , I think, is needed after that conversation with my sister . It’s already late, and I’ll likely need to be there early again tomorrow. But right now, I can deal with a little indulgence, so I walk into the kitchen with a purpose.
Working hard on the alliance has made for quite a wonderful distraction. But now, alone in this empty house, there’s nothing but the biting loneliness to prevent me from thinking about a certain redhead and the way she sounds when she moans my name.
As soon as that floodgate opens, it’s very, very hard to stop it.
It’s too easy to remember her little gasp as I entered her, to imagine how she might look bent over the kitchen counter, how her nails might rake over my skin, how she might taste in my mouth.
It’s almost too easy to picture her sitting there at the breakfast bar, regarding me with a slow blink, brutally emotionless, knowing exactly what it takes to crack that facade.
I reach up for a glass.
Then, turn back to the breakfast bar.
She’s still there.
Very real. And very, really there.
For the second time today, a woman has managed to take advantage of my preoccupation.
“Leon,” she greets me with such shortness that it immediately puts me on edge.
I give myself a beat to relax against the counter and take her in. She’s dressed in her own clothes this time, not a fancy dress or a haphazardly thrown-together outfit from my wardrobe.
Her sense of style is…agreeable. Tight jeans hug her curves before flaring out over her boots. The color of her black blouse makes her skin seem almost luminous under the kitchen lights, which pick out the red and gold in her hair as it drapes over her shoulder.
“I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” I say, glad at how even my voice comes out.
She regards me without concern for my very obvious appraisal. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of staying any longer than I need to.”
Of course. I go back to finding myself a drink and wait for her to get to whatever point she needs to.
Luckily, it doesn’t take her long at all.
“I think we need to establish some ground rules.”
My hand hovers over the whiskey bottle for a beat. “I assume you mean about our marriage?”
“What else would I be talking about?”
I smirk slightly, “I could think of a couple of things.”
When I turn back to her, her mouth is set in a thin line. “Number one. No flirtation.”
“We’re getting right into it, are we?”
“Number two. No sex unless I’m ovulating.”
I overpour my measure of whiskey. I need a bigger glass for the whiskey that this conversation is fast requiring.
“Makes sense,” I recover quickly. “Do you have an app or something?”
Finally, something other than indifference colors her expression. “ You won’t be monitoring me.”
“So what, I’m just going to have to trust you?”
“Yes,” she says firmly enough for me not to push it any further.
“Number three,” I say instead. “You will do a pregnancy test every day after your cycle.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
I don’t answer that. I take a sip of my whiskey.
Mia chews the inside of her mouth. “Number four. We stay out of each other's business.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m aware that you have sometimes undertaken…freelance work.” I give her a hard look. “I want to know if the urge presents itself again so that I can assess the safety implications of said work and the impact it might have on the Prince’s Hand.”
She scoffs at this. “I think I can assess that for myself, thanks.”
“I vowed to keep you safe.”
“I didn’t marry a babysitter.”
“No, you married a don,” I say firmly, taking a step forward. “You will respect my wishes, especially those concerning your well-being.”
She remains at the breakfast bar, but her glare is hot enough to burn through my skull.
“The thing about respect, Leon, is that you have to earn it.” She tilts her head to one side. “And you’ve done nothing but lie to me since you put this ring on my finger.”