His Nephew’s Ex (Italian Mafia Empires #1)

Chapter 1

Loriana

“Last call was twenty minutes ago, Mrs. Foley,” I call out to the woman nursing her third whiskey sour at the end of my bar. “Time to head home to that husband of yours.”

She grumbles but slides a twenty across the mahogany surface, her wrinkled fingers lingering on the wood like she’s reluctant to leave. I don’t blame her. Crimson has that effect on people—warm lighting, rich leather, and enough ambiance to make everyone forget their troubles for a few hours.

“You closing early again, Loriana?” Clay Dempsey wipes down the last glass with practiced efficiency, his weathered hands moving in familiar patterns. At sixty-two, he’s been tending bar longer than I’ve been alive, and his loyalty to me runs deeper than blood. “Third time this month.”

“Special occasion.” I can’t keep the smile off my face as I count tonight’s till. Even closing two hours early, we’ve had a good night. The regulars were generous, the college crowd behaved themselves, and I sold more top-shelf liquor than usual. “It’s Flavio’s birthday.”

Clay’s expression shifts, the same subtle tightening around his eyes that appears whenever I mention my boyfriend. “Ah. The Codella boy.”

I pause in my counting, catching the tone. “You say that like it’s a disease.”

“Just saying his name like it is.” Clay hangs the towel on its hook with more force than necessary. “You know his family’s reputation, Loriana. That uncle of his—”

“It’s not Flavio.” I stack the bills with sharp, precise movements. “We’ve had this conversation before, Clay. Flavio is different. He’s trying to be good, start his own business. He doesn’t want any part of Simeone’s world.”

Clay’s laugh is dry as desert sand. “Honey, you don’t just walk away from the Codella name. That boy’s been raised by Simeone since he was a baby. You think a lifetime of that influence just washes off?”

“Flavio’s not like that. And besides, people change.” I lock the register with more force than necessary. “Look at me. My father was a drunk and a coward, but I’m neither of those things.”

“Your father didn’t run half the city’s underground operations.”

“Flavio isn’t his uncle.” My voice carries the edge it gets when I’m done with a conversation. “He’s sweet, respectful, patient. He’s never once pressured me for anything I wasn’t ready to give.”

That last part makes Clay raise an eyebrow, but he doesn’t comment. He knows I’m still a virgin at twenty-four, knows I’ve been waiting for the right person, the right moment. What he doesn’t know is that tonight, I’ve finally decided Flavio is worth it.

“If you say so.” Clay grabs his jacket from behind the bar. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, kid. Men like that, they’re not what they seem on the surface.”

“I’ve been managing dangerous men since I opened this place.” I gesture around the bar, taking in the pool tables, the stage where local musicians perform open mic nights, the booths where more than one shady deal has been discussed over whiskey. “I think I can handle my own boyfriend.”

Clay pauses at the door, his hand on the frame. For a moment, he looks like he wants to say more, but then he just nods. “Lock up tight. And Loriana? Happy birthday to the boy. Hope it’s everything you’re planning.”

The warmth in his voice makes my chest tight with affection. Clay might not approve of Flavio, but he loves me enough to want me happy. That’s more than most people have in their lives.

After he leaves, I finish the closing procedures at an unusual speed. Tonight isn’t about profit margins or inventory. Tonight is about silk and lace and champagne bubbles. Tonight is about finally giving myself to the man I’ve been falling for over the past six months.

The Dom Pérignon sits in my office safe, waiting. I’d splurged on it three days ago, along with the red lace lingerie that cost me two nights’ worth of tips. Flavio deserves the best, and after months of patient dating, so do I.

I flip off the main lights and head toward the back staircase that leads to my apartment.

Living above the bar isn’t glamorous, but it’s practical and actually works out just fine for me.

Every brick, every board, every bottle downstairs represents a dream I turned into reality through sheer stubbornness and sixteen hours of daily work.

The champagne bottle feels heavy in my hands as I climb the stairs, my heels clicking against the wooden steps.

My heart pounds with anticipation and nerves in equal measure.

Six months of goodnight kisses at my door, of his hands respectfully stopping when I asked for more time, of building something real and solid and worth waiting for.

Flavio understands that my virginity isn’t something I’ll give away lightly. He knows about my father leaving, about my mother’s death, about how hard I’ve had to fight for everything I have. He knows I don’t trust easily, and he’s never once made me feel foolish for wanting to wait.

His patience and respect are what convinced me he’s different from other men in his world.

I reach my door and pause, fishing for my keys while balancing the champagne.

The hallway is quiet except for the muffled sounds of the city below.

It’s past 9pm now, and it will soon officially be Flavio’s birthday.

Perfect timing. I have enough time for a relaxing bath and maybe some music.

Flavio should be here by midnight, as I requested.

When he arrives, he will kick off his birthday by first unwrapping me.

My key turns in the lock, and I push the door open with my hip, a smile already playing on my lips.

The sound hits me first. Low, rhythmic, unmistakably intimate. My smile falters, confusion clouding my thoughts. The living room is dark, but there’s a light coming from my bedroom, and with it, sounds that make my stomach clench with sudden dread.

Each step toward my bedroom feels like walking through quicksand, my body moving against my mind’s desperate wish to turn around, to leave, to pretend I never came home early.

But I can’t. I have to see. I have to know.

The bedroom door stands open, and through it, I see movement on my white sheets.

My heart stops, then starts again at double speed.

Flavio’s dark hair is unmistakable against my pillowcases, his lean body moving in a rhythm that should have been ours tonight.

But the legs wrapped around his waist aren’t mine.

The nails raking down his chest aren’t mine.

The voice crying out his name like a prayer isn’t mine.

“Oh, yes, Flavio.” The voice is breathless, familiar, yet cannot possibly be hers. “Right there, don’t stop.” She cries again.

Oh fuck, it’s definitely Astrid.

My best friend since college. The woman who helped me pick out the lingerie for this very occasion.

The woman who listened to me agonize over whether tonight was the right night, who assured me that Flavio would be honored by my gift, who hugged me goodbye just hours ago with excitement shining in her blue eyes.

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” Flavio groans, his voice thick with pleasure I’ve never given him. “So much better than—”

“Better than little Miss Virgin?” Astrid’s laugh is cruel, cutting through my chest like a blade. “I still can’t believe she’s actually saving herself for you. What is this, the nineteenth century?”

The champagne bottle slips from my numb fingers.

Crystal explodes against hardwood, the sound echoing through my apartment like a gunshot. Dom Pérignon pools at my feet in a puddle of glass shards and shattered dreams, the bubbles fizzing out like my hopes for tonight.

The sounds from the bedroom stop instantly.

“What the hell was that?” Flavio’s voice questions, sharp and alert now.

I stand frozen in my hallway, the black dress and red lace I have planned for this night suddenly feeling like a costume for a play I was never meant to star in.

My feet are surrounded by crystal fragments, but the pain I should feel doesn’t register.

Nothing registers except the absolute silence coming from my bedroom now, and the weight of two sets of eyes I can feel staring at me even though I can’t see them yet.

“Loriana?” Astrid’s voice shakes. “Is that you?”

I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. What do you say when you catch your boyfriend and your best friend together in your own bed? What words exist for this level of betrayal?

So, Flavio was planning to fuck me and my best friend on the same bed within just a few hours of each other?

They scramble from the bed like two rats.

The rustling of sheets and their frantic movements make it feel as if I am watching a movie.

Within the blink of an eye, Flavio is standing before me, hastily wrapping my towel around his waist to conceal his now limp dick.

His dark eyes wide with something that might either be shock or calculation or both.

Behind him, I catch a glimpse of Astrid clutching my sheets to her chest, her blonde hair wild, her face flushed with guilt and something else.

Fear.

“Bambina,” Flavio starts, his voice taking on that smooth tone I used to find charming. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

I stare at him, this man I thought I knew, this man I was ready to give everything to. The champagne continues to fizz at my feet, each bubble that pops sounding like a small death.

“Then what,” I ask, my voice surprisingly steady, “does it look like?”