7. Carmela
Carmela
M y nerves are steel as I enter Romanesco, an Italian eatery owned by the Morronis. Even though it’s the afternoon, the lights are dim, and the brown leather booths are full. Garlic permeates the air as I walk through the space—past the dining room and the kitchen, down the hall that houses the restrooms, and through a door that looks like it leads to the back of the house but really leads to an office where I’m meeting Vinny.
I don’t wait to be announced, slipping through the door like I belong. It’s not my first time here, and it probably won’t be the last. I’ve been here on business, and I’ve been here as a guest of Luca’s for dinner. Both times were easygoing. The Morronis have never made me feel like less than family. But this time, there was an edge to Vinny’s invitation in the voicemail he left early this morning .
Mandatory. No cops. Come alone. Don’t tell Micky boy.
Luca takes after his father. Vinny is a large man, both in height and stature. There was a time he probably hit the gym as much as his son, but even with age, his body still houses muscles that haven’t completely withered away. His dark hair has turned more salt and pepper over the years, his voice rougher from chain smoking the cigars he permanently has between his lips.
Vinny Morroni is a dangerous man—to everyone else. For some reason, though, he’s never made me feel like I have anything to fear from him.
“Carmela! What a pleasure to see you, my dear. Come in! Come in!” He gestures to one of the chairs in front of his desk, snapping his fingers at the man sitting in it. “Rocky, move it. Let the lady sit down. Are you hungry, honey?”
Taking my seat, I shake my head. “I’m good. I don’t have a lot of time. Slipping away from my shadows wasn’t easy. There’s a killer after me. Haven’t you heard?”
“Luca told me about the threats. Is there a reason my son isn’t your number one shadow?” he asks, thumbing through a stack of papers on his desk.
“Mick thought–”
Vinny snorts, cutting me off. “That’s Micky boy’s problem. You see, he thinks he knows everything. What he doesn’t know is that I have men on the inside, just like he does. My protection reaches further than his, Carmela. All it takes is for you to bring me back in.”
“Oh, he knows about your men on the inside. I don’t know what you want me to say. Neither of us wants to be linked to gun trafficking. That isn’t the purpose of my club. If your interest in it were purely for entertainment reasons, that would be one thing. But I don’t want anything illegal at Désirer,” I state calmly.
That’s how you have to deal with these men in power. Keep your cool; don’t get hysterical. If they make threats, you make your own. I know for a fact that Scott, Jackson’s uncle, had dirt on Vinny enjoying the company of a few Angels even though he’s married. If Luca’s mother found out, Vinny would be out on his ass. Francesca Morroni is not a woman to make a fool of. If she found out, she’d likely kill him.
“Honey, your whole club is illegal. You can’t cherry-pick what is morally right or wrong. You trade sex for money. I trade guns. We are the same, Carmela. You take care of your people; I take care of mine. You have Micky boy make calls on your behalf; I make the calls myself.” He leans back in his chair, lighting up his cigar. “You are a creature of the underworld. The only difference between us is that you hide behind your fancy suits and your restaurant, pretending to be an upstanding citizen with your donations and your senator championing your cause. I embrace who I am and what I do. Sure, I may have the law in my pocket, but I don’t hide behind a carefully constructed fa?ade. People know who they are getting into bed with when they deal with a Morroni. Can you say the same?”
I’m silent because he’s right. I know it, he knows it, and everyone else in the room knows it, too. He has me backed into a proverbial corner. I already rely on him for security, a fact that Mick hates, but knows I have no choice. I need men we can trust, and Morroni has things on us just like we do on him.
“You know, it’s interesting,” I finally say, scrutinizing him with pursed lips. “All of this started happening when you started to push about being brought back in. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were doing this to scare me. Perhaps push me into Luca’s arms.”
Rich, smoky laughter fills the room. Full-bodied and accompanied by a scented cloud of his sweet-smelling cigar. “My son would love nothing more than to be your white knight. We’d welcome you with open arms if you decided to become family.”
“If I became family, it would be as good as handing over my club to you. Besides, I have no desire to become anyone’s wife.” He didn’t deny my accusation, I note. Still, the idea that he's behind this doesn’t feel right. Vinny has been playing nice, but if he wanted to come back badly enough, he would by force.
Jackson is the only other thing I can think of standing in his way. An unsettling feeling skirts down my spine. If Vinny does anything to threaten Ginny to try getting Jackson to bend to his will, Jackson will eviscerate him.
But Ginny isn’t the one being threatened.
I am.
So, I find myself back at square one.
“I like you, Carmela. I’ve always treated you like family, thinking you’d make an honest man out of my son one day. However, do not mistake my kindness. My patience is thin. Consider my offer. You won’t need to worry your pretty little head about a thing. I’ll take care of my business; you’ll take care of yours. We can cohabitate peacefully, just like before.” He signals for one of his men—a dismissal—before saying ominously, “Perhaps it is time for your senator to retire.”
“Is that a threat?” I ask as I stand. As much as I hate it, I do still care for Mick. Vinny may not be dangerous to me, but if he’s finally making threats to Mick, there’s no saying what he’ll do to get his way.
“Not a threat. But perhaps a suggestion.” He sets his cigar on the lip of a tray already full of ashes, leaving it to go out on its own so he can smoke the rest later. “Rocky, have a car take the lady wherever she needs to go. Can’t be having her wandering the streets with a killer on the loose. Think about my offer, Carmela.”
I give him a slight nod, placating him before I leave, then instruct his driver to take me to Decadence. I pull my phone out to see multiple messages from Anders asking where I’m at and why I’m not picking up my phone. Ignoring them, I toggle to Mick’s message saying he’s at Decadence, also wondering where I’m at since I told everyone I’d be holed up doing payroll.
Sighing, I lean against the headrest and turn my attention to the sidewalk, watching people as we pass. It’s times like this I wish I could call my parents. Even though I’m surrounded by people who care about me, I feel isolated. No one really knows me besides Mick and Lenni. But Mick comes with his own parade of problems, and ever since Lenni met Tripp, she’s been MIA—which I can’t blame her for. If a millionaire came along and fell in love with me and fixed all my problems, I’d go MIA, too.
Decadence is busy when I arrive, and I take my time checking on tables and making sure customers are happy before heading back to my office, where Mick is waiting.
“Don’t you ever work?” I ask as I walk in, keeping the door open.
Mick watches me hang my bag and shrug out of my Sebastian Cruz herringbone suit jacket. I can practically see the drool drip from his mouth as he takes in my breasts, which are well on display beneath the matching vest. “Brooks said he didn’t know where you were. I figured I’d stop in and see how you were doing since you said you were working on payroll, and you typically don’t answer your phone when you’re doing that. Imagine my surprise when I show up and you aren’t here.”
“I’m an adult, Mick. I don’t need to run my entire day by you.”
“Where were you, Mellie?” He sounds genuinely curious, but his cadence also has an edge of authority. After all this time, he still thinks he owns me. And though I have a few more years where I have to put up with his possessive behavior, lately, all I want to do is rebel against it.
“I had an afternoon appointment, Mick. Let’s leave it at that. You won’t like the details.” My phone buzzes in my hand as I sit at my desk—another message from Anders.
If you’re not going to cooperate with me, then I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here.
Memories of the last time we were in this room together resurface unwittingly. Anders is a confusing puzzle I can’t seem to figure out. His words and actions are constantly at war. He says he doesn’t want me, but can’t stop himself from touching me whenever I offer myself up to him. I know I shouldn’t mix business with pleasure. But every time he insists he won’t touch me again, I’m filled with this unbridled need to make him eat his words.
Me neither. Why don’t you go home? Or can you not stay away?
The three dots that signal he’s typing appear almost immediately, sending a thrill through my body that has my nipples hardening. We may tell each other we don’t want the other, but playing with Anders is the most alive I’ve felt in a long time.
Mick’s hand drops to the surface of my desk with a loud boom, making me jump. Tearing my eyes away from my phone, I glare at him. “What?”
“I asked you who you saw,” he grits out, matching my look of annoyance. “What the fuck is going on with you?”
“I’m tired, Mick. I’m tired of you thinking you own me and can dictate who I see and where I go. I’m tired of you thinking you have any say in what I do with my life. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you there is nothing between us anymore.”
His jadeite eyes narrow. “Yet you continue fucking me. Yeah, there’s really nothing between us anymore.”
“Mick, I’m not having this conversation with you right now.” My phone buzzes again, distracting me once more.
It’s literally my job not to stay away from you right now.
“Is the detective someone I should be worried about?” Mick’s voice sounds right over my shoulder. Goosebumps break out on my bare skin as he startles me. I swipe up to close out the message thread and toss my phone on the desk before he can read any more.
“Fuck no. I can’t stand that fucking guy,” I lie. I’ll keep the fact that Anders and I slept together, and continue to do questionable things, to myself for as long as I can. As much as I may not believe a damn word that comes out of his mouth, for some reason, I trust him. The last thing I need is for Mick to fire him and hire someone else that I’ll hate more.
Not to mention, I refuse to perform at the club with a random person. At least with Anders, I know what I’m getting myself into.
Mick’s hands cradle my shoulders, rubbing them lightly as he hums into the crook of my neck. “Stop denying me, Mellie.”
“Get a divorce, Mick.” I know he won’t, and honestly, I don’t want him to. Too many years have passed, too many things have happened. I know with absolute certainty that I don’t want to be with Mick anymore. Even though my body still reacts to him. Even though there is a deep-seated need within me to please him .
“You know I can’t do that.” One of his hands skims over my shoulder, lightly trailing over my vest and descending toward my breast. Where his touch once made me melt, I now freeze as Anders’ face flashes through my mind briefly.
Whirling my chair to escape his touch, I stand, crossing the room to put distance between us. “Then I’m sure you understand why I’m still unwilling to be your mistress.”
Low, throaty chuckles leave his mouth as he heads toward the still-open door, causing my nerves to buzz angrily. “I’m willing to wait, tiny dancer. You always come back to me. Be careful tonight. Hopefully, you and the detective have figured out how you’re going to put on a believable show without tearing each other's throats out.”
I don’t tell him I’ve been actively ignoring Anders since I last saw him a few days ago. Mick’s words spark an idea, though, and as he leaves, I grab my phone to pull up my message thread with Anders.
This isn’t a joke, Carmela. Someone has threatened your life. You’d think you’d take this shit a little more seriously.
There’s a pinch in my chest as I read what he’s written. All I am is a job to him, and he’d probably talk to anyone else this way, but for some reason, I read his words in a tone I’m not sure he meant for them to be read in.
Careful, smooth guy. You sound like you might actually care.
Meet me in my office at Désirer at eight. We need to discuss the plan for tonight. I have some ideas.
Oh, joy.
And don’t tell me what to do. It’s you who should be listening to me.
I try to force it down, but a smile stretches across my lips. Sinking into my chair again, I send him one more message before turning the vibration off on my notifications, darkening the screen, and turning my phone over so I can’t be distracted.
Bad doggy. Your mistress gave you an order. Better obey, or you’ll find yourself chained up in the doghouse tonight.