Royally Embraced: RBMC (Royal Sons CA #14)

Chapter One

V ittoria hated the smell of cigars. The pungent scent of tobacco and leather reminded her of when she’d been a child. Times when the hiss of a lighter could spell a punishment.

She shook her head, dispelling memories long forgotten. Watching a couple of men return from out back, she held her breath until they walked past, trying her best not to gag.

“When you see the Boss return, come to the table.”

Tori blinked at the deep voice as he knocked on the bar with his knuckles. He wore a nice black suit that looked as though it was custom-made for his large frame. No doubt he’d had his nose broken a few times, and that looked like a bullet wound in his left hand.

Instead of answering with words, she nodded. To her relief, that appeased the large man as he jerked his chin, walked back to the room, and took up a post against the wall.

“God, I have been a really good girl. Honestly, I’ve gone to Mass like three times this year, but I pray every day, and I’m still a fucking virgin,” she muttered to herself and the man upstairs, although she was pretty sure he wasn’t listening to her anymore.

She decided to call one of her bosses’, knowing the large group could spell trouble for Hoolihan’s. With discreet movements, she placed the earbud in her ear, ensuring the device connected to the Bluetooth before pressing the number one. Since she’d put Cian as the number one on her phone, she chose him instead of one of the others programmed into it.

“Hey, Tori, what’s going on?” Cian Hoolihan asked.

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, watching the intimidating man with his two guards lead the others through the doorway. They’d gone out to the recently renovated patio area with large heaters for those who wanted to enjoy a little outdoors and those who liked to smoke. The rest of the party of well-dressed men followed, looking like the killers, drug dealers, gun traffickers, and businessmen that they were, at least to her. And she hated them. Oh, she wasn’t supposed to know the men were actually the Mafia, but then again, she had grown up around men just like those in front of her.

Her hand went to her stomach, wondering for the umpteenth time how the fuck she drew the short straw tonight.

“We got a party that came in,” she answered, wondering if she should tell him she needed help. It was a Thursday in the middle of November. They usually were slow as shit, and it was only her working. She didn’t mind being there alone since Collin, Cian’s nephew, technically lived above the bar and could be down in seconds. Yet, the men who’d come in were not the average working men.

“Is there a problem?” Cian asked. The earbud connected to the Bluetooth service allowed her to hear and speak over the bar's noise. She couldn’t miss the fatherly concern ringing through his tone and usually gave him shit for it.

In the four years she’d been in Chicago, Hoolihan’s had become more like her family than the one she’d been born into. She’d learned what a chosen family over a blood family felt like. It resonated with her more than ever once she’d left New York and saw firsthand what unconditional love looked like.

Taking a deep, calming breath, she let it out before answering, “I don’t think so. I hope not. You got the cameras running, right?” She knew he did since they’d done a major remodel a year ago. A quick glance showed the small domes similar to what you’d see in malls. The high-tech devices gave Cian or whoever monitored them total panoramic surveillance with complete area coverage, fine details, and high speeds. She knew he was aware of everything within their vicinity and that there were several throughout the bar for him to monitor.

Cian grunted, but she could hear him clicking as if he were on his computer. “Fuck,” he swore.

“What’s wrong?” Tori worked to fill the orders once the entire group returned. Although she pretended to be unaware of what and who frequented the bar, she more than most knew what Family truly meant. A tiny shiver went down her spine, but she kept her cool, knowing these men wouldn’t recognize her. Nobody in Chicago did.

“I’m Tori Hardigan,” she muttered.

“What?” Cian asked.

Shit, she needed to keep her thoughts straight, or her entire life could implode over a stupid mistake. “I was thinking about introducing myself. It’s how I psyche myself up,” she lied.

“Ah, sorry. I didn’t realize you had to do that. You always seem so calm and cool. Listen, I’ve texted Collin. He’s on his way back from a date. It’ll take him about fifteen minutes to get there. Just take their order, be your normal business-like self, and everything will be fine,” Cian instructed her.

Tori wanted to protest and tell him she could handle it, yet her heart beat like she’d been running a ten-mile marathon and hadn’t prepared. So yeah, she welcomed their help. “Shit. He’s not upstairs?”

“Tori, you got this, and I’m watching. If you need anything, you know there’s an alarm.”

They did have a panic button, but it was on the other side of the bar. Shit. “I gotta go,” she muttered.

A cold breeze wafted in as the door to the patio opened. Goosebumps formed along her arms even as sweat pooled on her brow. Shit, at the rate she was going, she’d probably end up stroking out.

The unmistakable scent of tobacco heralded the return of those who’d gone outside. Once Tori noticed the Boss, she poured the shots of vodka they’d requested along with the glasses of Bulleit Bourbon. The instructions stated Grigori Rizzo got his first. Gah, the name alone was enough to send panic hurtling down her spine. The possibility that these Rizzos had connections to the ones who’d been friends with the Masseria’s should be slim. But then again, Italian Mafia families were tight and widespread, and she hadn’t been privy to Family business in New York. Her job as a woman had been to shut up, grow up, and be an asset in whatever way her stepfather had decided, which was why she’d run like a thief in the night.

Lifting the tray filled with the vodka and bourbon in her hand, she eased out from behind the bar. Tori made her way toward the group of men, keeping her posture straight and steady. She might have been quaking inside, but outwardly, she was calm and collected.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she greeted the table.

The table behind Grigori made the perfect place for her to sit the tray. She placed the bourbon tumbler in front of the Boss. It was an unwritten rule that you always serve the top man his drink, then his shot of vodka. Not wanting to give away the fact that she knew Mafia protocol, she delivered the others' drinks until her tray was empty.

Her eyes went back to the head of the table, snagging on the older man and the way his hand wrapped around the glass tumbler while he stared at her, looking her over from head to toe. Vittoria pretended not to notice while her mouth went bone dry, unable to swallow the lump as panic threatened to consume her. She was not a pussy, and she was not in danger, dammit.

With a slight shake of her head, she took a deep breath, tucking the tray beneath her arm. “Can I get anything else for you, gentlemen?” She directed her question at the group but didn’t look at anyone in particular in the eyes. There was brutality in Grigori’s dark-as-night gaze. A warning to those who fucked with him, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill. She’d witnessed the same expression in her stepfather’s dark stare every day until she’d left.

Grigori waved her away with his free hand without a word. She noticed he wore a large ring on his right hand, but it was his freshly busted-up knuckles she worked hard not to stare and draw attention to.

The other men murmured amongst themselves, yet none lifted their glasses. The Boss hadn’t lifted his, or maybe they were waiting for him to toast or her to leave. Vittoria was more than happy to oblige the latter.

She noticed a few men still held their cigar stubs in their hands while a couple kept them in their mouths. Fucking gross. Okay, she might be a little prejudiced due to the fact she grew up in New York as the step-daughter to the Boss of one of the five Families. The men in her world liked to use whatever was at their disposal to dish out punishments and pain. A lit cigar hurt when put out on a body, and the smell of burning flesh was noxious.

A shudder wracked her frame, but she rubbed her arms as if it were the cold as she went to the patio doors and checked to ensure they were closed. It wouldn’t be good if they saw her rattled. She kept her head high but not too high. Another rule was not to ever act like you were better than them.

“I’ll be back to check on you shortly. If you need anything before that, don’t hesitate to call out,” she said. Her tone was even yet not inviting. If her heart beat any harder or faster she might have a damn heart attack or possibly pass the fuck out. That would not be a good look.

The cell for the bar buzzed in her back pocket. She looked toward the group and then pulled the earbud out. “Hoolihans.”

“Hey, Vittoria. How’s it going?” Cian Hoolihan asked.

If he had been there in person, Vittoria thought she might have flipped him the bird or kicked him in the dick eye. Cian owned Hoolihan’s with his wife Kendra and several other family members.

She waited until she was back behind the bar with the men in full view.

“It’s going great, Cian. The fucking Mafia is here, and they decided to do a little redecorating. You know your recently refurbished hardwood floors? Well, it has a new red stain. Oh, there might be some new holes in the walls that we can just pop some family pictures up to cover. No biggie. And did I mention the sweet scent of tobacco, wood, and spices has infiltrated all the gorgeous leather seating you recently added, thanks to the cigar smoke?” she asked in a hushed whisper, keeping her eye on the men in the back as she spoke.

“What the fuck, Vittoria. Are you okay?” Cian asked, worry filtering through the phone.

She closed her eyes, feeling like a bitch. “I’m lying, Cy. I just delivered the first round of drinks, but they give me the creeps. You know they booked this as a private party, right? Who the fuck took this booking without vetting it?”

There was a long beat of silence. “Tori, I was unaware of who had booked the pub until about five minutes ago when I checked the security footage. I’ve been on the phone with my brothers trying to find out who the fuck took the booking. You know at least two of us, not one of our employees, have always handled that shit.”

She could usually tell if a person was lying if they were in the same space as her, and sometimes when she listened to them speak. At Cian’s admission, her gut said he was being truthful. “What did you find out?”

Again, there was a long pause. Sweat pooled between her breasts even though it was cold as shit outside. Plus, they kept the pub a nice cool sixty-nine degrees, which gave her no reason to sweat other than her nervousness.

“Dammit, Cian.”

“The booking was done online. It’s a new feature we added after the renovation that obviously needs to be tweaked or deleted. I know saying the word sorry doesn’t cover this screwup, honey. Kendra is going to have my nuts for this.” He sighed. “They paid by credit card, but it was one of those prepaid ones that didn’t set off any of the keywords we set for alarms. Basically, it was untraceable, and we fucked up,” he growled.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and clenched her teeth. “Of course it was. So, how much longer before one of you is here?” If there was a quiver in her voice, she ignored it. Why did Grigori Rizzo and his men close Hoolihan’s for a private meeting? She didn’t know. Nor did she want to. Asking questions was the quickest way to get yourself hurt or worse, killed. Men like Mr. Rizzo didn’t always just put a bullet between someone’s eyes or slice their throat. No, they liked to play with their prey, but Vittoria had no plans to become anyone’s prey.

“I’m watching, as are the others. We’re within minutes of you should anything happen,” Cian reassured her.

Vittoria shook her head, knowing there was no use in pleading for them to hurry. He was wrong if he thought he or the others could save her. If any of the men wanted to harm her, they would do it without blinking an eye.

She felt eyes on her. The hair on her neck stood up, letting her know danger was near.

“I gotta go,” she said and disconnected the call. After tonight, she was quitting. Fuck this shit. Fuck extra money for her last semester so she could take the summer off. She’d eat the meals on her meal plan through her scholarship. Her last semester was literally all online, so it wasn’t like she needed much. Hell, she could probably buy a dozen cases of Ramen noodles and some bottled water and survive until graduation day. Maybe she’d lose that twenty pounds her step-father and brother constantly told her was unattractive.

“The Boss wants another round,” the large man growled.

While Grigori scared the ever-loving crap out of her because he had the power to instruct any of the men around him to do his bidding, or he’d do it himself, and nobody would blink an eye. The man before her had brutality stamped on every ounce of his stern, scarred face. He was handsome, but good God, he was not a man she wanted to cross or really do anything with. Nodding, she began lining up the shot glasses. He didn’t turn to go back, his unblinking stare unnerving her while she pulled another bottle of Absolut out of the freezer. On the reservation, they’d requested four chilled and unopened bottles to be available—all prepaid.

She prepared and placed the shots of top-shelf vodka on the tray, then made their Bulleit Bourbon drinks. Why men liked the throat-burning liquor, she had no clue.

“Ricky, get your ass back here and quit making the girl nervous. She spills our drinks, and you’ll be paying,” Grigori said loud enough for her to hear, but it wasn’t a yell. His voice boomed, sending more shivers of fear through her. Yeah, she couldn’t continue working at Hoolihan's. She'd lived in fear from age three until she'd left New York at eighteen. Escaping in the dead of night with little to nothing but a bag of clothes and a horde of cash she'd stolen. The money belonged to her stepfather, who was every bit as deadly as the men she was serving drinks to. His stepfather and he thought they owned her. They both share the same qualities in so many ways. Good lord, she could only imagine what Gino Masseria would do if he ever found her. He'd force her to marry some man of his choosing, like some old fuck, or kill her. Either choice was a nightmare, in her opinion.

Four years of freedom, and bam, it felt like she landed right back in the pits of Hell again. All because she was face-to-face with men like her own family. Only these were not The Masseria Family, she had to remind herself.

She finished filling the order and returned to the group of men, repeating the same steps. She sat Grigori's two in front of him, jerking as his hand grabbed her wrist.

“What happened here, girl?” he asked, turning her wrist up and running his thumb over the circular scars on the inside.

Vittoria tried to pull her hand back but froze at the nickname he’d called her. She hated being called girl .

The hand holding hers tightened, making her acutely aware he wasn’t releasing her until she answered his question unless she wanted to make a scene. She gave a little pull again, recognizing he wasn’t asking. No, it was an order for her to tell him what he wanted, nothing more, nothing less.

“It was punishments,” she said. She wasn’t going to lie, not to a man like him. They all smoked and knew what the scars were, so if she lied, he’d take it as an insult.

He released her hand, running the same thumb he’d been touching her with over his bottom lip and licking like he was tasting her. The action had her skin crawling. His eyes locked onto hers, his eyebrows raised as if he dared her to do or say something. She stayed silent thanks to years of practice living with her stepfather.

“Finish handing out the drinks and leave the bill, Toria.”

She’d already set several drinks down when her nickname fell from his lips. Had she told them her name? She must’ve. Of course, she did. It was one of her standard lines with customers. Only she usually said Tori, not Toria.

After she placed the last drink known, she left the bill to Grigori's right. By sheer will, she refrained from running back to the bar, walking with the trays tucked under her arm like she'd done dozens upon dozens of times. The first deep breath she took filled her with unease as if the men behind her were sizing her up. She hated the sense of being watched and measured for another's purpose. Vittoria was sure the men had nefarious ideas that wouldn’t align with hers.

“AH, THERE’S THE MAN we’ve been waiting for.”

Jeter walked into Hoolihan’s behind his brother Kendrick, ignoring the men who hollered as they entered.

They walked up to the bar, with his brother leading the way. He felt the hair on his neck standing the moment they entered. He couldn’t relax until he looked around the premises for all the exits and sized up the other occupants. Tonight had been one hell of a shitshow, yet his brother appeared utterly unaffected, which worried him.

“You sure this is a good idea, brother?” he asked Kendrick as they moved toward the bar.

“I told you I’m fine. Paula, doing a runner didn’t hurt my heart or my pride. Truthfully, I’m kind of glad I don’t have to have boring ass sex for life.” Kendrick rolled his shoulders.

Hell, he too, would rather not have it himself if forced to choose between one or the other.

He took in those he could see. While they were all wearing nice suits, he and Kendrick wore nicer ones since they’d dressed for his brother’s Groom’s dinner. He wished his MC prez and the brotherhood were with him, knowing they’d be more than enough backup.

“Sure you are. You better start buying lotion in bulk if we make it out of here alive,” Jeter muttered.

“Your eye-roll is showing,” Kendrick said. His older brother had a deep, dry sense of humor. Jeter stepped beside him at the counter, resting his arms on the smooth wood surface. The first thing he saw was the most amazing-looking woman he’d ever laid eyes on. At five feet nothing, she exuded confidence, yet he recognized the slight tremor in her hand when she reached for the rag to wipe the bar off.

“Evening, gentlemen. Are you with the party in the back?” she asked, her emerald, green eyes lifting to them before shifting to the others.

“Hmm,” Kendrick agreed with a little growl.