Chapter 4
4
ZARINA
“You’re late,” I sang as Larissa walked in the door at nearly ten o’clock.
She replied with a grunt before she sipped at her steaming takeaway cup of coffee that was gripped tightly in her thin fingers.
With a roll of my eyes and a chuckle, I turned back to the display mannequin I was dressing, adorning her in our latest stock of lacy, delicate pieces of fabric.
I pulled the new bra from the box, rubbing the fabric through my fingers and turning it over in my hands.
The satin was soft, as it should be, and the hem work was seamless. After adding a complimentary necklace to the headless figure, I was done. The shimmering silver chain matched the silver link in the middle of the bra that joined the cups and completed the look.
“You look great, Margaret.” I patted the mannequin on the shoulder before hoisting her up and putting her back on the stand in the front window of BoredHeaux.
The shop had been my life pretty much since I finished school. It had been obvious to everyone but me that university would not be in my future.
Mum allowed me a year of running amok before she sat me down and threatened me with marriage. Antoni had been the one to offer the idea of a business as an alternative.
While I had been raised and primed to be the perfect mafia wife, and knew that it was an eventual fate, I wasn’t quite ready to settle for a balding man who saw me as a chess piece.
I wasn’t quite ready to turn into my mother.
And I wasn’t quite ready to succumb to the housewife role just yet. The business bought me time and freedom.
Now, I had my own money and couldn’t be manipulated or guilted by my family about how much I spent, or what I spent it on.
Because I was good at being an heiress.
I was good at being the mafia princess.
I could spend money like no tomorrow. I could fill my days with nothing but shopping and hair appointments and baking pretty little cakes. But it wasn’t all I wanted to do.
I wanted that. I was not ashamed of that side of me. But I wanted more, too.
My sister was a nurse. My brother was a mechanic. And while I would never pretend that I was doing anything that was helpful or charitable, at least I could say I was doing something.
I sold bras and panties to mostly middle-aged women, sometimes strippers and sex workers, and the occasional old lady who wandered into my store by mistake.
But god, did I love making those people feel like a million bucks.Everyone that walked out of here with a BoredHeaux bag got their own chance to feel like an heiress.
I wanted them to feel luxurious, to feel like someone who was powerful because they were sexy and sexy because they were powerful.
When I opened this place, I knew I wanted to do better than the franchises, better than the lingerie stores at the shopping centres. I scoured the world for the best quality, the biggest range of sizes and styles, and I could confidently say that I had something for everyone. I cared for very little in the world apart from my shop.
Of course, it would not be possible if I hadn’t come from the family I did. I wasn’t silly enough to think that Antoni helped me start this place out of the kindness of his heart. And I wasn’t na?ve enough to think that my little storefront wasn’t tied to The Family in one way or another.
Toni still did my bookkeeping to this day.
The big and scary Don of The Santino Crime Family, the most feared man in Melbourne, sat at my neon pink desk once a month to sort through my accounts. Under the glow of my disco ball lamp and fairy-lights, he would scour through my records, flagging items with my purple glitter ink pen.
That was how much faith my brother had in my mathematical ability.
But The Family couldn’t afford to have any of my mistakes getting us looked at by the tax office, the government, or the police.
So, I let him do it. I didn’t care.
I got to order the stock, pick the merchandise, decorate the store, and chat with the customers. And that was enough for me.
With a huff, I tucked my hair behind my ears after hauling Margaret around, stood back, and put my hands on my hips while I admired my work. The new window display was fantastic, and it always felt like a fresh start when I renewed it.
The sun glinted off a distant panel of shiny metal, reflecting the bright rays directly in through the window. I shielded my eyes, scanning the street for the cause.
The chrome side mirrors of two motorcycles parked across the street flickered and caught my attention immediately. So did the two men who the bikes obviously belonged to.
One dude with a bushy, salt and pepper beard stood on the sidewalk, smoking his cigarette and chuckling at whatever the other guy had just said. The other one stayed leaning against his bike, with his cap turned backwards and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his unmarked leather vest.
The new laws that forbade outlaw MC members from wearing their club colours had made it so much harder to decipher who was a bikie and who was just a guy on a bike.
Usually, it was still pretty obvious.
The sleeveless black leather vest was usually enough to know that whoever these guys were, they were affiliated with someone. Whether or not they were Redliners, though, it was impossible to tell.
I swallowed, and my fingers itched to grab my phone from my pocket.
The one with the cigarette nodded, either at me or his buddy, before they both strolled off down the street.
I let out a breath and tried to shake the weird feeling off, heading back towards the counter where Larissa was leaning, scrolling on her phone.
Antoni’s paranoia was starting to rub off on me, and I didn’t like it. I leaned against the counter next to Larissa with a sigh, resting my head on her shoulder.
“What?” she mumbled mindlessly, not looking away from her phone.
“I’m not really sure.”
Larissa huffed out a laugh of understanding and nodded. People, especially my family, wondered why I remained friends with Larissa.
She was Ren’s little sister. Her father was the right-hand man of my father, when he was still alive. And being the youngest of the mob daughters, we were kind of just lumped together when we were kids.
Larissa was a little older than me, but we always ended up in the same rooms and at the same activities.
We threw tea parties while our fathers had bad guys in the basements below, doing god knows what to their enemies. We had sleepovers while our brothers trained and learned the ropes of running a crime syndicate.
To say that we were sheltered would be an understatement.
And I, at least, acknowledged that.
Larissa, however, was the epitome of a mob princess. Blissfully unaware, staunchly uninterested, and forcefully ignorant.
She didn’t know anything. She didn’t want to know anything. But she sure as hell knew how to enjoy the perks that came with the life.
I had always felt a little different, more like I was just a really good actress. Because, to my mother’s horror, I was a little curious about it all.
Not enough to want to go out and join the ranks and do whatever it was they did, but I still wanted to know . And even though I could do no wrong in my father’s eyes, I did get scolded for eavesdropping regularly.
“Do you wanna go out tonight?” I asked.
It was her turn to sigh now, and she actually put down her phone. “It’s Monday.”
I shrugged. “So?”
“Girl.” Larissa shook her head, picking up a box of stock to move to the shelves. “You are in desperate need of a fucking hobby.”
I bit down on the inside of my lip.
“We don’t need to drink. We could just go out and dance.”
“Yeah, right,” she laughed again. “Last time you said that, we ended up in fucking Coburg with?—”
The door buzzer cut her off, and we both turned towards it. The two bikers from across the street strode in, looking around as casually as they could pretend to in a lingerie store.
The one with the beard poked at a corset that hung on display by the door, rubbing the fabric between his fingers with a confused scowl.
I narrowed my eyes at the bigger one, the younger one. I knew his face.
Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.
It took him a little longer to register, but I caught the moment when he realised who I was and stiffened.
“Can I help you?” Larissa snapped.
“Are you Zarina Santino?” the bearded bloke pointed at her.
Larissa continued to chew her gum with an irritating smacking noise, scrunching up her face as she ran her eyes over the two men. “No,” she eventually offered.
“Penny, right?” the younger one smirked finally, gesturing towards me.
“Penny?” Larissa barked a laugh. “Jesus. You and your bullshit.”
I shot her a deathly glare, hoping that she could read on my face just how much I wanted her to shut the fuck up, before I returned my attention to the guy.
“Ashe?” I crossed my arms, trying my best to look like I wasn’t freaking out.
Was he?
Couldn’t be.
Had I actually slept with a…
“Ashe?” the older guy chuckled heartily. “You told her your real name?”
The big one glared at the older one because his laughter carried on a little too long. But the chuckles soon came to an abrupt stop once the older, and obviously not-so-bright one realised what was going on.
“Wait,” he reached towards Ashe’s shoulder. “Henny. Did you?—”
“Don’t.”
“Henny, did you fuck a Santino?”
“Enough. Get out, Shag,” Ashe snapped.
The older guy, Shag, did as he was told and left, but he giggled like a schoolgirl the whole way out the door.
“Oh my god,” Larissa put a hand to her mouth to hide her own smile.
“You’re a Redline Angel?” I asked in my most casual tone.
“And you’re a Santino?” he arched a brow.
“Larissa, go do some stocktake out back.”
“But—”
“Go.” I turned to smile in her direction.
She huffed and pursed her lips but decided to obey, storming towards the stock room with one last look at Ashe. Her eyes roamed him up and down, assessing my conquest.
Honestly, I was doing the same.
He had looked mouthwatering that night out in the club, but there was something different about the way he looked right now.
Maybe it was the serious, dangerous set to his jaw, or the steeliness in his otherwise warm eyes. Maybe it was the way his dark, faded jeans fitted snug against his tree-trunk thighs.
I tried not to laugh at the ‘Harley Davidson’ shirt he wore, the one that looked almost identical to the one I stole.
His hair was on the cusp of a very light brown and very dark blonde, and it had a nice wave to it. A few almost-ringlets hung over his forehead, probably pressed in place by the helmet that hung from his handlebars.
“So, couldn’t stay away?” I asked, shimmying my shoulders while leaning against the counter.
He only pursed his lips, missing the sarcasm in my voice.
“Oh, a man of few words. My favourite .”
Ashe rolled his eyes. His mouth was set in a straight line and it didn’t even waiver a bit.
“Look, Zarina ,” he emphasised my name, obviously pissed that I had given him a false one.
“Oh shut up,” I cut him off. “What are you shitty about? I give fake names to every guy I meet out. You’re not special.”
“Fine, but?—”
“Plus, it’s not like you told me who you were.”
That got his attention, and he was at the counter in one long stride. His height became so much more consuming when he was closer, so did the bulk of his muscular frame.
“I told you my real name.”
“You didn’t tell me you were a Redliner.”
That got a slight smirk out of him. “Didn’t really have time to, Princess.”
I pursed my lips.
“Besides, it’s not something that I exactly advertise to random women. But I wasn’t keeping it a secret or anything.”
He leaned over the counter now, our faces were close as we glared at one another.
There was a long pause of tense silence.
God, he was lovely to look at.
I tried to keep the angry fire in my eyes as I stared into his. That swirl of gold and green was so unique, it was borderline hypnotic. So was the way that he glared at me right back, not backing down.
I could still see Shag out of the corner of my eye, standing outside the shop with his nose basically pressed against the glass.
“Look, I don’t know what the fuck your brother is up to, but?—”
“Is that why you’ve been outside my shop all fucking morning?” I raised my voice, pointing towards the bikes.
He straightened again, chin tilting up to look down his nose at me.
“You tell your boss that if he’s got an issue, to take it up with Toni. I have nothing to do with any of that shit, and I don’t want anything to do with it. Never have, never will. So I’m sorry you wasted your morning, but you are barking up the wrong fucking tree, dickhead.”
Ashe licked his lips quickly, his face in a cold and collected but curious expression. He studied my face for a little longer, as if trying to decide whether or not I was telling the truth, before he dipped his head in a quick nod and headed towards the door.
“And if I see any bikes parked out the front of my shop again I’m taking to them with a metal bat and pink spray paint,” I called after him.
That made him pause halfway out the door.
Ashe looked down at his shoes, pressing his lips together and doing a horrible job at hiding the fact that he was smiling. But he nodded anyway, drawing his brows together and trying to look serious, but avoiding my gaze.
I watched as he crossed the road, stuffing his hands into his pockets as Shag caught up to him. They stood and talked for a moment before Ashe— Henny , punched him in the shoulder, nearly bowling the man over.
The pair got on their bikes and they roared to life, revving the shit out of them obnoxiously before peeling out into traffic and disappearing.
I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
My heart was pounding in my chest, and my hands were still shaking. I couldn’t quite believe that I had spoken to a Redliner like that.
What trouble would that cause for The Family?
Had I just made everything worse?
I turned around, fingers grasping the edge of the counter like my life depended on it, and I closed my eyes. But when I did, that vision of him smirking up at me from between my legs flashed across my mind again.
“Fuck,” I groaned, covering my face with my hands.
I heard Larissa approach from the back room once the sound of the motorcycles faded completely. She stood next to me, putting her head on my shoulder quietly and letting out a deep exhale.
“I fucked a Redliner,” I said, mainly to myself.
“I figured that,” she said. She let out another deep breath and pushed off the counter, sauntering away. “Your brothers are gonna kill you.”
I groaned, throwing my head back.
“Tell him now, Zar. Before he finds out another way,” she said, leaning into the box of stock that I was unpacking before the men had come into our shop.
I blew out a breath, pulling my phone out from under the counter and hitting call on my brother’s name.
Not just my brother in this instance.
The Don.