42. Ana
42
ANA
I rubbed my hands on my skirt, checking my appearance in the mirror, confident I hadn’t forgotten how to look like a mafia princess after my weeks of freedom. Blonde hair blow-dried straight and perfectly coiffed, makeup that accented my cheekbones, but not so much that it detracted from my elegance, my gold nose ring replaced with a simple diamond stud, and a navy-blue dress with three-quarter sleeves that flared out at the waist. My legs were waxed and my—I closed my eyes. Waxing my pussy wasn’t hot, but somehow, Angelo and Valentin made it sexy as fuck to know that I was perfectly bare for them. Because they wanted me to be.
The two men waited for me in the living room, handsome in their suits. Angelo cupped Valentin’s face, murmuring soft words, his expression tender, and loneliness thrummed through my veins. They turned to me, and Valentin’s face softened.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, as if surprised.
“It’s my job to be.” I wondered if he heard the undercurrent of bitterness in my tone. I’d been so fucking close to freedom, real freedom, only to be dragged back in because these two assholes couldn’t meet their obligations to the family.
Valentin held out his hand to me, pulled me close to kiss my forehead, and for a moment, I entertained a fantasy of a normal life with these two dangerous, violent men.
“Kneel,” Angelo rasped, the fantasy dissipating as I did as he asked, careful not to wrinkle the full skirt of my dress. “You look like a fucking princess.”
When I dared look up, his grey eyes were full of wonder, not cruelty. I leaned my cheek against his thigh, and he palmed my face, holding me close.
“Relax,” Valentin murmured, so I closed my eyes and focused on their scents, the warmth of their thighs as they pressed against me, and my confidence that I’d trained my entire life for moments like what would follow. “Up,” he said a moment later, and helped me to my feet.
“I think we need to renegotiate the rules,” I said softly.
Angelo looked at me for a long moment, searching my eyes for something, though for what I wasn’t sure. “When we get home,” he said.
The car ride to Maria Ferrari’s home was short—Valentin’s apartment wasn’t far from Costa territory. Silently, I noted that we’d have to move if Angelo was serious about consolidating power. We needed to live in the thick of where our people were.
We.
Our.
What the fuck was I thinking?
Michael Crioulo waited in the lobby of Maria’s building. He’d been one of my father’s drivers and one of the men who should have been beating down Angelo’s door to help.
I kissed him on both cheeks, ignoring Angelo’s growl behind me. “How is she?”
Michael shook his head and scoffed. “Three kids, a baby on the way, her husband dead, and nobody from your fuckin’ family stops by to pay their respects or help with the funeral expenses?”
“Angelo, Valentin, this is Michael Crioulo. Michael, Angelo’s here to help.” Reluctantly, Michael offered his hand to shake. “I don’t—” I debated how much to tell this fiercely loyal man who’d helped raise me along with an army of servants, who’d turned a blind eye to me when I hid in the garage during my father’s rages.
Was he loyal to Gio or loyal to the Costa name? I didn’t know. “We don’t have a list of everyone who was on the compound when the Russians burned it down,” I continued. It wasn’t revealing a weakness to show that we didn’t have a handle on the business—he already knew that because it was clear as fucking daylight. “If you can get me those names, I’ll do my best to make it right.”
“You?” Michael didn’t hide his skepticism. “You’ve never wanted any part of this. And you’ve already paid your dues. Get the fuck out while you can.”
“And lose Yorkfield to the bratva? And all the men and women who depend on the Costa family? Never.”
Michael scoffed again but moved toward the elevator. I followed, Angelo and Valentin trailing behind, their larger-than-life presences more reassuring than I wanted to admit.
Maria Ferrari opened the door to her apartment, a crying infant in her arms and two toddlers by her side. “Please, come in. Sorry about the mess. Let me just—” She looked around, searching for something.
“Don’t be,” I said, interrupting her. “I’m sorry it took me a week before coming to visit.”
Her gaze sharpened. “I hear you’ve been busy.”
Instead of taking the bait, I introduced Angelo and Valentin. She looked them up and down before silently stepping out of the entryway and indicating we should sit down on shabby, worn couches, the infant wailing the entire time. Michael stood sentry at the door.
Fred had been a junior soldier, but not too young to have three kids and one more on the way.
Maria tried to balance a crying baby on her hip while pouring whiskey, and my heart broke for her. I sprang up from the couch. “Let me,” I said, taking the baby in my arms and cooing softly at the cutie-pie.
With a grateful look, Maria bustled into the kitchen and returned with a tray of clean glasses. I used soothing the baby as an excuse to walk around the apartment, peering at photographs as I bounced the infant in my arms.
When I looked over my shoulder to see her serving Angelo and Valentin, Valentin’s eyes were locked on me, warmer than I’d ever seen them before. I blushed, and his gaze softened, flicking down to the baby and back to my face.
The infant calmed, finally, and I adjusted him in my arms before sitting.
“Oh, let me,” Maria said, reaching for him. “You shouldn’t have to be on baby duty.”
“He’s quiet now,” I said, overwhelmed by the emotions flooding through me. “And I don’t mind.”
“You look good with a baby in your arms,” Valentin murmured into my ear, so quietly no one else could hear.
I hummed, squashing the thought, content to be squeezed on the couch between the two large men who didn’t hesitate to drop their arms behind my back or set a hand on my thigh to visibly claim me.
“I’m so sorry about Fred,” I said.
Maria brushed a tear out of her eye. “Funeral’s this weekend,” she muttered.
“And she doesn’t have a way to pay for it,” Michael interjected from the door.
“Hush,” she said. “That’s not—” She pressed her palms to her red-rimmed eyes, to stem a burgeoning tide of tears. “Thank you for coming. It means a lot that you’re here to pay your respects.”
She was the first because she would be the easiest. Fred was new, without a long history with my family. She couldn’t make recriminations because she didn’t have the right to, not according to our strict codes. She was a woman, and she’d married into the family, so what did she count for?
But Angelo should have been here anyway, right away. He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and set it on the coffee table that separated us from Maria. One of her toddlers reached for it, and she smacked his hand away.
“I don’t want your charity.”
Angelo frowned. “It’s his pension and his last paycheck,” he lied smoothly. “Nothing you wouldn’t have the right to anyway.”
“Take it,” Michael said from the doorway.
“Please,” I added, adjusting the baby against my shoulder. “It’s the least we can do.”
Maria nodded and wrapped her fingers around the envelope slowly before snatching it and tucking it into her shirt. It wasn’t a lot—it wasn’t enough—but it would hold her over until I could figure out a job situation for her. And childcare. Christ.
Not for the first time, I cursed my fucked-up relationship with my father and wished I’d paid more attention to the actual mechanics of how he ran his businesses.
Charm men? Let him use me so he could close business deals? Act every inch a mafia princess when required? Rebuild relationships with our people when his inevitable cruelty ruined them? Easy. Actually run his empire?
Tendrils of fear took root at the base of my spine, curling through me until my audacity took my breath away.
Angelo’s fingers wrapped around my knee. “Thank you for seeing us today, Mrs. Ferrari. My sincere condolences for your loss.”
Her watery eyes met mine. “Are you visiting the other widows too?”
“As many as we can find.”
She looked toward the door. “Michael, would you please get me a pen and paper?”
We left the apartment with a longer list of names than I’d expected, my heart lighter for having made the visit.
Michael stopped us before we could walk into the elevator, focusing on Angelo. “Why didn’t you reach out to us sooner?”
Angelo stared at him with hard eyes. “I’m here now.”
“You don’t need this territory,” Michael continued. He gestured at Valentin. “He’s worth billions, and your father’s got his operation in Italy. Why are you really here?”
Angelo wrapped his fingers around my waist, tightening them until I thought they’d bruise. “She deserves better.”
Butterflies erupted in my stomach.
“And Boris Tchérnov is using the Costa’s territory as a bargaining chip to get me to hand him Ana.”
“Fuck me,” Michael muttered. “Have you spoken to Nikolai?”
“Not yet,” I murmured. “First we need to get a handle on our own house.”
Michael looked at Angelo, ignoring me. “Do you intend to hold onto the Costa territory?”
Angelo nodded firmly. “And protect the families who depend on us. But Gio’s top men have all disappeared, including Enzo Accardi.”
“Where are you going next?” Michael asked.
“Carla Bianchi,” I answered.
“And then?”
“The Pescis.”
“I’ll get you a meeting with Enzo. Tonight.”
Angelo pulled me tight. “You won’t put her in danger.”
Michael looked my protectors up and down, scorn turning the lines of his face harsh. “Ana’s been in danger since the day she was born. She can handle it.”