8. Heaven
CHAPTER 8
HEAVEN
I ’m vulnerable and exposed.
That feeling sits inside me, and it’s right. Not the attack, that was…well, I don’t know what that was, but Patrick and I handled it, no matter how condescending Conor’s expression when we recounted to Dad what happened.
Conor called me weak. Fucking weak. I wanted to punch him hard, but I somehow kept my cool. He’s been looking for something to set himself apart, rise to the top any way he sees fit. And getting me to act out is one way to show Dad I’m not the right material.
Meanwhile Conor runs around doing God only knows what, all in the name of proving himself the biggest badass this side of Long Island.
He’s wrong, because he’s wild and careless and takes the kinds of risks that get people killed. That get the attention of the wrong sort.
I close my eyes.
Like Dominguez, the name thrown at us in the attack.
Like Matteo Villani.
Opening my eyes, I take off my baseball cap and peer into the restroom’s mirror, the fluorescent lights casting an evil glare on my bruised face. Everything happened so quickly this morning, and I can’t help but wonder what the living hell got Dominguez’s attention. Maybe he’s making waves. I don’t know.
A shiver slithers down my spine.
But that doesn’t make me vulnerable and exposed. I can cast my net and find out what’s going on. In fact, I’ve already quietly begun that. So far nothing.
My phone buzzes and I dig it from my pocket. I frown at the message. It’s from one of my loyal Bronx people. I’ve been making inroads into the Irish enclave there, something both Dad and Conor have dismissed, but something I see merit in. Big and small, they all make a difference when you need things done.
Dom shake-ups across town. Other fams. More coming .
Fuck. I’ll deal with this later. Because the thing that’s got me almost hyperventilating is the overdressed Italian devil with Dad.
He stole my breath when he walked in. I saw him…how could I not? A man like him is stunning. He has presence. He makes hearts quicken, panties wet, and no doubt a few dicks swell. I hate him. That hasn’t changed. But Christ, is he one hot man.
One who decided to toy with me. One who’s in a meeting with Dad. And Conor.
A meeting I’m kept from.
I know my place. My orders were explicit, the meaning more than clear.
Work the bar tonight means “not invited.”
Patrick is stuck in bed with his chest taped up to keep his two broken ribs in place, so I can’t talk to him right now. But I’m thinking there was something in Conor’s face…and in Dad’s…when we mentioned Dominguez. If they know something, how could they have neglected to give me the heads-up that maybe some cock knocker out there wanted to send us a message?
One like Dominguez.
I swallow my anger, though. Patrick’s going to be fine. I’m going to be fine. My concern is now zeroed in on that room with Villani.
“An underboss follows orders, Heaven,” I say to my reflection.
This is true. But I’m also the daughter. And an underboss doesn’t let her father do something stupid, like make deals with the devil.
Seeing Matteo strut in here to talk business makes me uneasy. Being kept in the dark makes me suspicious.
I’m going in. I have to. The resolve burns in my veins and I take a deep breath, splash some water on my flushed cheeks, put the cap back on, and thread my ponytail through the space in the back before leaving the room.
“There you are.” My youngest brother Quinn grabs my arm, his dark green eyes lighting up. “Dad’s summoned you, Heaven. Come on.”
I pull my cap down low and shake him off. “That’s where I was heading.”
“He’s in a mood. Did you see? Villani is here.”
Quinn loves this stuff. Even though he’s grown up surrounded by violence and guns and power, he sees the glamour of it. Not the reality. Not the hard work to protect it and stay afloat.
“I know. Have you checked in with Patty?”
“Yep.” He grins and makes air quotes. “ Resting . I sent a couple of the girls to go and stay with him.”
I half smile. By girls , Quinn means the bleached blonde, fake-boobed weekend bartenders who are always flirting like mad with Patrick. If he were in better shape, he’d be tearing off their panties with his teeth right about now.
But he’s okay. That’s the most important thing to remember. He’s safe. Just like me.
Quinn slants me a glance. “Maybe Villani knows who jumped you both. It coulda been really bad, Heaven. You guys got lucky.”
The unease starts up again. Deep in the pit of my stomach. He’s right. It could have been bad. And maybe if I was better at my job, I’d have those bastards dead or here facing retribution. But I let them get away.
Just like with Molly.
We reach the end of the hallway and I force a smile for Quinn. “We’re fine and that’s all that matters.”
He’s a good kid. All of my brothers are. Hell, Conor even used to be one of the good ones before Mom died. But we lost him to the life. He never could find balance after that and is a huge liability to all of us now.
Then again, nobody ever promised that mafia life would be all wine and roses.
It’s more like one filled with toxins, bullets, and machetes—roses only come into play in our inevitable funeral arrangements.
So fucking glamorous. But given the chance, I can make things better, safer for us. I can do that—too little too late—and hopefully…hopefully losing Molly won’t have been in vain.
It hurts, thinking about her, so I ease back from the subject in my head.
We stop at Dad’s door. I give Quinn a little punch on the shoulder and he disappears around the corner. I knock.
“Come in,” he calls out.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a split second before pushing it open. I can do this. Whatever this is. Holding my head high, I saunter in and Conor grimaces. Matteo merely watches, that lean, handsome face expressionless.
Three egos. Male egos. All in the same room. Worry and tension pulls at my father’s worn face, and the air is heavy and taut. Like they’re all waiting. They’re all standing.
My father sits and waves a hand, and Conor sprawls in the chair opposite, a power move as it leaves the sofa to the side.
Matteo’s dark gaze catches mine and there’s a hint of a smile there, cool, cynical, and I don’t know whether the shiver that runs through me is from awareness or foreboding.
I’m not sitting if he isn’t, and I ignore my father’s impatient glare.
Finally, like he’s stretched the moment as long as he wanted to, Matteo takes the far side of the sofa, near the door, and places one arm along the back, and I realize my mistake.
Fuck. But I take the seat next to him, feeling like he somehow has me to do with as he pleases, when all he’s done is sit down.
A knot of warmth coils in my belly when a quick, sidelong glance at him slams into me. The bastard’s definitely smiling. Like he just won some kind of prize.
What the fuck is this business deal with Dad?
My father clears his throat and I focus on him, glad for a reason not to look at the devious devil next to me.
“I got some disturbing news today, Heaven,” Dad starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “News that will force us to take action, swift action.”
“Dad,” I say, gripping the arm of the sofa tight. “From what I hear, Dominguez didn’t just try something on us…”
I trail off. Something isn’t right because his expression hasn’t changed.
“Heaven—”
“But Dad, we handled it well. He isn’t a direct threat to us if we stay strong. And I don’t know what Villani’s got to do with it.”
“Everything.” Matteo’s rich voice sends dark awareness streaking through me.
Dad looks at Matteo, then at Conor, and finally back to Matteo.
Okay, I am thoroughly confused right now. Why the hell isn’t my father looking at me ?
I press my Doc Martens into the floor and fold my hands tightly, mainly to stop from storming up and over to my father’s desk. “Can I know why the three of you look like you’re sharing some special secret?”
No one says anything, but a smirk plays over my brother’s face, like he’s the one cat who got all the cream. My stomach turns to lead, and for a moment I wonder if Matteo told them what happened, but no. He can’t get anything from that. Except maybe a pistol whipping.
Dad’s not looking at me, and Conor’s acting like he won, and Matteo…I narrow my eyes at him. He meets my gaze with nothing more than cool composure that might be mistaken as innocuous, but which I know is dangerous.
Does he have something on my family? I breathe in, struggling against my temper that wants to flare. “You know, before you go and open the barn door all the way, Dad, maybe you should consider that Villani here had something to do with that attack. Did you think about that before you invited him in to sniff our pile of dirty laundry?”
My dad turns to me then. “He’s here to help us, Heaven.”
“What do you mean, help ? I thought this was supposed to be a meeting to discuss a business partnership.”
“It is a partnership,” Dad says, expelling a deep sigh. “Just not the type you were expecting.”
“Welcome to your new life.”
My heart thuds fast as I look at the gorgeous, dangerous face that just uttered those five words that send a chill down my spine. And Matteo smiles.
“As my bride.”