Chapter 10
I lay the new cocktail dress I purchased yesterday down on the bed. It's red and screams of seduction. I place the matching color high heels next to the dress and toss the lace panties Luca gave me on top of the dress.
I won't be wearing a bra tonight.
I take a step back and look over everything.
Perfect.
I turn and walk back into the bathroom. I dry my hair before beginning to apply my makeup. I carefully apply a smoky eye and put on deep red lipstick.
Once satisfied with my appearance, I begin to dress.
I slip into the red cocktail dress. It's the kind of dress that would make any woman feel powerful and seductive.
The soft fabric hugs my curves in all the right places, accentuating my figure.
I step into the high heels, adding a few inches to my height and giving me a sense of confidence.
I take one last glance in the mirror, admiring the way the dress clings to my body and the way the heels make my legs look.
I adjust the dress to ensure it covers everything it should while still leaving enough to the imagination.
I sling my small black purse over my shoulder, wishing that my trusty .22 was nestled inside instead of the makeup that currently occupies its space. But I'm playing a character, and my true identity must remain hidden.
I'm not Anna; I'm Sofia, an Italian mobster's mistress. It's a role I never imagined myself playing, but I'm going to make it work in my favor.
I take a deep breath and head out to the living room to wait for Luca to arrive and the night to start.
As I sit on the couch, it hits me for the first time that I don't really have any idea where we're going or what we're doing.
I'm starting to see that this is how Luca works.
You never know what you're doing until you're on your way to it.
Maybe it's for security; maybe it's for control.
Either way, I don't feel I have much of either.
I don't have long to contemplate much more as I hear a knock on the door.
After a few seconds, I hear the lock click and the door slowly open. "Ma'am, I'm here to escort you," a man's voice calls out.
I stand and walk over to him. I recognize him as Luca's driver. As I approach, his gaze immediately falls to my breasts as he speaks. "Luca's downstairs waiting, ma'am."
I nod and follow him.
Luca's waiting in his car, looking every bit the sophisticated mobster in his tailored suit. The driver opens the door, and I slip inside, feeling the warmth of the heated leather seats on my skin.
Luca takes my body in before meeting my eyes. "Shit, Sofia. This the fuckin’ dress you were talking about?" he asks me.
I smile and nod.
“Your tits look great. Looking very fuckable indeed,” he says, licking his lips.
Ugh, gross.
My mouth feels dry, and I can barely find the words to respond. "I'll take that as a compliment, so thank you. I'm looking forward to our evening together," I manage to say, offering up a slight smile.
Luca smirks and leans back in his seat as the driver gets behind the wheel.
As the car weaves through the city, the anticipation kills me, so I work up the courage to ask him where he's taking me.
"Where are we headed tonight?"
Luca glances at me. "A high-stakes poker party at Enzo's place. It'll be fun."
My chest tightens at the mention of Enzo Bonventi, the don of the Bonventi family.
Shit, right into the lion's den.
This could be a great opportunity to gather intel, as I imagine other members of the family will be in attendance.
I wonder if Gabriel will be there.
I keep my composure so Luca doesn't see through my act. "I'm looking forward to it. It does sound like fun."
Luca pulls out a flask and takes a sip, his eyes never leaving me. "Just remember, Sofia, you're there as my guest. So behave and act lady-like, you know," he says and reaches over, cupping my left breast, "show the other fellas what they're missing."
I instinctively feel my left arm coming up to bend his wrist, but I suppress my training and grab his hand instead.
"Oh, don't be silly," I say and playfully pull his hand away, "but of course. Don't worry about me."
When we arrive at Enzo's mansion, I'm taken aback by its sheer size. The wrought-iron gates open, revealing a grand entrance with towering pillars. The driver makes his way up to the front, where a man rushes over and opens the door for me.
"Pleasant evening, ma'am," he says while assisting me out of the car. The driver opens Luca's door, and the man helping me abandons me for him.
"Oh, Mr. Romano, welcome. Looking very sharp tonight, sir."
Luca walks by ignoring him and wraps his hand around my waist before squeezing my ass. "Let's go inside," he says to me and almost pushes me forward.
Much like the Irish Don's home, this too is an overwhelming spectacle: crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and ornate gold-framed paintings.
As we enter the poker room, I scan the area, telling myself I'm looking for familiar faces from FBI files, but really, I'm searching for one face in particular. One that's been haunting my dreams.
Luca grabs a drink and I look around at everyone who's dressed in suits that likely cost more than my yearly salary. I believe I start to recognize a few faces from the files when Enzo comes into my view.
He walks up to us and shakes Luca's hand. His 6'4" frame towers over me. His height reminds me of Gabriel, but where Gabriel's presence makes my skin tingle with electricity, Enzo's just reminds me of power.
"This is Sofia," Luca says, pointing to me.
Enzo greets me with a charming smile. Up close, he's not as old as he looks —late 40s with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Despite his reputation, there's a captivating energy about him that commands attention. I can see why people follow him without question.
"Sofia, it's a pleasure to meet you," Enzo says, taking my hand and placing a kiss on the back of it.
"The pleasure is all mine," I reply, batting my eyelashes for good measure. As I pull my hand back, I knock over Luca's glass, sending the liquid spreading across the pristine floor. "Oh! I'm so clumsy, I'm sorry—"
Luca groans, his tone full of sarcasm. "Perfect. Just perfect."
I flinch, my cheeks flushing hot. Before I can stammer another apology, Enzo leans in, his voice low and soothing. "Tolstoy once said, ‘If you look for perfection, you’ll never be content.’ Don’t worry about it, Sofia. Better the floor than your dress—we’ll have someone clean it up."
I feel a flutter in my stomach. His charm is undeniable, and for a moment, I almost forget that he's one of the most dangerous criminals in the US.
Luca hands me a wad of cash and motions to one of the tables where a few others are sitting. "Why don't you grab a seat, Sofia? Enzo and I have some business to discuss. I will come find you soon."
I nod and walk over to take an empty seat.
The game is already in progress, and the players barely acknowledge my arrival.
I look down at the cash and notice he's given me $2200.
I take $1000 and put it in my purse. I don't know what for, but I don't have access to anything, so this will be a nice little nest. I give the dealer the remaining amount, and he slides a stack of chips across to me.
I'm dealt in, and I pick up my cards and try to focus on the game while also keeping an ear out for any valuable information. A smirk comes across my face because I catch myself trying to play poker, a game I've never played before and have no idea what the fuck is going on.
I glance around, carefully observing everyone. I notice there's some tension in the room, like a light layer of fog that's settled over everyone. The mobsters try their best to maintain a facade of civility, but it's clear something's going on.
I shift my attention back to the game, focusing on the cards in my hand. I fold because that's something I know you do in poker.
As the players finish their hand, a sudden connection clicks in my mind. I notice that a few of these men are ones I've seen before in the case files, but they aren't Italian—men from the Greek and Polish mafia are here, too.
Why would the smaller families be here? Are the Irish here?
I search the room and see no Irish.
What could that mean?
The last time I was in a room with different mafia families, bad things happened.
"Ma'am... Ma'am," the dealer calls out to me, "are you in this hand?"
I can tell I'm slowing the game, and the players are looking at me a little anxious, so I grab the rest of my chips. "No, thank you. Think it's time for a break."
I stand and walk over to the bar.
"Champagne, please."
I take a sip when there's a loud commotion behind me. Two men enter into a heated exchange of words. They glare at each other, their hands hovering dangerously close to their weapons. The room falls silent, and I hear Enzo's voice.
"Tony, what the fuck are you doing? Take a walk."
"But boss, I..."
"Take a fucking walk," Enzo commands.
The man scoffs before turning and leaving.
"My apologies, please continue," Enzo says, and with that, the room is set in motion again.
Luca comes over to me, and we chat for a bit while he strokes my arm and does a poor job of flirting.
As he's ordering me another glass of champagne, I hear some yelling near the entrance. An older, slender woman in an elegant black dress storms into the room, her eyes scanning the crowd frantically. She's beautiful, with dark hair and a fiery determination in her eyes.
"Where is he?" she asks someone.
"Isabella, calm down, please," someone says to her.
"Fuck you, where is he?"
I see Luca straighten up. "Ah, shit," he says in a low tone.
"Luca!" Isabella screams, her voice loud and unhinged. She walks with a purpose toward us and points a manicured finger at me, her eyes filled with rage. "Who the fuck is this bitch? You promised me you were done with the whores!"
I feel the warmth of embarrassment take hold of me as the attention of the entire room focuses on me. I feel my face turning red, but I force myself to maintain my composure.
Luca takes a step forward, his face serious and intense. "Isabella, you need to leave," he commands.
She laughs, a bitter and twisted sound that mocks Luca's response. "Leave? Leave? No, you need to leave. Fucking tell me who—"
"Isabella, Isabella, now," Luca says, firmly grabbing her arm. "Let's go outside."
She jerks her arm but is unable to escape his grip. She turns back, and her venomous gaze strikes me, her lips curling into a sneer. "Tell me, how much is my husband paying you to fuck him?"
I swallow hard, my mind racing as I try to think of a way to de-escalate the situation. I've never been in a position like this, and I don't know how to handle it. My FBI training tells me I need to speak, but the real me is unable to even move.
My palms are sweaty, and I feel my fight-or-flight senses kick in, but I just focus on forcing myself to keep my cool, not to crack.
"I'm just here to enjoy the evening," I say, my voice steady and calm. "I think there's been a misunderstanding."
She laughs her mocking laugh again. "A misunderstanding? You're sleeping with my husband! How is that a misunderstanding?"
Before I can even respond—not that I know what I was going to say—Luca manages to escort her out of the room. There's a slight pause, but the atmosphere returns just as it was before Isabella's grand entrance.
I turn my back to the room and down the champagne.
"Another," I say, lifting up the empty glass to the bartender.
He nods. "I don't blame you."
As he brings me a new glass, I hear a woman's voice over my shoulder.
"Don't give it much thought," she says.
I turn to see a beautiful blonde who reminds me of Marilyn Monroe. She smiles and leans against the bar. "I'll have what she's having."
"Thank you," I say in response to her kindness.
"Really, it's all a fucking game with them. We all have our place. Wife, mistress. We all know what we're getting into. Especially Isabella."
Her words replay in my head. We all have our place. But what's my place in all this? Between my mission, Luca's abuse, and these confusing feelings for Gabriel, I feel more lost than ever.
"What's yours?" I ask and take another sip.
"Same as you. Not married to any of them, thank god. Being their mistress is a lot more fun. Trust me."
I nod.
"Oh, he's calling. Take care," the woman says, grabbing her drink and walking over to a mobster sitting in the corner.
I turn back to the bar and try to process everything that just happened. My hands are shaking slightly, but not from fear. From anger. Anger at Luca, at this whole situation, at myself for being part of it.
Just as I start to regain my composure, I see the bartender stare at someone behind me. His face unreadable. Is it Isabella, back for round two?
I turn slowly, my heart pounding in my chest, to face whoever it is—and find myself looking into Luca's dark, unreadable eyes.
"Sofia," he says. "We need to talk."