2. Alexander
Chapter 2
Alexander
M y eyes remain locked on the woman in the window. She’s stunning. I’m not one to stare, usually avoiding making eye contact with strangers for any length of time, but there’s something about her that draws me in.
It’s been a while since someone has captured my attention like this. I’m around beautiful women daily, so my reaction to her is perplexing.
I’m not sure what that look on her face was as she gazed at the patrons inside the bar, but if I’m not mistaken, it seemed like longing. For what? I have no idea, but it tugged at something deep inside me.
There’s something eerily familiar about this woman—as if I know her from somewhere—but she has one of those faces that’s not easily forgotten.
Her reaction when she realised I’d been watching her watch the couple seated near me, was oddly comforting. The vulnerability in her eyes and the way her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink only seemed to draw me in further. I got the impression that she rarely lets people see what lies below the surface, and I can relate to that.
Owning your story can be challenging, but spending your life running from it is far more complex. Believe me, I know that all too well.
I briefly turn back to my meeting, and when I look again, she’s gone. The fleeting disappointment I feel is disconcerting, but I ignore my body’s initial response and reach for my scotch, trying to refocus on what my accountant, Lorenzo, is saying.
“I can only fudge the books so much before I start catching the attention of the tax department—” He tugs at his tie and swallows thickly before finishing his sentence. “—and your father.” He winces slightly when he mentions my old man, and I guess I can’t fault him for that. Giovanni Mancini is a ruthless bastard and wouldn’t think twice about putting a bullet in your head if he thought he’d been wronged.
“Leave him to me,” I say, leaning forward to place my drink back down on the small marble table before me.
“But—”
I cut him off with a look. “I have a tech guy working on an encoded and encrypted program designed for our needs. He’s one of the best in the country.”
“Who?” he counters, daring to question me.
I cock an eyebrow and level him with a look that has him shrinking back in his seat. I’ve about reached my limit with this sniffling fool today. “That’s none of your concern.”
“My reputation is on the line here.”
“So is your life,” I want to retort, but I don’t.
He knows the score. If he steps out of line, opens his big fat mouth, or becomes a problem, he’ll disappear. It’s what my family is known for. Not me specifically—I’m still haunted by the things I was forced to do before I broke out on my own—but my father and brother wouldn’t bat an eyelid if push came to shove.
I chose to have our meeting down here for this very reason. When you’re the eldest son of the country’s most powerful mob boss, there’s always someone waiting in the wings for intel or for you to slip up. Although I regularly scan my home and office spaces for bugs, you can never be too sure. Complacency is a dangerous thing in my world.
As I settle back into my seat, my attention is pulled toward the bar’s entrance. When the woman from the window suddenly enters, I sit up straighter, and my cold, black heart kicks up a notch.
Why am I so drawn to her?
My eyes track her every move as she crosses the room, heading straight to the bar, and I find myself disappointed when she doesn’t look my way. It’s not like we had a moment, but for me, at least, I feel like something passed between us.
Her shoulders are pulled back, and there’s a slight rise in her chin. Her guard is back up. Is that for my benefit? Can she sense me watching her again? That thought has the corners of my mouth curving slightly.
My predatory gaze peruses down her tight body. She’s taller than I initially thought and dressed simply in a black skirt that stops a few inches from her knees. It’s paired with a basic white blouse, and dark sneakers adorn her feet. It looks more like a uniform than something someone would wear for a night on the town. Her long, dark hair is pulled back into a high ponytail.
Her underwhelming attire means she’s not the type of woman I usually associate with, but there’s something refreshing about her lack of effort.
The slight swing in her luscious, curved hips is hypnotising, and don’t even get me started on those lean, long legs. It has my mind going straight to the gutter.
“Alex,” Lorenzo grumbles. “Are you even listening to what I’m saying? ”
“It’s Mr Mancini to you,” I reply dryly, dragging my eyes away from the woman and slightly narrowing them as I refocus on my family’s accountant.
I may not be my father, but I’m no pushover either, so I don’t appreciate his tone.
I’ve never been a fan of this guy, not even close, but my father handpicked him years ago to take over the books after our previous guy decided it was a good idea to skim some of the profits.
That’s what happens when you entrust someone who isn’t part of the family with the daily running of numerous businesses. In a way, though, it ended up being a blessing for me. It gave me the chance to move to Sydney and take over, pulling me out of the madness in Griffith.
Lorenzo clears his throat. “I’m sorry … Mr Mancini.”
“You were saying?”
His attention shifts in the direction mine just came from. “You checking out the brunette?” he asks, giving a flick of his chin. “Nice … I’d tap that,” he adds with a chuckle, and I feel my gaze turn into a murderous glare. “I get why you got distracted.”
His beady eyes rake down her body, and I can feel my blood pressure spike to a dangerous level. It’s been a long time since anyone has made me this angry. This fucker better watch himself. He’s skating on thin ice right now.
“Don’t look at her,” I growl. There’s so much venom in my tone that he pales in response.
Antonio, who’s sitting beside me, even rears back slightly in shock. He’s been my right-hand man since I moved up here and is not used to seeing this possessive side of me … not when it comes to women, anyway. It’s a side of me I don’t even recognise myself. So much so it leaves me feeling extremely uncomfortable.
I don’t question his curiosity when Antonio glances over his shoulder in that direction. He’s happily married with two young kids, and not a fucking creep like Lorenzo is. Besides, I trust this man with my life. That’s why he’s been my closest confidant for years.
“Is she counting out her change on the bar top?” he asks, frowning.
My gaze snaps back to her, and I see her rummaging around in the bottom of her bag. She pulls out more coins, dumping them down with the rest of the pile.
She begins shifting the coins into neat little piles as one of my staff members stands there impatiently waiting.
I place my flattened palms on each armrest, ready to stand and go over there, but before I do, some fucker approaches her and pulls out his credit card. He juts his head in her direction as he hands it over to the staff member.
That move has me seeing red. Antonio must sense it because he places his hand on my arm, discreetly shaking his head. This is why he’s always by my side. He’s the calm to my storm.
With the heat currently hovering over some of my father’s establishments and the Feds always lingering in the background, waiting for a chance to pounce, the last thing I need is to bring unwanted attention to myself or my hotel.
The woman from the window raises her hand and shakes her head at the man’s persistence to pay for her drink, but the arsehole ignores her, saying something to my staff member, who retreats with his card in hand.
When he takes the stool beside her, I drop back into my seat and pull out my phone.
I won’t go over there and make a scene, but I can get one of my bodyguards to remove him.
Me: See that guy in the grey shirt at the bar? The one sniffing around the woman in the white shirt. Remove him and make sure he doesn’t return.
Marco: Do you want me to rough him up a bit?
Me: Only if he puts up a fight and you feel it’s warranted.
Marco: On it, boss.
When I slide my phone back into the pocket of my suit jacket, Antonio arches one of his thick, bushy brows at me.
“What?” I mumble. “I’m keeping my hands clean.”
He barks out a laugh as he watches Marco approach the bar and grab the guy by the arm. “And what has he done wrong apart from paying for the brunette’s drink?”
I clear my throat because I hate that he knows me so well. “If I wanted your opinion, I would’ve asked for it,” I grumble.
“Sorry, boss,” he says, settling back into his chair and smirking like a motherfucker.
My nostrils flare as I blow out a long, frustrated breath through my nose and reach for my scotch again, downing the remaining amber liquid in one gulp.
I’m on my third drink, and I’ve finally managed to tune out my accountant. I listened to all the important things he had to say regarding our finances, but now he’s moved on to bragging about some young broad he’s been fucking behind his wife’s back.
Mistresses are commonplace in my world, but I have never aspired to participate in that aspect of this lifestyle, which is why I’m content to remain single.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m no saint. I’m privy to a revolving door of beautiful women, but marriage is sacred to me. Well, it used to be.
As a young boy, I felt differently than I do now. I wasn’t aware of the dark side of my father back then. I thought I came from a normal, loving family and always envied my parents’ devotion to each other. I’d hoped to have something just like that for myself one day.
What a fool I was.
Up until my mother’s passing—God rest her soul—she kept my brother and me sheltered from all of it, but after we lost her, I found myself thrown into a world that felt more like a nightmare than my new reality.
The man I once looked up to … aspired to be like, turned out to be an illusion. Once you see someone for who they really are, you can’t go back to seeing them as the person you thought they were.
I’ve fought tirelessly to distance myself as much as possible from my father and his depraved values. I’ll never be able to sever those ties completely—the Mancini blood runs thick—but I have managed to go it somewhat alone and forge my own future. But, of course, my father has infiltrated every single one of my businesses to some point. It’s the price you pay for freedom.
If I wanted to continue living my new life, I had no choice.
Being yourself in a world that’s constantly trying to make you something else isn’t easy.
He’s toxic and tends to pollute everything around him, including my little brother … always creating problems for every solution. It’s a vicious cycle and so fucking draining. I try to live my life with honesty and integrity, but my old man do esn’t care about how I feel. He’s more concerned about how I make him look.
Pushing thoughts of him out of my head, my attention flickers back to the bar. It irks me that I’m so invested in my present enigma—the woman from the window—who is currently on her second drink. This one she paid for herself, using that mountain of loose change she dug out from the bottom of her purse.
She seems to savour every sip, or she’s stalling. I can’t quite work out which one it is. The slight hunch in her shoulders tells me she’s troubled by something. Is she weighed down by the world like I am? That thought has me wanting to go over there, wrap her up in cotton wool, and take her home, but that is not the type of man I am. That’s a whole lot of trouble I don’t want or need.
I would, however, like to offer her drinks on the house for the rest of the evening, but I get the feeling she wouldn’t want that. Pride can be a fickle bitch, but knowing your place in certain situations, and acting accordingly, is called self-respect.
Thankfully, the dick in the grey shirt took the hint and didn’t return, but within minutes, another guy approaches her.
Do they feel that same pull I do?
This one is staggering, which means he’s drunk, and that has the potential to lead to trouble.
I shift forward in my seat and rest my forearms on my legs to get a better look. My gaze briefly flickers to Marco, who is standing a few metres away from them, with his back against the wall. He’s now watching them as well.
At first, the drunk guy leans against the bar and signals the server, but his attention quickly returns to her. She’s oblivious to everything that is unfolding. She’s staring into space, so lost in her thoughts, she doesn’t notice him hovering. But I do. One false move, and I’ll be over there in a flash.
His drinks arrive, and I see he’s also ordered one for her, ready to make his move. I should have him cut off, but I’m curious to see where this goes.
She may not realise it, but she’s safe here. Marco is one of three personal security detail that follow me wherever I go. The other two are strategically placed throughout the room.
I also have a team that is a permanent fixture at my home. I hate that this is what my life has become, but it’s warranted, considering who I am.
The guy clumsily slides the drink he bought in her direction. Spilling some of it over his hand as he goes. Fool.
It’s not until the drink is in front of her that she notices both it and the dickhead beside her. She gives him a slight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, politely shakes her head, and pushes it back towards him.
The persistent fucker doesn’t know how to take no for an answer—just like the other guy—and immediately shoves it back towards her, but this time, he uses so much force the glass tips over and its contents spill into her lap, causing her to leap off her stool.
I’m so invested in watching her that I didn’t see Marco approaching them or the drunk guy’s friends cheering him on from the sideline.
As soon as my security grabs his arm, his friends, who appear to be just as drunk as him, move in. I can sense what’s about to happen even before the first punch is thrown.
By the time Antonio and I are across the room, all hell has broken loose, and the woman—my little enigma—is standing there wide-eyed and caught right in the thick of it.