40
Luna
The bell over the door jingles as we step into the diner. Chrome gleams everywhere—counter, napkin holders, trim—like stepping into the past. Booths line the walls, their black cushions worn with stories.
We slide into a booth and are just settling in when a buxom waitress bounces to our table, her eyes lighting up like Christmas morning at the sight of Cade.
“Oh my God, Cade!” she gushes, her voice dripping with adoration. “You’re back! It’s . . . so good to have you back home!”
Cade blinks, his eyes suddenly shuttered as his gaze quickly scans over her, then back to her face. I recognize that look now. It’s the same way he looked at me at Enigma. I thought it was lust. Now I know better—it’s clinical. He’s reading any telltale signs that she needs help.
“ It’s good to be back, Betty,” Cade replies. “Your boss treating you okay?”
“Um. Yes.” She twists her fingers in her apron. “I had no idea you’d be here. I would have . . . well, I don’t know what I would have done . . .”
Cade smiles kindly, putting the waitress out of her misery. “You wanna start me with black coffee?”
“Yeah.” She nods like a bobblehead, her eyes still glued to him like she’s afraid he’ll disappear. Then, almost reluctantly, she turns to me. “And for—?”
“My Old Lady will have a flat white. Thanks, darling.”
I freeze.
Betty’s gaze darts to me, then back to Cade, and her face goes beet red before she spins on her heel and all but runs to the counter.
I blink after her retreating form, then slowly turn my head to Cade, who’s leaning back in the booth like nothing just happened. His lips twitch in that infuriating way that tells me he knows exactly what he just did.
“Your Old Lady, huh?” I ask, arching a brow.
His smirk deepens, lazy and cocky, and he lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Victoria called it. And I trust her judgment.”
I laugh despite myself, shaking my head. “Oh, we’re making life decisions based on a six-year-old now? Good to know.”
“She’s never wrong,” he says easily, “Besides, princess . . .” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, his voice low. “You want the label.”
My mouth opens to deny it, but nothing comes out. Damn him. He’s right. Between Phoenix’s cold reception and his rough biker family, yeah, I want something that makes it clear I belong here.
So, instead of arguing, I roll my eyes and nod toward the waitress I already know is another one of Cade’s ‘damsels.’ “Interesting woman. Which hell did you pull her out of? The Cartel’s or the Bratva’s?”
Cade’s smirk stretches into a wicked grin. “Your uncle Pascal’s.”
My teasing smile disappears, but Cade shifts me onto his lap before I can spiral.
“It’s nothing to do with you, baby,” His lips brush the shell of my ear, the rough scrape of his stubble raising goosebumps on my skin. “You were almost a victim, too.”
I swallow hard as his words remind me of the hell I narrowly escaped.
My throat tightens with emotion. “Did I ever say thank you?”
Cade’s lips skim the curve of my neck, and then he nips me softly, his teeth teasing as though coaxing me out of the dark place I’m slipping into. “It’s not too late to start.”
“Well . . .” I tilt my head and then slant my mouth over his. “Consider this a start.”
The diner falls away as I lose myself in his taste, in the slow and deliberate way his lips claim mine. The kiss is deep and unhurried—like he has all the time in the world to unravel me. And maybe he does.
A loudly cleared throat shatters the moment.
First, I notice two steaming mugs of coffee on the vinyl table. And through the rising steam, a black suit. My gaze trails upward, landing on a man who looks like he stepped straight out of a Milan runway.
Tall. Impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, the kind of craftsmanship that whispers obscene amounts of money. His white shirt is open at the collar, revealing a tanned throat and just a hint of muscle beneath.
His face could’ve been carved by angels—sharp planes, perfect angles, jawline for days—but the cold blue of his eyes drains any warmth from the image. They’re sharp, calculating, and unforgiving. The kind of eyes that could flay you alive without so much as a blink.
Nico Vitelli.
I gasp, scrambling off Cade’s lap so fast I almost knock the coffee over.
The woman beside him is something else entirely. Gorgeous doesn’t begin to cover it. Her amber eyes rove over Cade and me with a smug interest. However, the single finger she has hooked through Nico’s belt loop catches my attention. It’s such a small gesture, but it screams ownership louder than any grand display could.
It’s like watching a lion and a gazelle together, except this gazelle seems perfectly at home running the show.
Sophie raises a suggestive brow at Cade. “I have no fucking words, brother.”
Cade’s hand finds my thigh—a reassuring squeeze—before he stands, pulling me up with him. He drags Sophie into a one-armed hug. “Well, that’s a first, Sparrow. You look . . . well.”
I’m starting to think I’ll need a legal pad to keep track of all these nicknames.
Sophie steps back, amber eyes sparkling. “And you must be—”
“Luna,” Cade cuts her short. “This is Sophie, my sister.”
Sophie pulls me into a hug, her enthusiasm like a warm wave. “Is it creepy to say I love you at this point?” she whispers against my ear.
I bite back a smile. “Yeah, just a little bit.”
“Got it. I’ll wait a few more minutes.”
We both laugh despite the human thundercloud beside her who hasn’t spoken a word. Or stopped glowering at me.
That thundercloud clears his throat again, eyes narrowing as they flick between Cade and me. “Quinn,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “Care to explain what the fuck is going on here?”
The temperature in the diner plummets. This isn’t just any man—this is Nico Vitelli. The man who holds my family’s fate in his hands.
But I know, in my bones, Cade would never let him hurt my family.
Cade drawls in a carefully neutral voice but undercut with a steel edge. “This is Alfred Romano’s daughter, and she’s got a hell of a deal for you. You’d be wise to keep your ears—and your mind—open.”
“Excuse me?” Nico takes a menacing step toward Cade, but Sophie steps smoothly between the men, her smile as sunny as ever. It’s like watching a kitten try to break up a fight between two pit bulls.
“Now, now, boys. Let’s all sit down and talk like civilized people, shall we?” She turns to me, eyes dancing. “I, for one, want to hear Luna out. I mean, she’s accomplished what no human, living or dead, ever could—wrap my brother around her pinkie.”
Nico’s livid gaze cuts to Sophie, who leans up and whispers something in his ear. Whatever she says has Nico’s eyes darting to the ceiling before he lets out a long, aggravated sigh and slides into the booth across from us, fingers knitted on the table. Sophie follows suit, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips.
Looks like I’m not the only one with a wrapped pinkie here.
“ You have five minutes.” Nico’s voice carries the kind of authority that could strip the air from your lungs.
“She’ll need at least twenty, Vitelli.” Cade gestures for me to sit, then plants himself beside me, throwing an arm over the back of our bench seat.
It’s such a simple, lazy posture, but it opens his entire side to me, and his heat wraps around me like an embrace. It’s the most protected—guarded I’ve ever felt in my entire life, a position I never knew I needed.
I melt into Cade’s heat, drawing strength from his presence. He makes the weight of Nico’s hostility a little easier to bear while I negotiate my family’s way back to life.
Cade’s done everything to get me here. The rest is down to me.
I meet Nico’s arctic blue stare and channel every ounce of Romano steel in my blood.
“Don Vitelli,” I begin in Italian, my voice steadier than my racing heart. “The Romanos have always been key players in the Outfit.” I lean forward slightly, holding his gaze. “Mistakes have been made, and we’ve paid the price a hundred times over. But there’s always a time to let go of old grudges and forge new, lucrative ways forward. That time is now.”
The words hang between us, both challenge and olive branch.
Your move, Don Vitelli.
Sophie ventures. “Perhaps Cade and I should give you two some privacy—”
“No.” Both men cut her off in perfect, harsh unison, and she raises her hands in a gesture of surrender.
“You’ll speak here and now,” Nico states coldly. “So, what is it you think you’re asking me for, Romano?”
“ I know Uncle Pascal led one of the worst rebellions the Outfit has ever seen.” I force myself to hold his gaze. “But Uncle Pascal is dead, and so are all his sons. Give us back our seat at the Outfit table.”
Nico raises a single eyebrow. “And why the fuck would I do that?”
Wishing desperately for a phone, I say, “Because I’ve got something you need.”
Cade immediately lays his phone on the table with the Guilty Pleasures app already open on the screen. Nico picks up the phone while I try to keep my jaw from hitting the table.
Cade has my app?
“Breathe, baby.” He laces his fingers through the one I have on his leg, and I grip back hard, shocked and grateful beyond words.
Nico’s eyes narrow as he examines the phone while Sophie peers over his arm, her expression morphing from delight to puzzlement. “Hey, I thought we were getting a live demo of Bliss Xtra?”
Nico shoots her a sharp look, and she shrugs.
“Bliss Xtra samples are being delivered to your hotel room as we speak,” Cade clips, “so you’ll get all the samples you want, Sparrow.”
I whirl to face him, tears pricking my eyes. “Cade—”
Cade only jerks his head at Nico. “Go on.”
His confidence in me makes my spine straighten, and I start explaining the features and possibilities as Nico slowly navigates through the app.
“So you see,” My voice grows stronger with each word, “Guilty Pleasures cuts away the red zones, the pimps, the drugs, and police involvement. It introduces prior consent, takes our busine ss beyond Chicago—hell, beyond the continent—yet without encroaching on rival boundaries.”
I finish with a flair. “Anyone on earth can bring in cash, essentially work for you, Don Vitelli, as long as they have internet and a phone.”
The silence that follows feels endless. Nico’s expression remains stone, but those blue eyes have an unmistakable gleam when he finally looks up. “Did you create this?”
“I did. On behalf of the Romano family,” I quickly add.
“And what is this?” Nico hesitates, then clicks the Shop Now button. The screen shifts, revealing a sleek, rendered image of Bliss Xtra.
A list of options appears beside it, showcasing the various models: standard, enhanced with the clit-stimulating tongue, and the premium variation—complete with a built-in reservoir for fake cum as well as bottles of cum, in various flavors.
For the first time since building the app, I cringe. Now I understand why Papa and Clemenza looked so ill the first time I showed them the concept.
Nico’s scrolling slows on the last variation, his thumb hovering over the details for what feels like an eternity. His expression doesn’t change, but one dark eyebrow arches slightly.
I don’t dare glance at Sophie, who is suddenly very invested in chugging my abandoned coffee like her life depends on it. Probably to stop herself from saying something . . . or laughing.
“Interesting.” Nico slides the phone back to Cade, his voice carrying a sharper edge now. “And Alfred Romano isn’t on his knees beside you right now because?”
The question catches me off guard, the visual it invokes so absurd that I sputter, “Well, Papa—”
“Yes?” Nico cuts i n, his tone like a whip. “Where the hell is he? Where is the person who’ll be taking this so-called seat you’re asking me to give?”
I honestly didn’t think beyond getting Nico interested in the app. “I can set up a meeting between you and Papa.”
He knits his hands on the table, and my eyes are instantly drawn to the diamond-encrusted signet ring on his left fourth finger—the ring my Papa may never get the privilege to kiss if I don’t pull this off.
“And where do Clemenza Brando, Ricardo Romano, and all the other made men in your family fit into this—besides under your massive skirt?” Nico demands.
My mouth goes desert-dry, and I’m certain this is the point where he tells me to fuck off.
I’ve heard all the stories about how smart Don Vitelli is and how attractive he is. No one ever thought to mention how downright intimidating he can be.
Cade’s fingers tighten around mine, and his other hand gently strokes my upper arm. I lean into his touch like a lifeline.
“That’s a good question, Vitelli,” Cade drawls in Italian, shocking me with his fluency. “They’re all trying to decide between marrying Luna off or selling her for pocket change. So I’m sure their calendars are full up.”
I jump to my father’s defense when I see murderous rage darken Nico’s face. “Papa was only trying to buy protection for the family.” I swallow hard. “He had no clue about the . . . um, trafficking plan. And, Cade,” my eyes find Cade’s, and for a moment, I get lost in those green pools. “He saved me.”
Nico’s voice slices through the moment like a blade. “And despite all that, here you are throwing buckets of water out to sea, fighting to save the Romano ship from sinking.”
And suddenly, it dawns on me. Even Nico Vitelli sees what I’m doing. He might kick me out in a minute, but at least he recognizes that I’m trying to help—something my father has never seen. He only sees me as a pawn to marry off, a womb to secure alliances.
I straighten my spine and square my shoulders. “It’s my duty, my honor, and my fight, Don Vitelli. I’m a Romano.”
Nico’s incisive gaze flicks between Cade and me as though he can see the invisible thread tying us together. After a long moment, a ghost of a smile curves his lips.
“No. You won’t be a Romano, not for long.”
As Nico’s insinuation hits, Cade goes still beside me while heat rushes to my face.
Nico’s eyes are no longer cold. They’re gleaming as he leans back in his seat and relishes Cade’s discomfort.
And Cade . . . he has that look . . . the same one he had that morning moments before he snapped those men’s necks.
What the hell? When did this become a feud between Nico and Cade, all because Nico made a careless joke?
“Isn’t that right, Quinn?” Nico prods, and I know he’s doing it on purpose.
Before Cade can react—before anything can explode—Sophie puts down the coffee mug. “Okay, I think it’s safe to say the deal is closed. Come on, Luna. Let the testosterone brigade handle the fine print. You and I have more fun things to discuss.”
She jerks her head at me, a silent cue to leave the men at the table.
I shake my head, panic bubbling in my chest. I can’t leave. Cade will do something to Nico. I just know it. My fingers dig into Cade’s rock-hard thigh, desperate to anchor him, to stop whatever he’s planning.
Sop hie notices my death grip on Cade and only smiles, unbothered by the tension radiating off both men.
“Oh, they’ll be fine,” she says breezily. Then, as if the standoff at the table doesn’t exist, she turns to me with a grin. “By the way, that Bliss Xtra of yours? Delivers more than it promises. I can tell you that much.”
I blink, startled. “You’ve tried it?”
Sophie’s grin spreads, pure wickedness dancing in her amber eyes. “Why do you think I tagged along all the way from Chicago? Fuck yeah, we did, and, to put it mildly, Nico liked it. A lot. Isn’t that right, babe?”
Nico’s eyes swing to his wife and heat in the most obscene way. His usually controlled features become completely unguarded—desire, challenge, retribution—all laid bare in one scorching look.
At the same time, a sound halfway between a growl and a choke escapes Cade’s throat. It takes me a second to process. He’s gagging.
“What, Cade?” Sophie teases, her voice all wide-eyed innocence. “You’re the one who suggested we try it. If only you didn’t insist I keep it a secret. Nico would’ve sent Luna flowers—hell, he’d gift-wrap you the fucking seat—if he’d known you were the genius behind that instrument of pleasure.”
A snicker bursts out of me before I can stop it, and Cade’s fingers drop from mine like I’ve caught fire.
Wow. Just . . . wow.
Although I shouldn’t be surprised. If anyone can disarm these two dangerous men with one single blow, it’d have to be Sophie Vitelli.
“Let’s go, Luna.” Sophie’s hand slides into mine as she helps me up. I don’t let go until we find an empty booth on the other side of the diner.
“ I must say, I think I’m in love with you too, Sophie.”
“See? I knew you’d come around. And what you did right there—not letting Nico bully you?” She leans in slightly, her voice dropping. “Girl, you’ve got spunk.”
I shrug, trying to brush off the compliment, though warmth blooms in my chest. “When you’ve got nothing but a wall at your back, you get brave.”
“Well, he loved it.”
“Really?” I chance a glance back toward the table and almost laugh again. Both men are sitting rigid, locked in their silent standoff, looking like they’re deciding between laughing, throwing up, or killing each other.
That alone makes the last hour worth it.