Chapter 4 – Alessandro
O f all the women in the world, the little fireball from the airport just so happened to be the niece of a Detroit don.
The odds were never that good.
And for some damn reason, I found myself looking across the table at her when I should be looking down at the timid wisp of a creature who was my affianced bride. Or at least paying attention to the man I brokered this deal with, who sat on my other side. There were several Italian Syndicates in Detroit, but Don Caravello ran the wealthiest famiglia. That was part of the reason we’d opened negotiations. There were many business details we still needed to sort through.
But despite my best efforts, my gaze was repeatedly drawn to the woman sitting directly across from me. The shawl kept slipping off her shoulders, and the bare expanse of sun-kissed skin tempted me to look. By the time the meat was served, she gave up trying to wear the covering and dropped it. I fisted my hand under the table.
Penny. Short for Penelope.
Dio bono! Where did she come from? She wasn’t on the family tree in the dossier we created on this organization. Surprises were never a good thing. But I stopped being annoyed that she was here as my attention focused on figuring her out.
Cousin could be a loose term. Or Don Caravello could be keeping secrets. Since gambling was bread and butter to my own rise to power, I would put money on the don being up to something.
But that she was the same woman from the airport? I shook my head. She was the last thing I expected when I walked under this roof. Granted, my initial surprise was my own fault. I spared my bride only the smallest of glances as she’d come down the stairs. The threat was the father, and I hadn’t taken my sight off him when he greeted me at the door.
And then I turned to see her.
The tiny imp who’d been up to no good in the first-class lounge. The hellcat who’d pushed me into the fucking fountain and probably ruined one of my favorite suits.
The bombshell in the pale yellow dress with a personality larger than life itself.
Her laughter flitted across the table as she regaled her cousin with a story about…calves?
Who is this girl?
I couldn’t focus on their conversation, because Don Caravello gabbed my ear off. The steady stream of Italian assaulted me the moment he took a seat at my right. It only stopped when a swig of red filled his slopping maw.
“And so, we turned a hefty profit,” Tito stated, food mashed between his teeth.
The man hadn’t spared his daughter a second of his time. It was how things worked in our world. Marriages were another exchange of power, and Caravello wanted to cash in on his newest score—me.
I took a sip of the wine, which was decent.
“Max! You’re eating your steak well-done? You monster,” the lilting voice teased. “At least Dante here knows what’s up. A cow this good should still be mooing!”
The exclamation from the other side of the table snapped my attention. My ruthless, fearsome enforcer was in the innermost circle of hell. To the outsiders, including our host, Dante was just another muscle, his true position in our organization hidden. When I introduced him, it was as my personal bodyguard, but Dante was much more than that.
He was here to sniff around the don and see if there was any foul play afoot. But he wouldn’t be able to wander the house until our hosts were put at ease.
I didn’t trust Caravello as far as I could throw him. Even once his daughter took my last name and warmed my bed, he wouldn’t be a reliable ally. There was no reason for him to start now.
But when I asked Dante to join us, when I urged him to act natural, I didn’t think he would be seated next to the ball of contained energy that was the niece…that was a form of torture even the famed Minstrel couldn’t withstand.
“You’ve barely touched your veggies, Dante,” Penelope insisted. A look showed her own plate was empty. “They’re so fresh. You have to try them.”
Dante lifted his gaze and pinned me with a black look. Just because he wouldn’t speak didn’t mean we didn’t communicate. Like the guard dogs roaming my property, there was much to be said in those eyes if only someone knew how to read the expressions.
Right now, the killer screamed at me that he needed to escape.
I gave him the smallest shake of my head.
“May I offer you another serving of food, signore?” a soft voice murmured from my left.
Surprise jumped through me. I forced the gruff edge to soften in my voice. “No, I’m good. But thank you.”
The frightened little thing was just trying to be a good hostess.
“It’s delicious,” I added, which didn’t seem to put her at ease. Unlike her cousin, she’d pecked at her food. Very demure, very proper.
Merda. And I was going to have to fuck that on our wedding night. If she didn’t die of fright, she was going to weep. I could see it play out like a horror story in my mind’s eye. The girl was barely more than a child. The fact that she was mildly pretty with great big eyes made it even worse. What kind of monster did that make me by agreeing to this?
Like father, like son.
I shoved that terrible thought away. My sire might have molded me into the perfect Made Man, one who didn’t show weakness, one who was always in control, but I never adopted his darker tastes for cruelty.
The dinner plates were cleared, and the dessert was brought out.
If Dante thought he was in hell, I was right there with him. My willingness to take another wife might be pure business, but it didn’t make the prospect any easier.
I’ll be good to her. It was the most I could do.
With access to my wealth, the timid girl would be kept in a life of luxury befitting a queen. I promised myself again that it would be enough. She would be spoiled and eventually she might be happy with me. Unlike my sire, I would never hurt her. Above all, I would keep her safe. Growing up with Caravello, she should be used to living in a gilded cage. That wasn’t going to change. The limited freedom and strict rules were absolutely necessary for her protection. No enemy would see her as a weakness.
Money and protection, it was the best I could offer her.
“Oh my word, that’s orgasmic!” The angelic voice laughed across the table.
I blinked in surprise.
The fool who happened to be heir to the Caravello Famiglia shushed his cousin, who was smiling around a mouthful of the dessert.
“But it is, Max! This is the best damn cake I’ve ever had,” Penelope insisted. “And you know I can bake. But this? I need the recipe!”
She leaned to her cousin, the material of her dress shifting to reveal more of the tanned skin underneath. The sudden desire to see where the tan lines ended filled me, and a bolt of something too strong shot to my groin.
A groan stuck in my chest. I needed some air.
While not looking at my fiancée with amorous intentions wouldn’t be an insult, looking at another woman under the don’s protection certainly would be. I came to Detroit to forge an alliance, not start a war. I ordered myself to regain control of my thoughts.
“See! It’s orgasmic ,” Penelope whispered.
I realized I’d been straining to catch every word this bubbly creature said.
The same chocolate slice sat on the plate in front of me. I plucked my fork, scooped a bite, and tasted the sweet. For someone who didn’t eat many sugary things, I had to admit, it was tasty.
But orgasmic?
Don Caravello slapped his palms together, great belly rolling in laughter at whatever funny thing he’d said. I doubted he’d heard what his niece said, but the sheltered little virgin at my side was blushing bright red.
“It is, though!” Penelope insisted, teasing her cousin. The way they kept their heads pressed together, their occasional playful touching, it was all very familial, but still, something roiled inside me. I hated another man consuming her attention—even if it was her cousin!
Whoa . Where the hell did that come from? This random relative wasn’t even a blimp on my radar, and here I was having such a strong reaction to her.
That was far from okay.
“Dante! You’re not even touching the cake,” Penelope scolded.
And then the crazed woman picked up his spoon, carved a healthy bite, and shoved it toward the killer’s mouth.
Dante reared back, nostrils splayed.
“Apri!” I snapped.
The enforcer shot me a dark look but obeyed without question, opening his mouth.
Penelope pushed the spoonful of chocolate inside.
“Mangia,” I warned.
Dante’s dark look promised death.
Beside me, the small virgin cleared her throat. “Should we have a coffee in the salon, Papà?”
The don, who’d been talking nonstop and clearly oblivious to the scene across the table, pulled his attention to his only daughter for a moment. “Yes, yes, of course!”
I pushed the empty plate of cake away and rose, frowning down at the scrapes of decadent fudge. I didn’t remember eating the whole slice. If I truly had eaten it all, it would be a first. The sweet taste lingered on my tongue, the only evidence I had shifted from my norm and eaten dessert.
We moved into the salon, where more of our men mingled. Our Mancini soldiers stayed in a close group, eyes tracking the room, while our hosts milled about, sprawled on the furniture, and drank the don’s liquor.
Penelope leaned heavily on her cousin as they laughed and whispered their way to a seat. I could see how desperate my little bride was to escape my presence and join them.
Couldn’t say I blamed her.
Resisting the urge to glance again at the sunny ball of laughter, I gave Dante a signal. Now that the Caravellos were good and drunk, he could slip about unnoticed.
“Signorina, I have a gift for you.” I drew the attention of the room, which gave the ghost a moment more to slide away.
“The top designer in Manhattan sent this.” I pulled a bracelet from my inner pocket and held it to her.
There—a sparkle in her eyes. Diamonds usually had that effect. My fiancée lifted her left hand expectantly. I clasped the piece around her slight wrist, frowning at how loosely it hung.
“We can have it resized, of course,” Caravello stated, appearing at my side.
I didn’t care for his immediate micromanaging.
But he was oblivious, snapping his fingers for the servants and calling for champagne.
“It’s beautiful,” my fiancée murmured. “Thank you, Signor Mancini.”
I nodded.
Every pair of eyes stared at us, including the cousin’s. They saw the gems; they approved of the lavish gift. But the success of the gesture was fleeting. My bride moved closer, turning her face up expectantly.
Oh, dio. No, just…no.
But I knew what was expected of me. I bent over her, engulfing her by the sheer size difference. I gently gripped her shoulders, only to discover she shook like a leaf. The whole scene felt wrong. I forced the burst of conscience back to the recesses of my mind. This was a business deal, there was no place for emotions here. My lips brushed chastely across hers.
When I pulled back, there were tears in her eyes.
That was the final knife to the gut.
“Let me see!” Penelope called out.
My fiancée looked between me and her father.
I gave her a small nod, letting her escape me while she could. Too soon, she’d be shackled to my side. There was no help for it.
I followed her with my gaze, but not because she commanded my attention. No, because she moved to the source of light in this haunted place.
Penelope glared at me.
Such a bold gesture. It made me wonder if she knew who the hell I was.
Somehow, I didn’t think it would stop her if she did. My pulse picked up at the challenge in her flashing hazel eyes. She put an arm protectively around her cousin and held the look for a moment longer. The unspoken intent behind her words was clear. She was a protector, and I was the monster come to steal something of hers.
For the first time tonight, a real smile played on my lips. Oh, it’s on, vespina.