Chapter 1
Damiano
BANG!
I jump to my feet and grab the gun from the nightstand like instinct.
With the Beretta in hand, I quickly pull on the boxer shorts I find on the floor, my head throbbing with the sudden onset of a hangover.
I raise the gun and slowly stalk out of the room, down the hallway, and then right towards my kitchen, making no sound. My heartbeat rises but levels out just as fast, used to dangerous situations.
As soon as I reach the kitchen, I stop at the sight. My eyes snag on a woman’s bare ass and a fall of long dark hair. In an instant, I reach for the overhead cupboard to hide the gun.
Shit. Who is she again?
Every time I come home with a woman I meet at my club, they usually know to leave before I’m awake. Apparently, this one didn’t get the memo. And I already forgot her name.
I clear my throat, and the sound makes her jump. When she turns to look at me, my eyes fall on her tits first, then on her hands that are holding a milk carton on the right and an egg on the left. Then finally, her face.
Oh yeah, Christine.
“OMG, you scared me! Did I wake you up? Sorry, the pan fell.”
“Good morning,” I say, a frown forming on my face. “You’re still here?” I add.
“I thought maybe we could have breakfast. I’ll make you some pancakes.”
I blink at her.
Surely, she didn’t think I would be interested in having a meal with her?
When my obvious disinterest doesn’t give her a hint, I sigh.
“I cannot entertain guests. I need you to leave.” My stern voice catches her off guard.
She pouts, so I narrow my eyes at her to let her know I’m not playing.
Her eyes widen in disbelief before turning around to drop the egg on the sink, which instantly cracks.
She gives me a stink eye before disappearing to the guest room, where I clearly left her last night.
I never let one-night stands sleep in my bed.
God, I loathe people who overstay their welcome. I must have been drunk off my face last night to come home with someone so clueless.
I shake my head at the mess she left in my kitchen, but ignore it.
“Feel free to walk yourself out,” I shout on the way back to the main suite.
Then I remember I have to meet Mateo to discuss the security for my new club opening in Palermo Soho.
I walk into the shower and turn on the cold water, savoring the freezing spray. I pump a fistful of soap on my hand and start scrubbing, getting rid of the smell of cigarettes, alcohol, and sex on my body. My mind wanders off.
It’s been almost two years since I came to Argentina. It has been quiet, and I’ve grown to like it. It has given me a semblance of a normal life.
When I left Sicily, I didn’t really have a plan for where to go. I just took the longest flight I could make and ended up here. When I arrived, I slept through the night for the first time in two years.
It did get boring soon after, so I ended up opening a club to have something to do. So far, business has been doing very well.
Too well that I’ve started expanding to multiple locations.
“People like us don’t live normal lives, Damiano.” My brother’s parting words echo in my head.
I know he’s right. And I know that sooner or later, the mafia will suck me back in. But until then, I want to hold on to the peace I’ve found here.
Far from Sicily and the legacy of the Cotrini family that my father and my brother live for. The same legacy that let our enemies put a bullet in my mother’s head.
∞∞∞
By the time I reach the hotel where Mateo likes to meet, it’s already lunchtime. The Southern-American heat exacerbates the hangover I’m still nursing as I walk out the door that leads to the poolside restaurant.
I fucking hate this place; it reeks of dirty money and pretension, but the CEO of the company providing security for my club likes it because it’s usually empty, save for the occasional corrupt politician hiding out with a mistress or doing dirty deals.
“?Cómo está mi persona favorita?” I drawl as I approach the man who is busy typing on his laptop.
He raises his tumbler to greet me, but doesn't really look at me until I’m seated.
“I’m surprised you made it. My team said you had a wild party last night.”
“I take my business seriously.” I wink, slumping into the chair across him.
He signals the waiter, who promptly takes our order. As soon as he is out of earshot, Mateo’s demeanor shifts. He closes the laptop and pulls an envelope out of his bag.
“I got intel Nicolo Guidicelli landed in Argentina last night,” he says.
Cazzo.
The rage instantly tightens around my neck, and I have to readjust my tie.
Fucking Guidicelli. Even though I'm retired, I’ll happily come out of my retirement if only to take him out, or his whole lineage, for that matter.
“What for?” I ask, my tone betraying my feigned composure.
“Probably forging ties with the cartels. He’s not in Buenos Aires. Doesn't seem to know you’re here.”
“Where?”
“Mendoza. A private vineyard estate.” Mateo slides the manila envelope across the table, and I open it.
That’s Nicolo Guidicelli, alright.
He is pictured stepping off his private jet, followed by his guards.
Nicolo is a member of the Sicilian Mafia, the same one I came from. He and his family mainly deal with prostitution and human trafficking. Part of me wants him to actually show up in Buenos Aires so I can put a bullet to his smug face once and for all.
But a bigger part wants to hold on to the semi-normal life I had made for myself here. One where the La Famiglia forgot I existed. One where I don’t have to sleep with one eye open all the time.
“How did you get this?” I look up.
I gave Mateo the basics of my background, but I didn’t expect him to be watching the Mafia this close for me. I guess he’s really the best in the game.
“Just doing my job.” He stares at me, stoic as a statue.
“If he sets foot in Buenos Aires, you call me immediately.”
“Of course.”
Our food arrives, and we continue talking about the security requirements for the new club. He suggests giving me bodyguards, too, just in case Nicolo does something funny, but I decline. I already have Gio, and I could protect myself just fine.
“Mateo!” We get interrupted by a woman's voice, and my mood instantly lightens.
I know that voice.
“Kat.” Mateo stands, a frown forming on his face when he sees his sister walking towards us, accompanied by that annoying bodyguard of hers named Julian.
“Why are you here?” Mateo scolds.
“Relax, Teo,” she says before kissing his cheeks. “You can’t scold me like a little girl anymore. I’m twenty-eight.”
Sometimes I can’t even fathom how they’re related to each other.
Everything about her is different. Except for the same honey-colored eyes and dark hair they share, they are nothing alike.
Mateo is a hard-looking man; tall, muscular, fully tattooed on both arms. He is as intimidating as a security company CEO could be.
He’s always cold and grumpy, as if his job is to scare everybody around him.
And Katarina, well, she’s like sunshine.
Smart, sexy, and feisty, with a face that rivals the world's best Victoria's Secret models. She is around 5’7” tall and has curves that demand to be admired.
Said curves are now being hugged by a thin summer dress that is begging to be ripped off.
The best part? She's severely unaware of how she has me wrapped around her finger.
She beams at her brother and asks, “?Qué hacés acá?“
“Working,” Mateo replies before flipping the photos on the table.
When Katarina’s eyes turn to me, I grin and rise to kiss her cheeks. A familiar burst of sweetness scents the air, and I can’t help the hard-on that strains against my pants.
God, I fucking miss her.
She always smells so sweet and edible, the very reason I call her Dolcezza.
“Damiano...” She greets me, and I love the sound of my name coming out of her full lips.
“Ciao, Dolcezza. Miss me?” I tease.
Behind her, Julian clears his throat. He gives me a cold look, then turns to Mateo, saying, “I’ll be at the bar.”
“You can take the night off, Julian. I’ll ride home with Mateo,” she tells him.
They smile at each other, and he gives Mateo a curt nod before leaving, completely ignoring me like the prick he is.
“What brings you here?” Mateo asks sternly as he scans the room, probably checking if Katarina is on a date like the overprotective fucker he is.
“I had to do a photoshoot. We just wrapped up,” she answers as she settles on the chair beside me.
“Swimsuits? Can I see the photos?” I ask to lighten the mood.
Mateo hisses, and Katarina rolls her eyes. I chuckle.
“Keep it to yourself, asshole.” Mateo quips.
“Wedding gowns, actually. If you really have to know,” she says with a frown, fidgeting with her necklace. A gesture I’ve come to learn she does when she’s anxious or stressed.
“Wedding gowns?” It's Mateo's turn to laugh. “You hate weddings,” he says, and I wonder why.
“I hate my job.” She slumps her shoulders and shakes her head.