Heaven Help Me (Southern Charm #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Deuce

The noxious mix of sweat and cologne doesn’t make for a nice scent, despite what some women might say.

Maybe that’s because it’s fear sweat that’s pushing the limits of the new-car smell in my Mercedes this morning.

Fear sweat smells different than hard work sweat.

Fear sweat strikes a primal chord somewhere in the gut, causing every muscle to brace for impact.

My engine roars as I accelerate out of the turn heading into the Square, and while that would normally be followed by a cocky grin, today I barely notice.

I’ve sped all over town trying to find my best friend, Silas Winthrop, but he’s missing, which is damn inconvenient.

I check my Rolex one more time and see I only have minutes to spare before I’m officially late.

Bettina Barzetti, the Mafia Maven, as she’s referred to in some circles in New York and outlying areas, has requested my presence at the Celestial Comfort Inn at eight a.m. sharp. One doesn’t show up late when summoned by Bettina and expect to live a long and healthy life.

Not even if she’s one’s mother.

I swing into a parking space in front of the small but elegant inn and cut the engine.

A bead of sweat drips down my back, annoying me with the meaning of its presence.

My own mother makes me nervous. Always has, if I’m being honest. The damn woman is in her early sixties and still makes me break out into fear sweats at the mere mention of her name.

“Goddammit, Silas,” I mutter, stepping out of my car and straightening my tie. Silas could have charmed the murderous glare off my mother’s face, I’m sure of it. He could also have been a witness if she’s finally here to off me.

While I was required to live with her during the summers growing up, once I turned eighteen, I elected to step completely out of her world.

Heaven, Mississippi, became my full-time home at that point, offering a mostly normal life.

Bettina never stepped a single Louboutin-heeled foot in my town since, which makes this sudden appearance today highly unusual.

I step inside the inn and button my suit jacket.

I’d check my hair but I know it’s perfect.

I make sure of it by using more product than a debutante getting ready for her first ball.

The front desk agent nods as I walk past, but doesn’t bother to ask if I need help.

One thing I learned from Bettina was that if you walk with purpose, people rarely ask if you need help.

I hit the gold button on the elevator bank and wait for the far elevator to ding and slide open its doors.

I step inside, feeling like I’m a dead man walking.

I press the button for the fourth floor, the highest this little inn goes.

Bettina would have rented the whole floor.

Money is no object for a Barzetti and privacy is priceless.

My phone dings while ascending. I slip it out of my slacks pocket and see my father has finally texted me back. It’s short and exactly what I knew he’d say. I guess I just needed someone else to know what I’m about to do.

You know. In case I go missing.

Papa: If she traveled all the way out here to see you, you really have no choice but to meet with her. Get it over quickly. Don’t say anything to provoke her. Don’t promise or agree to anything. Call me after.

I slide the phone back in my pocket when the elevator dings on the fourth floor.

Those are wise words, though incredibly hard to follow when dealing with Bettina.

Papa should know. A drunken evening in college led to an oops baby that required co-parenting with the East Coast’s most terrifying woman. The man is practically a saint.

Two men stand outside the door to a room on my right, dressed head to toe in black. The sunglasses seem a bit overkill for a small town in the middle of nowhere Mississippi, but that’s Bettina for you. I head that way, my heart hammering, but an easygoing smirk already in place.

I’m ready for battle.

I toss my head at the two men. “When you’re ready for big-boy suits, I can help.”

The taller one doesn’t even twitch. The shorter, beefier one reaches for the doorknob to let me in, but I see his slight sneer. “Ms. Barzetti just had breakfast delivered.”

I don’t plan to stay long enough to eat anything.

The room is expansive, clearly the best suite the Celestial Comfort Inn has to offer.

A large vase of exquisite flowers blocks most of the gilded mirror above the sideboard upon entry.

I head down the short hall and turn to find my mother sitting in a chair fit for a queen, gray pants topped by a bloodred blouse that sets off her jet-black hair that’s cut in a severe bob.

Her legs are crossed and her high-heeled foot is twitching up and down, a small tell that she’s feeling impatient.

Frankly, I’m surprised she’s anything but cool, calm, and collected.

Maybe she’s losing her edge with her advancing age.

“Mother,” I say in a measured voice, dipping my head in greeting.

She uncrosses her legs and sits forward. “You’re late.”

No warm hello for her only son. Or even a throwaway comment about how she’s missed me. Typical. I make a show of checking my watch, falling into the rhythm of lazy playboy, unaware and unconcerned. “I must phone Rolex and let them know their timepiece is faulty.”

She lifts a single eyebrow, but lets the subject drop. Instead, she turns to the table where a full breakfast spread is laid out. “Come join me for coffee.”

I step to the chair opposite her, but don’t sit down yet. “Long way to come for subpar hotel coffee.” I need to know why she’s here before I commit to sitting down. A clock somewhere in the suite ticks off the seconds.

Rings on every finger sparkle in the overhead light as she pours two cups of coffee.

I know they’re both a flashy example of her wealth and a weapon if she should ever have to get her hands dirty.

Back in the day, the woman could fight better than most of the men.

Later on, she gave up getting into spats herself.

She had unlimited numbers of henchmen for the dirty work.

The part of this whole summons that concerns me is that Bettina retired from being the head of the Barzetti empire over a decade ago.

When I made it clear I had no interest in taking over, she handed it over to her protege, a woman she hand selected and groomed for the position when we were toddlers.

As far as I knew, everything was running smoothly and that left me far away from having to be involved.

Her sudden appearance makes me think that’s all about to change.

Mother sighs and sets down the pot of coffee. “Just sit, Deuce.” When I don’t move a single muscle, she adds guilt to her plea. “I’ve kept you away from this life, just like you wanted. But I’m still your mother. If I want to sit and talk, we sit and talk.”

Her meaning is as clear as if she’d just said the words out loud.

You owe me.

It takes all the years of training she put me through to keep my thoughts off my face. She disgusts me. The whole crime-family behavior of extracting favors disgusts me. The way they manipulate people to get what they want…it’s no way to live. It’s why I never wanted to be part of that life.

Well, that and the blood.

God, I hate blood.

I pull back the chair and unbutton my suit jacket before sitting.

“Just come out and say what you want, Betty. No need for coffee and chatting.” I wave a hand over the breakfast spread that only serves as a flimsy facade to what she really wants.

At the nickname, she bristles.

So much for not antagonizing my mother.

“I can appreciate a man who gets right to the point.”

Still, she takes a sip of her coffee, taking her sweet time just to vex me in return.

My gaze sweeps across her face, taking in the new lines that have dared to carve themselves into her skin.

The faint brown spots on the back of her hands that weren’t there last time I saw her.

She’s aged, a feat I didn’t think was possible.

Growing up, Bettina Barzetti always seemed superhuman.

Above the law, period, but also above the laws of physics and aging.

She finally sets her cup down with a dainty clink and meets my gaze.

“I have a woman I need you to keep in hiding. I’ve given her a new identity as your girlfriend, and all the money she needs, but you’ll keep her safe with you at your house here.” Her mouth bends down at the corners, like she can’t even bring herself to say the name of this small town out loud.

I scoff. “No.”

Her gaze hardens. “I’m not asking.”

My mind spins, wondering what circumstances led Bettina to not-ask for my help. Why me? Why Heaven? If this is some battered young woman that needs protection, why not take her to a shelter?

“I have a life here, Bettina, one that has nothing to do with the Barzettis. You agreed to that,” I remind her.

She dips her head in acknowledgement, but doesn’t drop my gaze. “I wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t important, Deuce. Just until this situation is taken care of.”

My eyes narrow. “How long?”

“Two months, tops.” She leans across the table and puts her hand on mine. The touch has every muscle in my body tensing. “You will be highly compensated, and I’ll be in your debt.”

Now I’m frowning. Bettina admitting to being in my debt? Damn. This woman must be someone special. A celebrity? Political figure?

Fuck.

This can’t be good.

But what choice do I have? Telling Bettina no isn’t something that’s done.

She’ll just force the woman on me anyway and be so pissed at my denial she’ll inflict pain in some way.

Financial. Emotional. Something. The easiest way out is to acquiesce and hope these two months are over quickly.

How hard can it be to have someone live with me? To pretend she’s my girlfriend?

“Tell me about this compensation,” I finally say, thinking of Papa and his recent health issues.

He’s got good health insurance through his job at the university, but not even insurance will cover some of the treatments he needs to beat this cancer.

My business makes good money, but let’s be honest. It’s Bettina’s monthly deposits into my account that buy all the fancy shit I’ve taken for granted my whole life.

A heftier deposit in exchange for harboring this mystery woman could be all I need to get Papa into extra treatments that can save his life and not leave either of us in a heap of debt.

Bettina snatches her hand back and smiles. It’s not a happy smile. It’s a bloodthirsty smile, the smile of a woman who knows she’s about to get her way.

“We can negotiate,” she hedges, probably wondering why I want the money. I’ll never tell her about Papa’s illness. Weaknesses get exploited, and I have no interest in serving my own father up to the Mafia Maven like that.

“A quarter mil and you owe me a favor.”

Bettina laughs. “I’m retired, Deuce. I don’t have access to that kind of money now.”

“Bullshit,” I fire right back.

“A hundred thousand, and yes, I’ll also owe you a favor.”

The clock ticks away while we stare each other down in silence.

A hundred thousand is what I wanted all along, but I’ve learned never to show my cards right away.

Instead, I act like it’s a sacrifice to dip so low.

Bettina earned the keys to the Barzetti crime family with a winning hand of Deuce’s Wild a few years before I was conceived, which is where my name came from.

This is a woman who knows how to negotiate on and off a poker table.

“Fine,” I grit out, already regretting the next two months, but willing to deal with it to help Papa.

Bettina doesn’t waste a second. She claps her hands twice. “Come on out, Landry!” she calls behind her.

A door opens and a woman steps out, head down. She’s dressed in all black, curves on display. The blood in my veins turns to ice. Mother stands and holds her hand out to the woman.

“Son, I’d like you to meet your new girlfriend, Landry Greer.”

The woman’s head pops up, shock and disgust painted across her exquisite face clear as day. I’m sure mine has the same expression as I jump to my feet, my legs hitting the table and rattling every dish.

That ain’t no Landry Greer.

That’s Valentina Ricci.

My mother’s protege.

The one she left the Barzetti empire to ten years ago.

The woman I slept with when we were both seventeen and stupid.

The same woman who knifed me the following day, barely missing my right lung.

My hand creeps to my side as if I can still feel the scar through my suit.

“What the fuck?” Valentina snaps, voice so raspy it leaves goose bumps along my skin.

She stole the words right out of my mouth.