Maurizio (Bregoli Mafioso #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

MAURIZIO

No foul play.

The autopsy took a few days. Don Bregoli handled everything.

There was no rush to bury him. The casket would be closed because of the condition of my father’s body.

The first person I told was Labria. Her presence was a godsend.

Being with her took my mind off the reality of the situation. I was alone. No mother. No father.

I adjusted my black tie for the fifth time, staring at my reflection in the bedroom mirror with a detachment that surprised me.

My father was dead, and I was dressing for his funeral.

All black made me look older and harder.

Good. I needed to look composed today, even if inside I was a storm of conflicting emotions.

Grief wasn’t exactly what I felt for my father.

Gianni Bregoli wasn’t considered a good man, but he was my father, the only father I’d ever known.

He treated me well enough as a single father.

He taught me the basic things I needed to survive and advance in the organization.

I’d forgiven him a long time ago for his misdeeds, but there was a complicated knot of feelings I couldn’t quite untangle.

My fingers trembled slightly as I worked on my cufflinks, a gift from my cousin Nicco when I’d proven myself useful to the family business.

Black onyx with a small diamond in the center.

Tasteful. Expensive. Nothing like the gaudy gold monstrosities my father had favored.

He was an old-school wise guy, and they were boastful, flashy and careless.

I still couldn’t wrap my head around the circumstances that led to my father’s death.

He died alone, drunk in the desert after being ousted from his duties of consigliere.

It was a shameful way to go. There was nothing gangster about it.

I was so used to coming to his rescue, and this was the one time he hadn’t called on me.

He’d spent decades terrorizing the weak, only to die due to due to stupidity. No disrespect to the dead, but after the way he tormented my mother, there was a certain justice to his death.

I glanced at the framed photos arranged on my dresser.

Most showed places I’d traveled, Rome, Sicily, the south of France.

Beautiful locales where I’d gone to escape, if only temporarily.

One photo stood out from the rest. My mother, she was young and beautiful.

This was before the years with Gianni had broken her.

This was long before she’d taken her own life when I was thirteen.

I’d forgiven my father a long time ago, but there was a complicated knot of feelings I couldn’t quite untangle.

And then there was the small silver frame on the nightstand.

My father in his prime, standing outside the restaurant he’d used for his protection racket.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. It never did.

I hadn’t wanted to keep the photo, but something in me couldn’t throw it away.

Perhaps I needed a reminder of what I’d survived.

“You look very handsome.”

I didn’t startle at Labria’s voice. I’d sensed her presence walking into the room before she spoke.

I caught a hint of her perfume. It was something subtle and expensive.

Our eyes met in the mirror, and I allowed myself a small smile.

Labria stood in the doorway of my bedroom, dressed in a tailored navy suit, something that an attorney would wear.

She really fit in at well at Stern, Foster, and Pellegrino.

She was professional, elegant and beautiful in a way that made my chest ache.

I wanted her the first time I’d laid eyes on her, and even now I couldn’t believe she was here with me.

“Thank you,” I said, turning to face her properly. “You look lovely yourself. Very lawyer-like.”

She smiled, but it didn’t completely erase the worry in her eyes.

We moved carefully around each other. We were still learning the way to navigate whatever this was between us.

It had been one week since she’d left my cousin Lord.

One week of pretending that what we were doing was normal.

I wanted her, and I was not sure if she wanted me or was using me to get back at him.

We never had a chance to talk about it. It all happened so fast. One day she was here, and we were in bed together.

The next minute, Nicco was telling me my father was dead.

It never felt like a good time to bring up the future or what we were doing.

She was the distraction I needed, whether she knew it or not.

Labria crossed the room to meet me, her heels silent on the plush carpet. We hadn’t discussed her moving in—it was far too soon for that—but she’d stayed with me for a week after I’d received the news about my father.

“Your tie is crooked,” she said, reaching up to adjust it.

I stood perfectly still, watching her smooth face as she concentrated on straightening my tie. Her fingers brushed against my throat, and I fought the urge to close my eyes at the contact. This thing between us felt dangerous. But this was the kind of danger I craved.

“There,” she said, smoothing the tie against my chest. “Perfect.”

I caught her hand before she could pull away, holding it against my heart. “No disrespect, but nothing about today will be perfect. Death is messy and final.”

“I know.” Her eyes softened. “I’m sorry about your father, Maurizio.”

I wasn’t sure what to do with her sympathy. Most people who knew Gianni Bregoli wouldn’t waste pity on his passing. “Don’t be. Our relationship was complicated.”

“That’s one way to put it.” She knew some of it.

I filled her in on the abuse, the drinking, and how he’d terrorized my mother until she couldn’t take it anymore.

I’d told her more than I’d told anyone else, which should have scared her but somehow didn’t.

I wanted her to know I was nothing like him. I was my own man.

I released her hand and turned back to the mirror, making one final adjustment to my appearance. “The Bregoli family will all be there. Nicco, Cenzo, Valentina, probably even Lord, even though he didn’t know my father well.”

I watched her reflection carefully as I mentioned Lord’s name.

A flicker of something crossed her face.

I couldn’t quite tell, but she quickly composed herself.

Whatever had happened between her and Lordes was not really my business.

I wondered what happened between them in those final days before she left him and came willingly to me.

Labria hadn’t shared all the intimate details.

I hadn’t pressed. I was so happy to get the girl I longed for, and we all had our secrets.

“Do you think they’ll expect you to say something?” she asked. “About your father?”

“Probably. I’m his only son. Well, the only one that matters.” I picked up my Rolex from the dresser and fastened it around my wrist. “I’ll say what’s expected. That he was a dedicated family man. That he served BMF loyally. The usual.”

“That’s good.” She muttered.

“Huh, good. Never a word used to describe my father. We both know what kind of man he was. Or maybe you don’t. You probably didn’t spend any time with him.”

“No, not really, but I’d heard a few things.”

“He beat my mother. He drove her to suicide. The only thing I learned from him was what kind of man I don’t want to be.”

Labria moved to stand beside me, following my gaze to the photograph of him. “Then why keep his picture on display?”

I’d asked myself the same question many times. “To remember, the good and the bad, I suppose.”

She reached for my hand, threading her fingers through mine. The gesture was simple but intimate in a way that made my throat tight. “You’re nothing like him. You know that, right?”

I wished I could be as certain as she sounded. “I’m still a Bregoli. Still part of the family business.”

“That’s different. You’re different.”

Was it? I wasn’t so sure. I’d done things in service to the family that haunted my dreams. Nothing as sadistic as what my father had enjoyed, but my hands weren’t clean. No one’s were in this life.

“Hey, I made coffee. Come. We both need a cup after last night.”

I followed Labria downstairs and into the kitchen.

I tried and failed in all attempts not to stare at her ass.

I had a lot to get out, and I fucked Labria hard and fast last night.

I fucked her like it was the last time. Sadly, I never knew when it would be the last time.

I was insecure about where I stood with her.

I wasn’t an idiot. I was a rebound guy who wanted to be more.

I wanted her in my future. She was my dream girl, and I planned on doing everything I could to keep her.

Labria made her way to the expensive Italian espresso machine that had cost more than some people’s monthly mortgage. She went to pour me a cup.

“No, I got it.” I said.

She moved aside and went to gather up some of her legal docs she had spread on the kitchen island.

This strange domesticity had developed quickly between us, as if we’d been doing this dance for years rather than days. It felt dangerous and right all at once, like many things in my life.

“Double espresso for you?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. She’d been specific about her coffee preferences from the first morning she’d spent here.

“Yes, please.” Labria didn’t look up from her papers spread across the marble surface. Her focus and dedication to her job were impressive even with her world turned upside down. There was the breakup, leaving Lord, staying with me, and all the risks that entailed.