Chapter 4
Alessandro
Our black Range Rover pulls up in front of The Vault, and the three of us pile out: Gunnar and I, along with my brother Rocco.
We slip our jackets on to cover our holsters and wait as another blacked-out Range Rover pulls up behind us carrying Caelian—my consigliere and older cousin—his younger brother Faustino, aka Fausy, who is one of Rocco’s capos, and Big Tony.
Big Tony is bald with a scarred head from a knife fight twenty years ago.
He’s almost as wide as he is tall at six feet, which is short compared to the rest of us.
He’s been a soldier in our outfit for the last twenty-three years.
Never wanted to be anything but a soldier. He enjoys the violence too much.
Two women in sparkling black gowns slip out of the back doors. I wonder which of my men brought dates until they each wrap a possessive hand around Big Tony’s arms. Then I just shake my head with a smirk. “Of course.”
As our group approaches the glass front doors, we notice the Zerillis are standing there chatting and waiting. Presumably for us. It’s always good to make an entrance with numbers. A united show of force.
I’m here to present a giant check to Mayor Suarez’s wife’s new charity, Brighter Tomorrow’s Initiative.
It was the price of his cooperation on the subject of our secret club casino.
I have no doubt that money is being funneled into their pockets somehow, but that doesn’t concern me.
Photos with the county board members, Mayor Suarez and Police Chief Knowles will be a bonus.
They know who we are and will resist having their image forever tainted by ours, but I’ll insist.
Again, I’m bringing a big check.
The sun is strong, sparkling on the Bay waters to our right. Summer is in full force, the temps still in the high eighties. I admire the 55-foot Catamaran Luxury Yacht anchored about a hundred feet out before I turn my attention to the Zerillis.
My hand swallows Santino’s as I shake it. He’s six inches shorter than I am, but you wouldn’t know it from the way he’s always carried himself. Tonight though, he’s pale as fuck and leaning on a cane. “Santino, good to see you.”
He meets my eye with a steady gaze. “Alessandro.”
I turn to the small, quiet woman standing next to him. “And this must be Palmira?” I take Palmira’s hand and kiss her dry knuckles. “Pleased to meet you finally.”
Santino’s first wife died when Milo was ten. I’d heard he’d finally remarried six years ago. Looks like he replaced her with a replica. Same small stature, and quiet demeanor. He likes his women submissive. How boring.
I return the pleasant smile she gives me, silently wishing her luck. “Where’s Giada?” I ask, hoping she’s a no-show.
Milo pipes up. “She’s already in there with her high society girls.” He takes a drag of his cigarette, the cherry burning bright. His words come out on a stream of gray smoke. “At least she’ll class you up some, LaRocca. Shine away some of that New York gutter sludge.”
“Watch your fucking mouth, Emelio,” my brother says, flicking his Zippo lighter open and closed in agitation. It’s a tic but also a threat.
I smirk and pat Rocco’s chest affectionately. This verbal dance between us and Milo is almost as old as we are. I’m enjoying his bitterness and jealousy immensely. Though I would enjoy stabbing him in the face more.
“Shall we, gentlemen?” I motion to the door.
We enter the open space, which is lavishly decorated in gold and white. There’s a dance floor with a large chandelier hanging above it. There’s also a dining section in front of a stage with candles lit on a couple dozen round tables.
There’s no denying our grand entrance has garnered the attention we wanted when all eyes turn to us. The boys saunter in, some going to mingle with the crowd, some heading to the bar.
“Mayor Suarez is over there by the bar,” Gunnar says. “I’ll meet you there.”
I hear his words, but I can’t process them, and I can’t move. Because she’s here. In Tampa. In this building.
Lennon.
And fuck she’s beautiful.
She’s blossomed into a stunning woman. Her hair is a darker shade of auburn. Long bangs frame her heart-shaped face, emphasizing her cheekbones. Her body. Jesus. Curves that are accentuated by the tiny top and skirt she’s wearing.
How is she here? Am I hallucinating?
The willowy brunette beside her leans in and says something in her ear.
Lennon’s gaze rises, clashing with mine.
It feels like I just got hit in the chest with a defibrillator. Definitely not hallucinating.
I watch the shock widen her pale green eyes and then I’m on the move. My blood is pumping through my veins like liquid fire as I stalk toward her, ignoring the people trying to get my attention, not letting her gaze go.
And then I’m in front of her, seeing nothing but her. Again. A decade swept away in an instant.
I have so many questions that have piled up over the years, but right now I can’t remember a damn one. Or why they’re important.
My gaze trails down her body, the tight T-shirt showcasing the swell of her cleavage, a tiny gold cross nestled there.
She’s the perfect contradiction of innocence and sin.
I fight the urge to take off my jacket and wrap it around her so no one else can put their unworthy eyeballs on her.
My gaze flicks to her left hand. No ring.
How has no one scooped this woman up yet?
Or maybe she just doesn’t wear a ring at work. Claws of jealousy tear at my insides.
A flush the color of ripe strawberries covers her chest and is traveling up her neck. An almost uncontrollable urge grips me. The urge to flatten my wet tongue against her collarbone and drag it up her neck. I imagine her skin tastes like strawberries and cream.
Ignoring the jolt of awakening lust, I force my gaze back to hers. “You’re back in Tampa.”
Way to state the obvious, Sandro.
I know my mask is in place, my voice gruff with anger. The anger was the easiest thing to hold onto. Easier than the pain when she fled Tampa without even a goodbye and disconnected her cell phone number, leaving me no way to contact her.
No way to make things right between us.
But here she is. In the flesh.
“Jesus, Lennon.” I step forward.
Giada picks that moment to move in and press herself against my side.
Shit. Reality comes crashing down. I’m slapped in the face with the harsh truth of who I am and what’s expected of me. I shove the emotions and questions that had bubbled up back into the dark corner of my mind and let the flicker of hope die.
“Lennon.” Giada purrs as she looks Lennon up and down. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Lennon’s eyes flash with pain. I know the deepening blush is from anger now.
And then Giada twists the knife.
“Has Sandro told you we’re getting married?” She lifts her hand, fluttering her fingers so the large diamond engagement ring sparkles in Lennon’s face. The one she picked out herself because fuck if I could be bothered.
Lennon tries to hold herself still against the assault of those words.
I can see it. But she’s always been an open book, and the devastation is there in her eyes when she brings them back to mine.
She’s searching. Searching my eyes for the lie.
There’s nothing I can say or do to cushion this moment for her. I’ve never felt so helpless.
“Congratulations,” she finally says. “Excuse me.”
My chest hollows as I watch her walk away, her thick ponytail swinging, that damn skirt barely covering her peach-shaped ass. I have to force my feet to stay planted. My hands fist. I turn slowly and look down at Giada’s self-satisfied smirk.
“Was that necessary?”
She taps a blood-red nail on her chin. “No. But it was fun.”
I study her. Was it growing up in our world that made her so cruel? How am I supposed to be okay with this woman being the mother of my child? I think about the vicious, narcissistic mother who raised me. And now I’m cursing my future offspring with the same fate.
“You’re such a cunt.”
She flashes me that wide, perfect smile. “Yeah, but I’m your cunt, dear fiancé.” Patting my arm, she winks, grabs a champagne flute off a passing server, and then saunters off to find her fellow tribe of jaded, spoiled women.
“Don’t remind me,” I mumble. I turn, intending to find Gunnar, but am met with a smirking Milo instead. “Was that Lennon Kelly? Damn, she’s filled out.”
Deep in the underground recesses of my soul, the Beast lifts his head and snarls. I keep my body relaxed, the fire out of my gaze.
He pokes me harder. “Since you’re a taken man, you wouldn’t mind me having a crack at that pussy, eh?”
I shrug, then busy myself straightening my cuffs so I don’t put my fist through his teeth. “She’s not my concern anymore.” With extreme effort, I manage to walk away.
As I make my way to the bar to find Gunnar, I let my gaze sweep over the women in the crowd.
Gunnar hands me a glass of scotch when I reach him. His eyes narrow, flitting perceptively over my face. “What is it?”
I take a mouthful and swallow, feeling the burn down my throat, into my gut. Then I turn and nod in the direction of the crowd. “See the woman in the black dress sniffing around Caelian?”
“Yeah,” he grunts.
“Go give her ten grand to move her attention to Milo. Five grand bonus if she goes home with him.” Not that I think Milo has a chance in hell with Lennon, but I still don’t want him harassing her. Keeping him busy is the best option.
Gunnar sips his scotch and then deep frown lines mar his forehead. “Want to tell me what this is about?”
I down the rest of my drink, drop the glass on the bar, and shake my head. “Later.”
I spend the next hour making the rounds, getting photos with the influential people here, and downing more scotch to numb myself, to try to stop seeing the devastation in Lennon’s eyes.
There’s also a part of me fascinated that I’m feeling something other than the rage that has plagued me for a decade. No time to think about that now.
However, there’s one thought I can’t stop from surfacing over and over.
Lennon still cares.
Maybe it’s just because it’s Giada. Those two always were like oil and water. Like sugar and poison. But the hurt in Lennon’s eyes was unmistakable. And that leads to so many more questions.
We’ve started the first course of dinner when Mayor Suarez calls me and Giada to the stage. We climb it together to a round of thundering applause.
Giada glows next to me, always happiest when she’s the center of attention.
The mayor is saying something about the donation I’ve made to the Brighter Tomorrow’s Initiative, but I’m not listening.
Lennon is making her way toward the doors. Leaving. Walking out of my life once again. I grit my teeth so hard, my jaw aches.
Let her go. You have nothing to offer her, and you’ll never deserve her.
She stops and her eyes meet mine. I spend an eternity wrestling with the anger, the desire, the need she invokes in me. An eternity lodged in these few seconds of connection with her. I know I should look away, but my blood alcohol level is at the don’t give a fuck stage.
“…is also newly engaged,” Mayor Suarez says. The words catch my attention like a fish hook lodging in my brain, jerking me back to my reality.
Lennon’s eyes widen in distress.
“A toast to the lovely couple. May your union be happy and blessed,” he continues.
Giada grabs my hand, digging her nails into my wrist and turns me to face her. Her chin tips up and she smiles for the audience, but she’s gritting her teeth. “I will not have my husband pining over some low-class trash. If you don’t let her go, I will destroy her.”
I stare into her dark brown eyes, imagining the blood vessels popping as I choke the breath from her. This marriage is going to end in one of us dead.
“Do you understand?” she whispers.
I nod once. If I speak, it will be a roar.
When we’re released from the stage, I return to the table. I can’t help but look behind me at the door.
Gunnar grabs my shoulder in his meaty hand, forcing me to look at him. His arctic blue eyes are shiny with sympathy. “She’s gone, brother.”
She’s gone, brother.
The same words he spoke when we let ourselves into her apartment ten years ago and found nothing but some furniture left behind.