Chapter 1 #2
“Elio.” Ronan’s voice cuts through the air before I can speak, flat as he levels a hard, stern gaze at the man in front of him.
Not the boyish friendliness of over a decade past, when Elio was practically part of the family.
This isn’t Ronan, my brother, and in some ways, Elio’s.
It’s Ronan O’Malley, the now-patriarch of the O’Malley crime family, and his voice commands both respect and obedience from the man who is still staring at me.
Ronan clears his throat, and the moment breaks. Elio’s attention snaps back to Ronan, his cheeks pinkening slightly as he blinks. Like he was momentarily stunned, and he’s coming back to his senses.
It’s how I feel, too. I draw in a breath, trying to disguise how shaky it is, and sit up straighter in my chair.
“Ronan, what is he doing here?”
The words come out too harsh. I see Elio stiffen. It sounded like I don’t want him here, when that’s the furthest thing from the truth.
Ronan looks at me. “That’s why I thought you might want to stay. As the financial manager for the family, his new position will affect you as well as the rest of us.”
My heart thumps harder against my ribs. “His new… position?” I have to struggle to moderate my voice, to have the words come out in the cool, professional tone of a woman in charge of a mafia’s money, instead of the squeak of a girl seeing the boy she was in love with eleven years ago, all grown up and standing in front of her.
“Elio has been called back from Chicago to take over Rocco De Luca’s place as the don of the Italian mafia in Boston.” Ronan looks at Elio, his expression taking on a hint of disapproval. “Sit down, Cattaneo. You’re a don now. Act like one. You don’t need my permission to take a seat.”
Elio’s cheeks flush a little deeper, and he clears his throat, keeping his gaze fixed away from me as he nods and sits down across from Ronan’s desk. That puts him in the chair next to me, and I feel my entire body go tense again as a waft of his cologne washes over to me.
It smells like citrus and rain, a clean, fresh scent that puts me in mind of the beach, or what I imagine an afternoon in Spain might smell like, with warmed stone courtyards and orange trees everywhere.
My pulse flutters rapidly in my throat, and I feel my hands tighten against my thighs, the tips of my fingers digging into my slim-cut, dark green pants.
I want to tease him about the scent. I want to remind him of the first time he ever wore cologne, some of my father’s tobacco-and-vanilla scented cologne that he snuck in and practically doused himself in before a dance at the private school we both went to.
He tried to kiss me for the first time that night, and I pushed him away, telling him I might have let him if he didn’t smell like he’d taken a bath in my dad’s cologne.
He doesn’t smell like that now. Now, I want to bury my face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in, find out if under that scent there’s still the same warm smell of his skin that I remember all too well from a summer afternoon when, a little sweaty and out of breath, he backed me up against a tree in our backyard just out of sight of the mansion, and kissed me for the first time.
“Annie.” Ronan’s voice cuts through the fog of memory. I blink rapidly, and he gives me a slightly confused look. “Are you alright?”
He wouldn’t understand. Of course he wouldn’t. He thinks my reaction is just the shock of seeing someone who I grew up with again, years after we parted. He doesn’t know how I felt about Elio. How Elio felt about me.
No one could know, back then. And there’s no reason for anyone to know now.
Besides, I have no idea how he feels. And it doesn’t matter.
What happened between us was over a decade ago. It’s ancient history, practically. And there’s no need to exhume graves that have long since settled.
“Sorry.” I breathe in, stiffening my spine as I look between the two men, not allowing my gaze to linger on Elio for too long. “I’m just a little tired. I didn’t sleep well last night—I was up too late running numbers.”
“You need to work less.” Ronan pulls two files out, pushing them across the table to Elio.
They’re thick, and Elio looks at them with some trepidation in his face.
“There’s no need for you to run yourself ragged, Annie.
Especially since we need you sharp, handling the finances.
” He looks at Elio. “Annette handles all of the finances for the O’Malley family, and by extension, the finances involving our business partners.
If you have questions pertaining to the money that’s exchanged between us, about percentages, investments, the profitability of businesses that we might move product through, or essentially anything remotely related to money or numbers, you’re better off talking to her before anyone else. ”
Elio nods, a quick, jerky motion that makes my chest tighten a little.
Does he not like the idea of needing to talk to me?
Maybe I misread his reaction when he walked in.
Maybe it wasn’t surprise at seeing me, and desire at seeing me all grown up.
Maybe it was just shock to see me in the office with Ronan, like my brother’s equal.
Maybe he doesn’t like the idea of having to answer to a woman about his businesses’ financials.
It’s been over a decade, I remind myself, breathing shallowly. I don’t know him any longer. The boy I grew up with has been in Chicago for eleven years. I don’t know the man he’s become, how he’s been influenced, or what he thinks. I don’t know his wants or hopes or dreams anymore.
The thought makes my chest feel as if it’s been hollowed out, a deep pain tightening my throat and making tears spring to my eyes. I duck my head quickly, swallowing rapidly as I blink them away. Nothing is going to be fixed by crying.
My father always hated how easily crying came to me. How quickly I would well up when I was sad or disappointed, or angry. I was told I was too gentle. Too sensitive. Too easily hurt.
He would never have allowed me to work for the family if it wasn’t for the fact that I could be locked away in an office with facts and figures, no confronting the violent nature of our work necessary.
I could be sheltered while still providing the family with what they didn’t already have—a mathematical mind that was so quick that I was a grade ahead all throughout school.
Ronan has never said anything about it to me, but I know he thinks I’m soft and gentle too, something to be sheltered and protected whenever possible, despite his respect for my mind. And crying right now, no matter how badly I want to, won’t help that.
Elio takes a breath, flipping open the files.
All of his concentration is on that now, and I sneak another look at his profile, taking him in.
He’s beautifully handsome, like a Roman sculpture, still boyish, with his hair kept a little long and his smooth, unmarked skin.
I curl my fingers against my palms to keep from reaching out and touching him.
It feels like I should be allowed to, like, after all this time, it’s a crime against something fundamental that it feels as if there’s a gulf between us that can’t be crossed.
But with Ronan sitting here, I can’t. Especially not since what we were to each other so long ago was a secret.
If Ronan were to find out about Elio and me back then, it could change everything, and not for the better.
My mind races, imagining the look on his face, the anger there, the mistrust. He would send Elio back to Chicago, I think.
He certainly wouldn’t entrust him with rebuilding the ruins of Boston’s most influential mafia family after the end of the De Luca line.
It would ruin everything for Elio. And even though I no longer know him, even though I have no idea if there’s anything left of the boy I once loved, I can’t imagine doing anything that would bring him harm.
I look at my watch, needing space. Needing air. I can’t sit in this room any longer, breathing in the scent of citrus and knowing that Elio is so close to me, but still might as well be as far away as he was yesterday.
I need to think. And I have a date to get ready for.
“I should go.” I clear my throat, reaching for my bag.
“If there’s anything you need me to go over regarding the takeover of De Luca’s former businesses, Ronan, let me know.
I’ll be happy to jump on that work just as soon as I get into the office tomorrow.
And… Elio—” My voice hitches on his name, and I swallow quickly.
“If you have any questions, as Ronan said, just let me know. I’m happy to go over whatever you need in order to make the transition a smooth one. ”
There. Professional. Calm. I keep my expression steady as I smile at Ronan and turn to go, feeling Elio’s eyes on my back. He says nothing, as if he doesn’t know what to say—or maybe, as if he’s glad to see me leave.
I want to look back as I reach the door. Want one more glimpse of his face in the January sun, handsome and older and once upon a time, secretly mine.
Instead, I open the door and walk out into the hall, closing it firmly behind me without a backward glance. Only then, as the clicking of my heels against the wooden floor provides a barrier for the gasp I let out, do I let the tears fill my eyes.