“What the fuck do you want?”
I plow through the door of my father’s office. It’s not really an office, more like a large room hidden in the back of the restaurant where he and his buddies smoke cigars, talk business, and play poker. I typically try to avoid it at all costs.
“That’s no way to talk to your father,” he sneers, puffing on the cigar between his fingers. “No respect these days,” he says to his friends gathered around the table.
They’ve all got a glass of liquor in hand as well as cigars—no doubt the finest from Cuba if I know my father—and a few of them have half-naked women sitting on their knees. I wish I could say this wasn’t the norm, except it is.
“Who’s the girl?” he asks me.
“That’s none of your damn business.”
The chair screeches as he stands up. I get my height from my father. Toe to toe we’re the same build, although he manages to tower an inch or two over me.
“It is my business. Every fucking person who walks through those doors,” he says, pointing toward the front of the restaurant, “is my goddamn business. Every girl who wets your dick is my business.”
“She’s a friend.”
“You mean code word for whore. When are you gonna settle down?”
My blood boils to the point of explosion, and I clench my hands into fists to prevent myself from jacking him right in the jaw. “She’s not a whore. There are many things that set us apart, Father, and our taste in women is only one of them.”
His thick lips stretch into a wide smile, a laugh ripping from his throat. “He’s got balls, this one,” he says to his friends before turning back to me. “You’re more like me than you know. You give any more thought to my offer?”
It’s not something I’m proud of, but my father, Sal Ambrosi, is a powerful man—much more powerful than most people are aware of. He grew up in poverty and fell into a life of crime, following in the footsteps of his own father. He began working for Joseph Salamanca and became one of the biggest earners and most trusted members of the Salamanca crime family. By the time my father was thirty, he had risen to prominence, becoming the underboss to Joseph Salamanca, and eventually he took over as active boss upon Joseph’s death.
My father wants me to become a “made” member of the Mafia. In other words, he wants me committed to a life of crime. It pains me to admit that as a young child, I idolized my father and was eager to follow in his footsteps. He was my hero, strong and respected with power and prestige. In my eyes, he could do no wrong.
I was young and foolish.
It wasn’t until I saw him murder a man in cold blood that I started second-guessing my desire to be a part of the Family. The aftermath of that day ultimately pushed me over the edge, the lives hurt because of his action—because of my actions.
I’ll never forget the part I played that horrible morning in May, fourteen years ago, and I’ll never forget the look of fear in her eyes.
Bianca DiMarco.
A stranger who has no idea she inadvertently saved my life.
All I have to do is conjure up the memory of that scared little girl, not much younger than I was, to remind myself why I’m choosing to live a life without crime.
“I already told you the answer is no. I’ll do my part, run the club the way you want it run, and eventually I’ll take over Ambrosi’s, but that’s as far as I’m willing to go. You know I’m trying to keep my hands clean.”
“You’re a fucking Ambrosi.” His voice booms through the room. “Ambrosis don’t know what clean hands look like.”
“This one does.”
He waves me off, dismissing everything I’m saying. “You’ll change your mind. Once you get a taste of it, you’ll be begging for more.”
“I doubt it. Now, is that all you wanted to ask?”
His eyes narrow. He takes another puff of his cigar before snuffing it out in an ashtray on the table. “What’s her name?”
I roll my eyes. The fucker doesn’t give up. “Why do you care?”
“She looks familiar.”
I’m not sure when he’s had a chance to get a look at her. Although he does have cameras everywhere, so it’s really no surprise.
“She’s new to the area. Trust me, you’ve never seen her before.” I don’t dare tell him Shae grew up here. That would be a sure-fire way to get him digging into her life.
“You sure about that?” he challenges.
“Positive.”
“All right then.” Father drops back onto his chair and picks up his snifter from the table. “Just don’t knock her up. You know damn well my grandchildren need to come from a specific bloodline.”
Him and the goddamn bloodline.
If he had his way, Dante and I would be married off to his friends’ daughters—specifically Liza. Not that she wouldn’t make someone a damn good wife, because I’m sure someday she will, but I’m not that someone. I know for sure that I don’t want to marry a woman in my father’s circle. In fact, I want to end up with someone so far out of the goddamn circle she doesn’t even know it exists.
My father’s comment doesn’t deserve a response, so I leave him with his friends and walk back to the dining room. Just being near my dad makes me angry, and now I just want to get Shae and get the fuck out of here. Had I known my dad had come back early, I never would’ve brought her here to begin with.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m reminded that if Shae and I were to ever make this work, I’d have to tell her about my family, but I push that thought to the side. No sense dwelling on it when she’s adamant about keeping things casual.
When I walk back into the dining room, Shae is sitting quietly at the table, smiling at something on her phone.
“What’s so funny?” I whisper, sitting down next to her.
She glances up, her eyes bright and smile brighter. “JJ just send me a text.”
Fucking JJ. I know she said they’re just friends, but the mention of his name makes the green monster inside me rear his ugly head.
“What…what just happened here?” she asks, setting her phone down. “You were smiling when you sat down, and now you’re scowling.”
“Nothing.” I shrug. “I’m not scowling.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Fine, I’m scowling.”
“Are you jealous?”
“No,” I scoff.
“You were making fun of me earlier for being jealous, and now you’re the one who’s jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
She grins and shakes her head. “Good, because you have nothing to be jealous about. JJ is Shae gay.”
“Shae gay?”
“That’s what he calls it. He swears he knows me on such a personal level that he could never see at me as anything other than a friend. Hence, Shae gay.”
Thank fucking God.
“Does that make you feel better?”
“Tremendously.”
“Would you two like dessert?” Stella asks.
Shae and I both answer at the same time, just not the same way.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“No?” she asks. “Why not?”
Leaning in close, I brush my lips against the outer rim of her ear and whisper, “You are dessert, remember?”
She blinks once and her gorgeous lips form a perfect O before she looks up at Stella. “Check, please.”
She’s so damn cute. “My father owns the place. We don’t have a bill.”
She grins sheepishly. “Then what are we still doing here?”
Anxious to get my hands on her delectable body, I all but drag her out of the restaurant.
Once we’re out the front door she giggles, the sound shooting straight to my dick.
“Slow down,” she says, laughing. “My legs are shorter than yours.”
Turning around, I scoop her into my arms. “There. Now you don’t have to walk at all.”
She wiggles in my arms, trying to get down, but no way in hell am I letting go. She feels too damn good.
“You don’t have to carry me.”
“I know I don’t. But I want to, and the faster I get you to my car, the quicker I can get you to my bed.”
“Run,” she says, breaking out into laughter when I do just that.