Chapter Two
Emmi LoPresti moved in front of Barb, forcing her to back up until her ample ass touched the wall in the upstairs hallway. “Why is he here for dinner?” she hissed.
“Who?”
“Daniel Basile.” Barb’s expression showed no spark of recognition. “Digger.” Emmi hated using that asinine nickname when referring to the man.
“Oh, him.” Barb smiled and blushed slightly. What was it with the women in this house? They all swooned over Digger. Sure, he was hot, but so were a lot of men. Men who didn’t kill people for money.
“Your father invited him.”
“Only because I’m home, right?”
Barb grinned and shrugged slightly. “I wouldn’t know anything about that, Miss Emmi. I just clean the rooms up here.”
Emmi took a step back. “Bullshit. You know everything that goes on in this house.” Barb had worked for the LoPresti family all her life. Her parents had worked in this house until they died, and Barb was now almost fifty years old.
“Can I help you pick out something to wear for dinner?” Barb’s gaze took in Emmi’s torn jeans and off-the-shoulder sweater.
“Screw it. I’m wearing this.” She started to walk away, but turned and gave Barb a tight hug. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude to you. I’ve really missed you.”
Barb hugged her back. “Oh sweetie. I’ve missed you, too. Everyone has. It’s good to have you back home for a while. Don’t let Digger get under your skin, okay? He means you no harm.”
“I know he doesn’t.” She released the embrace. “I just wish my father would stop trying to play Cupid. I’m twenty-four years old.”
“And you were with the same person for almost half of those years, Emmi. Breaking up with Sam is a huge thing. Your father is only trying to help.”
She knew that, but at the mention of Sam, Emmi had to fight back tears. “I don’t need any help, and I’m certainly not interested in Digger.” She’d never be interested in any other man. Sam had been the love of her life, and now he was all the way across the country, without her.
Barb patted her arm. “Well, go downstairs and try to enjoy dinner anyway. Lewis made roasted vegetables, just the way you like them.”
Emmi could already smell them. The heavenly scent would soon fill the house. As she started for the back staircase, she changed her mind and went into her room. Not only was Digger here, but so were her three older sisters, their husbands, and their kids. People in this house had always dressed for dinner, and she wasn’t in the mood to hear a lecture if she failed to put on clothes that covered her cleavage and weren’t made of denim, worn through at the knees because they were her favorite pair of jeans.
It was a ridiculous custom in this day and age, but her mother was old school. Emmi had once told her she’d been born in the wrong century, and her mother had said that only meant she was duty bound to continue certain customs and manners. Even the way her mother spoke was old-fashioned.
Inside her room, Emmi debated for a good ten minutes, and managed to toss half her clothes onto the bed trying to decide. She’d be late if she didn’t either choose something or go down as she was already dressed. Her mother hated anyone coming into the dining room late almost as much as she hated what she called “sloppy clothes” at the table.
Finally, she yanked one of her standby dresses from the hanger and changed into it, slipping on a pair of matching flats. The dress was black with red trim. Perfect for a post-holiday dinner. And, it covered her cleavage. Almost.
She frowned as she checked herself in the full-length mirror. The dress also hugged her curves, accentuating the best parts of her size-sixteen body. Digger wouldn’t miss that, but it was better than parading in front of him wearing tight jeans and a sweater that barely covered her strapless bra.
Fuck it. She was done. Let him look. He’d never touch. Not if she had anything to say about it.
Emmi walked into the dining room to find everyone already seated. Mia, the third oldest sister from the top, looked her up and down. “Well, it’s about time.”
“She’s not late,” said Nicole, the oldest, patting the chair between her and Digger. “Come on. We saved you the best seat.”
Thanks so much. Emmi sat down and ignored Digger, who looked at her like she was dessert.
“We have a guest,” said her mother, giving Emmi the warning look that had frightened the hell out of her when she was a kid. Now, it only annoyed her.
Emmi turned her head toward Digger. “Nice to see you again.”
“You look beautiful, Emmi. Is that dress new?”
“No.” She unfolded her napkin and stuffed it in her lap. “Who’s saying grace? I’m starving.” The fact that they did, and at every meal, made Emmi’s stomach turn. Her father was one of the most feared and respected Mob bosses in the state of New York, and their dinner guest tonight was a man who executed others for money, at the request of men like her father. Did they think saying a prayer over their food negated any of that?
“Emilia, there’s no cause for rudeness.” Her father’s disappointed tone, however, still had the same effect on her as when she’d been younger. He never used her nickname when he was pissed off at her.
“I’m sorry, Papa. You’re right. I apologize.”
Her father said a quick prayer, and then Digger leaned close to her. Emmi caught a whiff of expensive cologne. It had been a while since she’d been close to a man who still wore it, though she couldn’t recall when she’d noticed it on him, either.
He was all dressed up, too. Expensive suit and silk tie. His wavy dark hair was tied back in a small ponytail, and the ever-present five-o’clock shadow gave him a rugged air. Dark eyes flashed with lust, as they usually did when he turned his gaze on her. But she still wasn’t interested.
“I’m sorry to hear about your break-up with Sam.” He said it softly enough that she doubted anyone else heard. They were already busy talking, so that helped.
“Who told you?” she whispered.
“Your father did, but Mia also made sure I knew before you came downstairs.”
“Of course she did.” Since she could hardly shoot daggers with her eyes at her father for giving Digger that piece of gossip, instead she focused her anger toward her pregnant sister.
Next to Mia, her husband of less than one year, Joe, beamed at his wife like she’d hung the fucking moon. Emmi pitied their unborn child. With such twits for parents, the poor kid had no chance at all. Mia was a nasty bitch, and Joe had the personality of a turnip. Kind of looked like one, too.
“She can’t help her nature, anymore than you can.”
Emmi reached for the roasted veggies and piled her plate high with them. “What does that mean?”
“You have a short fuse. It’s who you are. Mia isn’t happy unless she’s embarrassing someone. That’s who she is.”
She passed the vegetables to Digger, who only took a small amount. “Sometimes I forget how much time you spend with this family.”
“Not nearly enough with you, though. It’s good to have you home for a while.”
“You say that like this is your home, too.” Which was a mean thing to say, but the man wasn’t family.
“It will be one day, when I’m with you.”
Emmi glanced around, but no one was paying attention to them. She leaned close to his ear. “It’s not going to happen, Digger. Give it up.”
“Never!” A shiver ran down her spine at the whispered word, so full of promise and determination. Even though his breath was warm on her neck, goosebumps broke out on her arms. Emmi reached for the lasagna and piled that on top of the veggies.
If she didn’t stop substituting food for sex, she’d have to buy new clothes. But this wasn’t the time to think of Sam. Her sisters and even her parents would be watching for a reaction. Her mother would be sympathetic, but everyone else would start in on her again about why Sam had been wrong for her on so many levels. Emmi couldn’t handle talking about Sam with the entire family. Not tonight. Probably not ever.
“Digger, I heard you were in Ohio for a while.” Her second-oldest sister, Anna, caught his attention from the other end of the table.
“Yeah. I was visiting my uncle and some old friends.”
“Which uncle?” asked Mia. “Donny Messina?”
As Digger nodded, Emmi rolled her eyes. This family knew way too much about Digger and his family members. No wonder he felt like he belonged here.
“That trouble he had with Roberto di Stefano is over now.”
The look that passed between Digger and her father at Anna’s words sent shivers down Emmi’s spine again, but not for the same reason as earlier. One or possibly both of them knew way more about that incident than anyone else at this table had heard. Emmi would bet good money on it.
“Yeah,” said Digger, his voice neutral and almost disinterested. “I suppose it is.”
“You know something about it?” asked Michael, Anna’s husband.
“Only what the news said.” But he was lying. The deceit came off him in waves. She dared to sneak another glance at her father, but his gaze was now fixed on his food.
“Must we speak of such things at dinner?” asked her mother.
By now, everyone had heard the story of how notorious Mob boss Roberto di Stefano, who had once held the borough of Queens and most of Brooklyn by the balls, had fallen in the bathtub and died, along with the woman he’d been cheating on his wife with. They were found in the master bathroom of her third-floor brownstone, on the Upper West Side. The tub was full, and both had apparently fallen against the marble edge and died of head wounds.
“It was too neat,” said Anna. “I think it was staged. Who ever heard of both people slipping in the same tub and falling in exactly the exact way needed for them to die from the impact?”
Digger shrugged after averting his gaze. “The news sites said there was a ton of oil in the water. It makes the bottom too slippery.”
“You would think they’d know that, since the woman’s neighbors told the reporters he’d been coming to that address every week for two years.”
“I heard di Stefano’s wife knew about Bess McFarland,” said Mia.
“Whether she did or not,” said Doug, Nicole’s husband, “now they’re both dead. What a waste.”
“Don’t you think they deserved it?” asked Michael. Doug and Michael hated each other, and every time they discussed a topic, it was worth listening because they almost always came close to a physical fight. Emmi found their bickering hysterical because both of them were morons, in her opinion. She put down her fork and rested her chin on folded hands.
“Expecting a good fight?” whispered Digger, leaning close to her ear again.
“Yes,” she whispered back, enjoying the conspiratorial way he winked at her. So much for not being interested, you hypocrite.
“I don’t think anyone deserves to die for making a mistake,” said Doug.
“Oh really? So if you cheated on Nicole, that would be a mistake? Not a conscious decision?” asked Michael.
“I’m not going to cheat on my wife.”
“But if you did, and you died while doing it, wouldn’t that be poetic justice?”
“You’re missing my point, Mikey.” Michael hated that nickname, and everyone in this room knew it.
“No, I’m not, Douglas. I’m saying that cheating on someone isn’t a mistake. It’s a choice you make.”
“A choice that you believe they both deserved to die for.”
“Well he didn’t deserve to keep cheating on her.” Michael waved his fork around, sending pieces of lasagna flying halfway across the table. “I suppose you think we should all feel sorry for them?”
“He had kids. Don’t you feel sorry for them?”
“Not if they knew he was cheating on their mother.”
Emmi bit her tongue to keep from telling Michael what a rude asshole he was, only because she knew how much it would upset Anna.
Her father banged his fist on the table. “Your mother-in-law doesn’t want us discussing such things while we’re eating, and neither do I. Change the subject. Both of you.”
Damn. Shut down before it even got good. They’d just been getting warmed up.
Digger and her father exchanged a long glance that further convinced Emmi Digger had lied about having no inside info on their deaths. He’d probably killed them and made it look accidental. Just because the cops hadn’t suspected foul play didn’t mean there’d been none.
A pro could make sure it looked like an accident. Donny Messina was Digger’s uncle, and he worshipped the man. Roberto di Stefano had put out a hit on Donny, for nothing more than wanting a piece of some shitty bar and a strip club in Ohio that Donny got kickbacks from.
Donny’s bodyguards had caught the guy who tried to hide in the woods and kill Donny, but that wouldn’t stop a man like di Stefano. He would have kept trying. It only made sense that Digger would want him dead.
And that brought her full circle to her conflicted feelings over Digger. He was a trained killer, and that was exactly why she wanted nothing to do with him. All her life she’d grown up around this kind of talk at the dinner table, and every other moment of her day-to-day life. She’d heard her father speak to people about killing others as easily as he might rattle off a grocery list.
The expectations were that she’d stay in the life. Marry a man who was in the life. Keep her mouth shut and become like her mother. Raise kids and never ask too many questions about what her husband did.
That was not the life Emmi had always envisioned for herself, and she didn’t want to believe she now had no other choice simply because Sam had forced her to choose, and had then abandoned her. Did she really need a man? Well, not for anything other than sex, at least.
But if she risked that with Digger it would turn into an issue because she knew he wanted much more than sex from her. He wanted her heart and her soul. Emmi couldn’t give either one to the kind of man Digger was. No matter how hot he might be, or how good he might be in bed. No. It was never going to happen. She simply could not see it in her future.