On my way back to the house, I let out a hearty sigh. The headway with Clown Irruption lifted my spirits substantially. Gianni has it covered at Lucid. He’s got Belen under control as well, according to McRoy, who’s coordinating the casting for Georgina Smiles. I want to start filming in a week. It’s late for that, but we’ve had setbacks involving cocaine. I can’t have addicts working for me, and one of the girls was caught red-handed.
I make a mental note of finding a few new studs too. Luka has that icy Russian fire going for him, drawing the female spectators to our films, but his mind isn’t in the game. Yeah, we need to take on a few more guys before Luka bails on us, teach them the ropes, and make them dependable for the long haul.
The way I work, this means bringing in five or six of the biggest talents in the industry. I often snatch them from under the competition’s nose with bulletproof, high-paying contracts. After the initial months, I settle on the best half of the group for long-term contracts. At the moment, our only male long-termers are Luka and Marco, and instinct tells me Luka’s as good as done.
So far, my world’s working out. I’ve got it molded toward my goal. The small obstacles put in my way are only there to make it interesting.
“McRoy.”
“Sir. Yes?”
“I’m dropping by the house for a nap.”
“Really? But you never sleep, sir.”
“Anyway, I’ll be at Lucid around six.”
“Okay, sir. Sleep tight. All’s good here. I’ll keep things moving along.”
I smile at that. McRoy wasn’t hired for his aggressive leadership skills. On the contrary, I’ve seen the girls pet his head and make him blush with embarrassment at a stray comment. They love to tease him. One of these days, I’ll have to get him laid.
I park in the garage and stride out onto the driveway, closing the garage door with an iPhone click. It’s the Nascimbeni blood that makes me physically walk around my house to verify that nothing’s out of the ordinary.
My place is expensive but has little acreage. It’s located in a gated community, but I’m so far up in the mountainside, my closest neighbor can’t be seen from my property. If I need it, I can turn on a dime and sell in a flash, because every detail is custom-made and of the highest quality. With the land draping downward in terraces below the house, I have full overview even if the surveillance cameras were incapacitated.
Once inside, annoyance rises in me at the cat litter trailed over my travertine tiles and ending in miniature paw prints. Those paw prints are wetly planted into the Persian rug I procured on auction at Christie’s in London, an expensive as shit, one-of-a-kind, black and gold work of art.
While I search for the offender, I call Belen, who picks up immediately. “Hey, lover.”
“You’ve been by my house?”
“Yes, I was waiting for you, but you never came,” she pouts. “I know how you like to wind down in the middle of the day, and I was going to offer up a little something to make you relax.” She draws out half of her words for sexual emphasis, which gets old.
“How the fuck do you know the code to my door?”
“Oh, I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“That you can come and go whenever it damn well pleases you?”
“Aww, sweetheart. I thought you’d be happy to find me there,” she whines. “Remember last week when we got drunk at the microbrewery? It was super-easy to overhear the numbers, because you were slurring them out while you entered them.” She giggles. “You were adorable. That was such a fun night!”
Quickly, I set a new code on my alarm console. “All right, Belen: I’m going to say something I want you to never forget. Ready?”
“Oh, okay. Yeah...”
“Do not ever come here unless you’ve been explicitly and specifically invited by me. You’re not to come by association because I have a party. You’re not to come because you’ve been invited by someone else. In short: unless I, Isaias di Nascimbeni, invite you, you’re not welcome at my house. Do you understand?”
She scoffs. Her heels click-clack as she stomps around at Lucid. “You know what sucks about you?”
“That I’m your boss and you have to weigh your words really carefully so as not to get fired?”
I bite my lip, spirits lifting. I don’t particularly enjoy putting Belen in her place, but I do enjoy some verbal sparring, the testing of power, of loopholes in my game. She got in a stab by overhearing my code and leaving havoc in her path from letting the cat out of the front parlor.
Belen is smart. Hot as hell and smart. Now, I hear her breathe quietly, taming her fury.
“Are you there? I didn’t catch your answer,” I say.
“Sorry. Yeah. So, your kitten’s cute.”
“Which brings me to my problem. You owe me thirty-five thousand bucks for ruining the rug in the dining room. It’s now stained with cat urine.”
Belen’s mind is as deprived as my own, as self-serving as mine, so when she haphazardly covers the speaker of her phone and roars out her rage, I grin.
She slams the phone off. The bitch fucking hangs up on her boss! That’s pretty hilarious, and I think I’m going to let her get away with it. In the long run, though, Morgan needs to keep working closely with Gianni, good shots, good track records. Because when it’s time for Lucid, I’ll be cutting Belen loose.
It’s interesting to hang out with my father. I rarely do outside of family dinners. In general, he’s fine keeping me informed via his henchmen, and beyond the affectionate squeeze at Ma’s Sunday dinners, we’re usually all set.
I’ll never stop loving him. It’s one of those things. Ruthless mafia boss or not, he’s one hundred and fifty percent into everything me, Gioele, Ma, and elsewise family-related, no matter what happens between us. It’s the Italian way. It’s in our blood even if sometimes I wish it weren’t. Like now.
“Figlio. Thank you for coming to see your old father.” The furrows around his eyes draw downward with the weight of all he has done.
“Piacere, Pappa,” I lie, because it’s not a pleasure. “What’s going on.”
He sighs heavily, thick fingers spiked as if in prayer, creating a ledge for his nose to rest on. When his eyes close, there’s a stab at the center of my chest. I was born late to him, and the life of a don doesn’t give room for vacations. It’s not the first time it affects me, how my invincible father gets older.
“We’re at war with the Santa Colombini.”
“No way? They’re fucking cannibals.”
“Not cannibals, son.”
“You know what I mean. Those guys have no morals, no code of ethics. There’s nothing clean about anything they do, and the way they kill is—”
“Unique? Yes, always.”
“What happened? How did you get mixed up with them again?” I scan his face for answers before he verbalizes them. Gravity has claimed my father’s features. Even his eyebrows droop at the edges.
He shakes his head quickly, jowls shivering with the move. “Conflicting interests. I’m back into cocaine, so the port became important. We got in their way, and they got in ours.”
“Shit.” I rub my face.
“There was a fight at the docks. Aldo got shot, and Pietro Moretti had his skull smashed in. Johnny the Finger died too. We’ve avenged them, but this isn’t disappearing all that quickly.”
“Fuck. Why drugs again?”
“Eh, it’s a new South American connection. I was lucky, was in the right place at the right time. The offer was lucrative, it’s steady, and limited to cocaine. Keeps it nice and clean.”
“It doesn’t leave you any less fucked, though, does it?”
My father’s eyes go dark with suppressed fury, and I breathe out my own. I want to tell him I thought he was older and wiser, but it wouldn’t help the situation. The man is seventy years old. I already know I can’t change his way of thinking.
“Jesus, Dad.” My voice cracks as I think of my brother. Gioele is fighting his own demons right now. Eyes glittering with anger and violence, he’s at the center of a rip current, rebelling against our parents and his lot in life.
I think of my cousins, Gabriela and her little sister, the beautiful Silvina. Ma. I force my thoughts off the Venetians, because fear for others can make a person lose his shit.
I draw a hand over my face. La famiglia is replete with innocent children who can’t be a part of a Santa Colombini retaliation.
“Anything else I need to know?” I ask sarcastically.
“Yes. Human trafficking.”
“What the actual fuck? You’re kidding me, right?”
“It’s the Santa Colombini’s main source of income, now. They import young women from India and sell them through their hub in L.A. It was Donny that stumbled upon them at the harbor, thinking the warehouse was ours, and found it full of scared teenagers.”
“Tell me you reported them.” My voice is deceptively low.
He shakes his head, jowls doing that sideways swing again. “You’re joking, right?”
A growl surges in my throat. “This is fucking despicable.” My famiglia’s looking the other way while a ring of slave traders exploits young girls against their will. I do despicable things too, but this is so beyond anything I want to knock my father out.
He breathes quietly in through his nose and lets the air out through his mouth. I’ve seen him do this plenty of times—right before he shoots one of his own for being a traitor.
“They’re fucking barbarians. Starting with our weakest link, the Santa Colombini will hack their way through us in the most gruesome ways imaginable.” I cross my arms, continuing, “Why am I here? What do you want from me? You want me as muscle? Do you want me to send la famiglia off to safety? Non capisco. What is my place in your sick universe?”
The anger dissipates from my father’s eyes. “For now, I need you to be aware of what’s going on. Watch your back. Check your house and your businesses before entering. Check your car before driving anywhere.”
“Gabriela’s leaving for Venice in two days. Ma should go with her. Gioele, Silvina, the twins.” I rub my chin, the fast-growing stubble making a hissing sound at my touch.
Dad shakes his head. “They can as easily slash their way through us there as they can here. The Santa Colombini might even have more people in Il Veneto than in the U.S. I’d rather keep them close.”
Shit. He’s right.
I fucking hate it when my world threatens to unravel. I’m God. I’ve been God for half a decade, at the wheel, steering and ruling and getting my way, but one ridiculous step by one of my father’s goons, and we’re in this situation.
Everyone is now in danger of being blown up in a car. Shot. Sliced open. Kidnapped. Used. Fucking... sold. Oh no. No way in hell.
I call Gioele first.
“Hey. You’ve reached me, but I’m not in the mood to pick up, so stop calling. You can leave a message, I guess. If you have to.” The punk ends his auto-reply with a grumbled sigh before the beep. Again, I wonder how the girls flock to him. My brother’s rude as hell.
“Call me. Now, you piece of shit. Love you, brother.”
I call Gabriela next. “Hey. Are you okay?”
“Hey, cousin! Course, why wouldn’t I be?”
“No reason. Just checking in before your trip. How’s Zia Paula? The twins?”
“All good, sweetie. Nice of you to ask.” I can almost hear her wink; I’m not the quickest to check in with people outside of our Sunday dinners.
As discreetly as possible, I chat us through the remaining fifty family members in Southern California. It makes Gabriela laugh a couple of times, telling me how I’m starting to sound like my dad—the good side of him, she assures me. By the time we hang up, I’m relieved. Everyone’s good and accounted for.
I look around. My plan was to head to the house, but I guess I’ve planted my ass outside the main entrance of the NICU. Oh well.
I call Sister Margaret and curse when she doesn’t pick up. A short visit is all I need, just a quick feel of hot, miniscule fingers wrapping around one of mine. It’s crazy to experience firsthand how these fragile darlings are being treated; they’re the center of the universe every one of them were born to be.
Gabriela. She’s going to Venice, straight to the cradle of the Nascimbeni family, but it’s also the Santa Colombini’s. It’s more dangerous now, after my father’s run-in, but Gabriela will manage. She’ll shoot me updated visuals I’ll erase from my phone.
I don’t realize I’ve been crank-calling Sister Margaret, that I’m on my tenth redial, until she picks up the phone and yells, “You have to stop, Mr. Nascimbeni.”
“I didn’t realize you’d pick up,” I say, my voice thick.
She pauses. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. Just... I was on my way home, and thought maybe I could pop by.”
She’s quiet again. “You need it that much tonight?”
Fuck. “Just figured, you know. If there was a little one who needed company.”
I start the car again, because I can’t get any more pathetic than this. A grown man addicted to comforting tiny humans he’s not even related to. My obsession has got to have a name. Something ending with “-iac.”
“Come on up,” she says. “But just this once.”
It’s dark when I buzz myself through to the house. Once inside, I find the cat where I left it, locked in the front parlor. It mewls when it sees me. I sigh, hunker down on the floor, my back against the couch, and let it climb me. Amazing how loud such a little thing can purr. It’s a fucking machine against my throat.
Tatiana has my number, but women are capricious creatures, so who knows if she’ll show up? The goal is to get inside her mind and her panties, and so far it’s going too slowly. To keep the momentum up, I need her here tonight.
I call Bruno. “Hey. What’s she up to?”
“Nothing much. Although— Guess what she really likes?” He takes a breathless break, waiting for my answer.
I squeeze my eyes shut, suppressing my impatience. “Give it to me.”
“Her phone! Who knew nuns spent that much time calling people?”
“Wow. Are you tapping her?”
“That’s the weird part. I can’t. Last name is Gentry. Tatiana May Gentry.”
“I’m aware.”
“She’s got a regular number, but she’s calling from a flip-phone. You know what that makes me think?”
I grab the bridge of my nose, waiting for the kicker.
“That she’s got a throwaway!”
“All right. Come on, now, Bruno. Take some initiative. Track down her number.”
“You assume the costs?”
“Jesus. Of course, I do.”
“All right, all right. I’ll get it tomorrow.”
I groan. “You’ll get her number today. You’ll get me info tomorrow. Is she about to leave?”
“Yeah, she’s rummaging through her backpack, grabbing clothes and stuff. Heading toward the bathroom—to change clothes, I bet.”
“Cool. Shadow her.”
She has my address. The deal was that she’d come here right after work. Bruno thinks she shares a car with someone, because it’s hit and miss whether she gets to work in a little white vehicle or by bus. Today is a car day, so if she’s not here in twenty, I’ll be going after her.
The kitten is a monkey. It’s clawed onto my shoulder, nose against my throat, as I stand and make my way to the office. I turn on my computer and cut through the security layers to my contacts. Then, I start making calls.
“Felix? Hey. Yeah, I need your help. Your guys busy these days?”
“Good to hear from you, Isaias. Sure they are, but I’ll get you covered, whatever you need. I owe you one.”
I chuckle humorlessly. “Il Lince’s gotten la famiglia in trouble. Basically, I have four clusters of Nascimbeni family members I need backup on, fully armed and undercover.”
“No problem. You won’t see a thing. How many houses?”
“Ten total, two in Oceanside, three in Santa Barbara, and five in L.A.”
“That spread out, huh?”
“Yep. People don’t think. They just move wherever the fuck they want, not considering how they’ll always be targets. Can you spare a few for international?”
“Depends on how many you want stationed at each house.”
“Oceanside should be the safest, so two on each down there. Three on the Santa Barbara houses. They have kids who need escort to school. In L.A, whatever you can spare, the more the better. Timewise, I’m thinking a few weeks at first.”
Felix sighs. “This is gonna cost you, Isaias. I’ll give you a good price, but you’re asking for a lot of manpower, here.”
“Can you cover me or not? I’d hate to go to Rafael.”
He chuckles quietly, and I let him have his moment to think things through. “For the right price, I can. I’d have to take about a dozen of my men off a few senators, though.”
“Fine with me.” I shrug, because what do I care?
“Which means senator prices.”
“Felix, I’ve got to go. Send the estimate to McRoy, and we’ll take care of it. We’re talking hardcore bloodshed, here, and it would blow up internationally. Famiglia or not, that’d be terrible news for everyone’s business.”
I take a moment to breathe through my concern; you gotta sound like you have it together when you’re making six-figure negotiations. “I do want your best men, senator prices or not. This is my family we’re talking about. My father screwing shit up isn’t going to shorten their lives. Clear?”
“Sure is. Who are we looking for?”
I hold the phone out and stare at it, a habit from my teens while I worked for my father. Then, I bring it back to my ear. “The Santa Colombini.”
“No way.”
“Yeah. Il Lince’s guys crossed them at the harbor.”
“Sorry to hear that. Okay, I’ll get you covered. Sending the estimate to McRoy in a few. I can have the guys dispersed by the end of the day.”
“Perfect.” I’m about to hang up when I remember. “Felix. Gabriela di Nascimbeni’s the one going international. She’s heading to Venice in a few days. Can you handle that?”
“Your cousin, right?”
“Yes.”
“Il Veneto, huh? Another stronghold of both the Nascimbenis and the Santa Colombini.” I hear the question in his voice, but it’s not in his job description to discuss our moves.
“True.”
“She’ll need a good backup,” he says.
“She does. Make it three.”
I hang up, feeling substantially better when he agrees. As I type out my coded message to McRoy, another text hits my regular cell.
Isaias, this is Tatiana. I can’t make it to your place tonight.
I shoot off my message to McRoy and instantly call her.
She picks up, sounding hesitant. “Hey, who’s this?”
“Isaias. You should add me to your contacts.” I soften my demand with the tone of my voice. “Why can’t you come tonight? There’s a kitten in my house without a name. It needs its mommy.”
“It’s a she, and she’s got a name. Aurora.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Like Disney’s sleeping beauty.” She sounds like she’s smiling.
“Aurora needs her mommy.”
“She’s got her daddy. She’s probably fine.”
“That’s true,” I reply before starting the fair Tatiana on her road to surrender. “She’s been sleeping a lot today, though. She’s hardly awake. Maybe it’s a kitten thing. Also, they probably don’t eat much...” I trail off, layering concern to my pitch.
“What do you mean she’s hardly awake?”
“You know. Maybe she’s more awake while I go to work? She’s mostly curled up, asleep. Doesn’t move much. Probably just tired?” I pet the rascal snuggled around my neck. She responds with a small tongue licking my skin.
“You’re joking, right? How much has she eaten? Can you tell if she has drunk anything? What do you give her to drink anyway? She’s too little for water, I think. Pretty sure she needs kitten milk.”
I hold the phone away so I can snicker quietly. Then I bring it back to my ear. “Oh, I don’t know much about that stuff. Guess I’ll find some cream from the fridge...” Trailing off again. Pretty sure I sound lost.
“Okay! Okay. Listen up, buddy. I’ve got a gun and pepper spray, and I swear to God I’ll be using both if you as much as look at me the wrong way.”
“What is the wrong way? The way I look at you every time we meet?” I bite my lip, because hearing her huff with frustration is nice.
“I’m picking up kitten milk and the right kind of wet food. I’ll be there as soon as I can. In the meantime, keep an eye on her. Let me just tell you that if something happens to her before I get there, you’ll regret it, big time.”
I saunter through the house afterward, tidying up. Order Greek takeout, air out a bottle of wine in the kitchen, and hide the vet-approved milk and wet food in the back of a cabinet. I only leave the dry food and water out.
Pulling out a barstool, I tip the bundle of fur onto her back in my lap and pet her belly. Unfortunately, it’s so full it struts at me. “Your mamma is going to have my ass. Can you do me a favor and expel some of that before she comes?”
I set her down in the litterbox and watch her stand there, wondering what to make of it. Then, she starts trotting around in a small circle. Kicking up a miniature dust cloud, she settles in, butt low to the ground.
“That’s right. Do your thing.”
She blinks, sending me a cloudy kitten look. Once she’s done, she jumps happily out of the pan and zigzags toward the stove.
I hunch down. A tiny wet spot, that’s all. Really?
The intercom buzzes, and I chuckle at how I’m actually a little worried about Tatiana’s reaction. Hopefully, she doesn’t notice how chockfull of food this kitten is.
“Hey, bella. You look gorgeous.” I let my eyes drop down her form before returning to her face.
Her crystal-clears are part annoyed, part concerned. “Hi. Where is she?”
I open the door and show her in with an open palm. “To your left. Aurora is waiting for her mamma in the kitchen. She’s awake right now. Took a piss too.”
“She’s awake?” Tatiana walks ahead of me with a Von’s bag in her hand. “Does she seem lethargic?”
“Not sure about any of that, so I’m leaving it up to you.”
“Oh my go-o-odness. I forgot how cute she is. Oh, you. Come here.” Tatiana is wearing another pink skirt that reaches her knees. When she lowers herself to the floor, it’s into a sideways sitting position. Her top is a blouse that’s not tight enough for my taste. I can adapt, though. I have no issue imagining the curves beneath it.
“Aurora-baby. Commy here.”
Commy? I suppress a chuckle.
She scoops the thing into her hands and brings her up to her nose. That nose is button-sized. I’m a tad bit jealous when the kitten licks it with gusto.
“She seems fine!” Those fingers I’d like wrapped around vital parts of myself are now examining the fur baby with intent.
She jerks her head to me, eyes wider than usual. “She feels full. Do you think it’s gas?”
What?
“As in... that she needs to fart?” I ask. Tatiana gives me a death glare, and I honestly don’t know what I said wrong. “Just hike her over your shoulder, then, and pat her back.” I tilt a smile at her, but she doesn’t see the humor.
“What if she died now, after everything?”
Hmm. She’d be another kitten that didn’t survive? I sure as hell won’t say that. She’d cut me off forever.
“That would be very bad.” Crossing my arms, I nod for emphasis, and Tatiana’s angry greys soften in agreement.
“I don’t think the need to, um... expel air, means she’ll die,” I continue.
“And do you have a degree in veterinary sciences?” Her glare is back. Gorgeous. “Horses, for instance, can die from it. I don’t know about cats, but you can count on it being fatal for kittens if cats are prone to dying from too much air in their stomachs. Because they’re so we-e-ttle.” She chokes on the last word. Fuck. I don’t do tears.
“But it’s just a kitten.” I inhale quickly. Would be nice if the words could be inhaled too, because—death blow, anyone?
She stands, stretching as tall as she can in front of me, stare boring in so hard I feel it in my groin. Judging by her eyes, she’d rip my junk off if she knew.
“Isaias. Animals are worth much more to me, than, honestly, most people. Animals are good. If they commit ‘crimes,’ it’s because of their instincts. Humans, on the other hand?” She shakes her head. “We’re an evil bunch.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t say that often, and Tatiana has no idea how special she is for hearing it. My father, his entire organization, my mother, all of Lucid Entertainment. No one gets an I’m-sorry from me. You know what she says?
“Not good enough. Aurora is sick, and we need her fixed. What’s your plan?”
The tension in me releases; being God is nice. In most cases, all I have to do is make a call. In this case, I don’t even have to do that. Should I?
I tilt my head and study her. I suppress the urge to stroke my thumb over that surely silky cheek. She’d be furious if I did. Only, by the looks of it, knowing her kitten is fine might cause a mood change too.
“Tatiana, bella.”
She meets my stare.
“I need to confess something. Keep in mind that I could’ve taken the path of least resistance and brought Aurora and you to the vet’s. That’d be easy.”
“What are you talking about?”
I pour her a glass of wine without asking. Another one for me while she watches. Tatiana’s more patient than I would’ve been.
I pass her the glass. I don’t expect her to accept it, so I’m surprised when she does. The cat remains tucked between her hair and her collarbone.
“Come with me to the den?” To make it a question instead of a command is the hardest thing I’ve done in a while.
Frowning, she rises. I steady her glass until she’s up, then wave her forward until the kitten and the woman I crave are seated.
The view from my sectional is spectacular. The pool and the terraces under custom lighting make sure of that, and I was hoping to soften her reaction with it. For many of my women, the sight alone makes them wet, but Tatiana isn’t one of them. She’s all about the zero-dollar street cat she’s massaging like it’s the meaning of life.
“Spit it out, Isaias,” she murmurs without looking up.
“One sec.” I stalk back to the kitchen. I can’t believe I’m doing this. When have I ever been in a situation this ridiculous?