Desiree

Two men arrive late afternoon—more Tacones, judging by the resemblance. Junior seems less than enthusiastic to see them and they’re subdued as they come into Gio’s room, Junior trailing behind them. I wonder if Junior’s decision not to take Gio to a hospital was a controversial one.

I’m in the room, repacking the wound, rolling him to another side and changing out the IV bag. “Hi, boys,” I breeze, like it’s perfectly normal for a nurse to be doing home health care on a gunshot victim.

“This is Desiree,” Junior says. “She was Ma’s nurse after the hip surgery.”

Both men eye me speculatively. “I’m Stefano,” the friendlier looking one says with a Hollywood worthy smile. He holds out his hand, but I spread my gloved fingers and shake my head. Not a good time to shake.

“This is Nico,” Stefano introduces the other man, who just looks at me coolly. He’s as scary as Junior in his own way. All three are handsome as hell, but Junior’s definitely the hottest. He’s at least ten years older, and I find the age on him attractive. The slight graying at the temples and the hard lines on his face make him look more powerful. Seasoned.

“I heard all about you from your mom. You own the big casino in Vegas, right?” It’s where most the Tacone money comes from these days, if I understand correctly.

Stefano nods and they turn their attention to Gio, apparently done with me.

“Hey, Gio. You don’t look so hot,” Stefano says when Gio’s eyes flutter open. He’s been mostly out, which is to be expected. I’m keeping him on a healthy dose of pain meds and a mild sedative.

“Vaffanculo,” Gio mumbles and the two newcomers chuckle. I’m guessing it was some kind of curse.

There’s a charged silence in the room.

“Well?” Junior demands. There’s a defensive note to his voice and now I’m sure there’s conflict over how he handled this. For some reason I feel firmly on his side even though his method involved kidnapping me and making me an accessory to his crimes. It’s not super logical, but I guess I don’t like seeing him on the defensive. Not when I’ve seen how much he cares about his wounded brother. I’m sure his decision is costing him in more gray hairs.

“I’m not stupid enough to offer my opinion without you asking for it.” Nico’s tone is grim.

“Say it,” Junior growls.

“I think Gio looks like he’s in good hands,” Nico says. “But if he takes a turn for the worse, I say take him to the hospital. If the cops come asking, I’ll make sure you have the best fucking lawyer in the country there is.”

“Just say what? He got skewered roasting marshmallows?” Junior snaps.

I finish with the IV bag, but I’m nosy as hell and want to hear the conversation, so I fiddle with the medications on the dresser.

“You say nothing.”

There’s a long silence and I turn around because I get the sense they’re communicating without words. Sure enough, all eyes are on me.

“Desiree, go downstairs,” Junior says. No please, no thank you. But that’s pretty much par for the course with him.

And of course, bluster is par on my course. “Why don’t you three go downstairs?” I challenge. “My job is in this room.”

Nico and Stefano freeze and I realize I’ve made a huge mistake. Both shoot glances at Junior as if expecting he’s going to explode. Since I’m the one who mouthed off, their fear must be for me. I guess mouthing off when it’s just Junior is one thing. Mouthing off in front of others might be cause for correction.

An icy tingle races down my spine, but I toss my hair and raise my brows at Junior, keeping up my bluff.

He reaches for me, and catches my arm, but his grasp isn’t rough. He pulls me against his body, my back to his chest. One arm wraps around my waist, one hand cages my throat. Lips at my ear, he murmurs in a voice too low for the others to hear, “Baby, you are definitely getting punished for that.”

My pussy clenches at the rumble of sex in his voice.

I don’t say anything, but my breath comes in pants.

“Now listen up. We have shit to discuss, and unless you want to be more of an accessory than you already are, you need to get downstairs and out of earshot, capiche?”

The hand around my throat isn’t tight at all, and his thumb lifts to stroke the side of my jaw—a lover’s caress. Our backs are to the others, so it feels like a secret message to me. He’s seeking my compliance without losing face.

“Would it kill you to say please or thank you?” I mutter. I don’t know why I’m so stubborn—it’s just in my genes, I guess.

I feel his smile against my temple. “Per favore.” He releases me and I spin around and smirk, far too pleased with myself for getting a concession from this hard man. Of course, he has to go and smack my ass as I head out of the room, settling the score back firmly in his favor.

Pues. Now I know the truth. Junior Tacone gives the girl he’s screwing more leeway than his own brothers.

And I kind of love that.

I go downstairs and search Junior’s cabinets for something to make for dinner. He has pasta, so I put a pot of water on to boil. I’d unpacked fresh sausages from the groceries Paolo brought earlier—apparently he considers them a staple. I smile to myself at these Italian boys. They fit the stereotype in absolutely every way. It’s so cliché it’s almost funny.

The men come down about forty minutes later. Stefano wanders into the kitchen while Nico and Junior remain out in the living room, talking.

“We’re taking off.”

“Yeah? How long are you in town for?”

“We’re flying back tonight. Gotta run the business. Listen, you take good care of my brother, okay?”

I stop pushing the sausages around the frying pan and turn to face him. “Gio’s going to recover,” I promise. I’ve seen enough of these cases. I mean something could go wrong, but he’s got a really great chance of making a full recovery.

“I meant Junior,” Stefano corrects and I gape in surprise. He winks at me. “He has a real thing for you,” he says. “I haven’t seen him like this with a woman before.”

I still can’t seem to speak, I just stand there with my mouth open, wooden spatula in my hand.

“I hope you’ll forgive him for shoehorning you into this.”

I swallow.

He shrugs. “Well, it looks like you’re already busting his balls on a daily basis, so I probably don’t need to worry too much about you, right? You have our stronzo brother handled better than any of us.”

“What’s stronzo?”

He grins. “Asshole.”

“Stefano, get the fuck away from her,” Junior growls from the living room.

His grin widens, and he throws his hands out, Italian style. “What? I’m not flirting. I’m engaged—you know that. Just giving her a few pointers for handling you.” He winks at me again and turns, sauntering out in his thousand dollar suit and shiny dress shoes.

Junior comes into the doorway and gives me a suspicious up and down sweep with his eyes before seeing them to the door. While he’s gone, I plate the food for us and set it on the table, then sit down and start eating.

Junior

Madonna, she cooks.

She cooks, she cleans, she’s a better nurse than Florence fucking Nightingale. Where did this woman come from? It’s stupid, but the fantasy of keeping her here beyond Gio’s recovery flashes through my mind.

Desiree waiting at the door for me in nothing but high heels and her lacy bra and panties, a drink in hand. Desiree on her knees, taking my cock deep while I conduct business on my phone.

It’s wrong and fucked up and so damn appealing.

I get a hunk of parmesan from the cheese drawer in the fridge and bring it to the table with the grater.

She grins. “Right. I forgot the cheese.”

“What’s funny?”

“I just figured there were risks in preparing Italian food for a Sicilian. I knew you’d get me on something.”

I grate cheese on both our plates, then open a bottle of red wine, pour each of us a glass, and sit down. “I’m not getting you on anything.” I take a bite and nearly groan with appreciation. She added fresh garlic and maybe some wine to the sauce and it’s absolute perfection. “At least not on your cooking.”

She meets my gaze, the usual challenge there. “Yeah, well, if you want some scared little bunny who jumps and scurries every time you give an order, she isn’t me.”

I shovel another bite of food in my mouth. It’s so delicious. “We’ll talk about it later,” I promise. My words have the intended effect. Her nipples poke through the fabric of her bra, tenting the fresh scrubs she put on after we went to her apartment.

Remembering her admonishment earlier, about me not saying please and thank you, I make an effort. The words are rusty on my lips—she’s right, I’m out of the habit of using them. “Thank you for cooking, doll. This food is delicious.”

She raises her eyebrows. “A compliment from his highness. I can’t believe it.”

I shake my head. “Keep pushing it, bambina. I promise I will make you good and sorry.”

Her pupils dilate and she takes a healthy gulp of wine.

“So what’s the scoop with your brothers? You guys don’t all get along?”

I sigh and reach for my wine, sitting back. “Nah. Not really.”

“How many brothers do you have?”

“Four. I’m the oldest. Then Paolo, then Gio. Nico and Stefano are the youngest. I got forced into the mold my father made for me. Stepped into his shoes when he went to prison. Nico and Stefano, they never wanted to be part of the Family business. Nico’s smart as fuck. Honestly, he probably would’ve made the best don out of all of us, but he had no interest. And things don’t work that way anyway—it’s all about birth order.”

I stop and take a long sip of wine. I can’t believe I’m telling her all this. It’s not like me to make small talk with anyone, and I definitely never spill my guts. And talking about Family? It’s forbidden. But she’s watching me with such interest, warmth pouring out of those chocolate brown eyes. It’s not just easy to talk to her—I want to tell her everything.

“Anyway, Nico concocted this plan to take the gambling side of business to Vegas where it’s legal. He invested Family money and made a goddamn fortune. That place makes hundreds of millions a year. And it’s all legal.”

I don’t know why I’m gratified that Desiree doesn’t seem overly impressed. She doesn’t jump in with questions about the casino like most people do when they find out our brother runs the Bellissimo.

“The money comes to all of you, or just him?”

Astute question.

“All of us. Of course, Nico holds a huge percentage of the corporation, but it was Family money that started the business. We all get fat dividends.”

“So what business do you run here that gets your brother shot? Nevermind, I know you can’t tell me.” She dabs her lips with a paper napkin. “But really—couldn’t you just retire?”

I shake my head, the familiar ache starting between my eyes. The one that’s there every time I think about Family business. “My father left me to run things. He wants all his business ventures in place when he gets out.”

She tilts her head to the side, chewing on a bite of pasta. “I see.” After a moment, she says, “Seems like you and Gio and Paolo carry all the risk and Nico and Stefano carry the reward.”

Something akin to relief runs through me hearing her say it that way. Sometimes I feel like fucking Cain, jealous of my brother’s successes. I’m shackled here, running an outdated, old school business that’s dangerous as hell. They’re living glamour, money, and sex in Vegas.

And they’ve made it plain they don’t want my help or interference there.

“When does your dad get out?”

“He’s got twelve more years on his sentence. He could get out early on good behavior, but I doubt he will. It would be bad press to let a known mobster out.”

“Seriously? Twelve years? Your dad has to be what—in his sixties?”

I nod. “Sixty-five.”

“So he’ll be seventy-seven when he gets out. You really think he’s going to still want to run the business? Won’t he want to take all those millions and retire in Cabo or something?”

I shake my head. “You don’t know my dad. Family business was everything to him. His whole identity. Plus, it’s about community service to him. He believes it’s our job to still protect the old neighborhoods. To keep the gangs out, keep the innocent pure. It’s old-fashioned, but…I don’t know.” I down my wine and pour another glass. “There’s honor in it.”

Desiree’s face goes soft. “Yeah, I guess there is. You guys are like throwbacks to another time. Warriors who protect your people and keep the order. Your own law.”

I rub my eyes when they unexpectedly sting. Upstairs, Gio groans.

Desiree jumps up from the table. “I’ll go look in on him.”

“I’ll clean up,” I tell her.

Heaviness descends on me as I pick up the dishes. As I’m cleaning up, a text comes through from Earl.

Call me for the information you requested.

I step outside the front door to call him in case there’s anything I don’t want Desiree to hear.

“What do you have?”

“Okay, Desiree Lopez. RN at Cook County. Lives on 22nd. You probably already know all that. She’s thirty-two. Married at age twenty-six to one Abe Bennett. A low life construction worker and convicted felon. Divorced him last year. The guy is currently wanted for abducting their kid.”

“What?”

Merde. I’m gonna kill the bastard.

“Yeah. Five-year-old Jasper Lopez. Last year she was granted full custody on the grounds that her ex was a convicted cocaine dealer and refused to take a urine test to prove he was clean. Two months later, he picked the kid up from preschool and disappeared. That was six months ago.

“Desiree was working for Cook County then, but she quit to try to find the kid. When her savings ran out, she did some home healthcare work, including for some schmutz named Santo Tacone, Junior—you know him? Heh. Anyway, she did that until Cook County hired her back two months ago.

“She’s hired the lame-ass private investigator Terry Ryan to find him. Guy’s been charging her monthly, and obviously still no kid. Her other bills include student loans from nursing school, her apartment and utilities, cell phone. She has about five grand in credit card debt. That’s about it. Doesn’t look like she has any hobbies other than work, finding her kid, and Zumba classes that are free through the hospital wellness plan.”

Desiree. Knowing the source of her struggle—and I knew there had to be one because she’s too smart and talented to have such a shit life—makes me root for her even more.

“I want you to find the boy.”

“Jasper?”

“Yeah. Put every resource you have on it. Hire other P.I.s—I’ll pay for it. Find her stronzo ex. Capiche?”

“You got it. Can I talk to Desiree to get more information?”

“No. Just find the kid.”

“Oh yeah, it’s that easy. I’ll just magically produce him.”

“You telling me you can’t handle this job?” I snap. I might let Desiree give me shit. I sure as hell don’t let private dicks speak with disrespect.

“No, no, no. Don’t get your feathers ruffled. I’ll find the kid.”

“Watch the attitude, Earl. And I want regular updates.”

“You’ll get them.”

“Good.” I end the call but I don’t go back inside. Not until I’m sure I won’t look at Desiree with sympathy—which I know she’d hate.

Cristo. She shouldn’t have to suffer like this. To have her own child ripped from her.

Well, fuck. I know something about that, don’t I? The ache from Mia’s death rips through my chest.

But her child is still alive, and I’m sure as hell going to make sure she gets him back.