Impossible Odds: A Mafia Romance (The Five Families Book 4)

by Jill Ramsower

  “I know, I know,” he cut me off as I began to blather about my mother’s pretend birthday. She’d turned fifty years ago, but the party had been the best excuse I’d come up with on the spot when Roger had initially asked me to accompany him on the trip. There was no way in hell I was traveling with the man. Fortunately, he hadn’t bothered verifying my story, so I continued to uphold the ruse.

  “You told me already. Well, get over here and let’s run through everything one more time before I head to the airport.” He waved me over with a frown, clearly disgruntled I hadn’t caved to his pressure to accompany him.

  The project was a relatively minor remodel proposal for a building in Brooklyn owned by a corporation headquartered on the opposite coast. I’d worked on the project along with a couple other people from our team. It was too small-scale for Roger to do the grunt work, but he was presenting our proposal because the contact was a friend of his. We had already given him all the pertinent information on multiple occasions, so I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say.

  The chairs had been pulled around to clump on my side of the table with the various documents and exhibits spread out for viewing from the other side. His setup left little option except to come around to his side of the table, but I kept as much distance between us as was reasonably possible.

  “It looks like everything is here,” I offered as I perused the materials.

  “What about the schedule of work?” he asked as he leaned forward to retrieve the document. “I noticed we listed a completion timeframe of six months, but I thought we had discussed moving that out to nine.” His right hand snaked out to curl around my waist and pull me next to him while his other hand held out the document as if showing me its contents was the purpose behind his flagrant violation of my personal space.

  Stunned by his action, I took the papers and stared at them dumbly. I didn’t see the words on the page—I was entirely focused inside my head where my thoughts raced at a frenzied pace in an attempt to grasp my situation. My boss’s hand lingered at my lower back, the insidious warmth seeping into my skin, before slowly dropping down to caress over the curve of my ass cheek.

  I ceased breathing, and my ears began to ring.

  His repulsive touch in such a private area made my skin crawl, but I couldn’t seem to move a muscle.

  I was frozen—horror battling with mortification.

  The glass walls gave me a perfect view of the bustling office where a dozen employees scurried about their business. Never in a thousand years had I imagined he would make a move on me in plain sight of our coworkers, but he’d done a masterful job keeping his actions unseen. To all the world, we looked as though we were simply examining a document—his wandering hand only visible to the New York skyline out our tenth-floor windows.

  “Um … we decided … to subcontract the welding work,” I sputtered out. “Our guys will be busy on the Merchant project. Outsourcing will enable us to keep the six-month timeline the client requested.” As I said the words, I frantically debated what to do. If I allowed him to continue touching me, it would no doubt encourage the asshole to take more liberties. If I confronted him or in any way made a scene, the entire office would know in seconds. Before I had a chance to decide, the intercom in his office crackled to life.

  “Mr. Coleman, your flight leaves in two hours.”

  The instant his assistant, Beverly, began to speak, I pulled out of his grasp and fled the office. Bypassing my own office, I hurried to the restrooms and locked myself in a stall. Leaning against the door, head back and eyes closed, I tried to regulate my erratic heartrate.

  Did that really just happen?

  Could I have imagined the whole thing? Surely, my boss hadn’t assaulted me in front of the entire office. As much as I wished it had been a nightmare, it wasn’t. Each agonizing second had played out in living color, and I had stood immobile like a squirrel starring down an approaching car. What was wrong with me? Why hadn’t I pulled away instantly? Why hadn’t I turned in his balding ass months ago to HR? I’d had my reasons, but they seemed less and less valid with each new day. My conflict and self-doubt brought on a barrage of guilt and blame that bowed my shoulders with their oppressive weight.

  I needed to get out of the building.

  I exited the stall and went through the motions of washing my hands before walking to my office with my eyes lowered to the geometric patterns of the grey commercial carpeting. Grabbing my phone, I texted my cousin to move up our lunch date, then snagged my purse and scurried out of my office. Normally, I would inform a coworker if I was leaving early, but I couldn’t do it. I felt exposed—like anyone who looked at me would know what I had allowed to happen. I couldn’t force myself to take that chance—to let them see the shame in my eyes. Instead, I kept my head down and hurried out the closest exit.

  I couldn’t allow my boss’s behavior to continue.

  The realization was daunting.

  I had a number of options on how to handle the situation but wasn’t sure which would be best. My one saving grace—he would be gone for the rest of the week, so I didn’t have to face the issue immediately. I wasn’t normally the type to procrastinate, but in this case, I would put off dealing with him as long as I could. I shoved the incident into a dark corner of my mind—somewhere next to the misery of my first period and getting lost as a child in the subway.

  Aside from my boss, I loved my job. Marketing in and of itself was enjoyable, but marketing on behalf of my father’s company gave the job added meaning. Call me a goody-two-shoes, but I’d always been the parent-pleasing child who desperately wanted to make Mom and Dad proud. More specifically, it was my dad I endeavored to impress.

  He was a tough nut to crack.

  If I came home with a ninety-nine on my report card as a child, he would tell me ‘good job’ but always ask why it wasn’t a one-hundred. Vicenzo Genovese expected nothing less than the best, which is why I started at the bottom of the totem pole and had been working my way up. He wasn’t the type to plant his daughter in a vice president’s position straight out of school. He made it clear from day one when I expressed an interest in working for Triton Construction that I would have to earn my job.

  You can’t know how to lead if you never learned how to follow.

  Those were some of his favorite words.

  Words I had taken to heart.

  As I stepped into the elevator and turned back to face the lobby, my chest swelled with pride for the organization I would someday help run. Triton was tangible for me—not only could I point to the buildings we created all over the city, but we provided the income that supported our employees and donated millions of our profits to charitable causes. I viewed the company as a living thing and wanted nothing more than to foster its growth.

  Whatever trials I had to surmount to call Triton my own were worth the effort. The thought brought a small smile to my face as I exited the elevator onto the second floor. The building was designed with a grand lobby on the first floor, flanked by two elegantly curved escalators on either side. The main elevators traveled to the first floor, but I preferred to exit on the second floor and ride the escalators down to the lobby so I could peruse the bustling activity on my way down.

  My eyes danced from one person to the next as I scanned the occupants of the lofty room. A woman sporting sneakers with her high-powered suit stepped onto the opposite escalator going up. I wondered if she was health conscientious or merely late when she powered up the escalator, swiftly climbing each step in quick succession.

  A heavyset man paced in the center of the room, phone held to his ear, arm waving animatedly in the air as he broadcasted his conversation for the world to hear. Living in the city, many residents learn to ignore the constant presence of others and carry on as if they were in a room by themselves. My parents ingrained a sense of propriety in us girls that made it impossible for me to forget the myriad of people around me. This man clearly had no such inhibitions.

  As my
eyes wandered toward the front of the lobby, they were instantly drawn to a man in a deep blue suit, striding purposefully away from the security post. At first, I glanced around half expecting a movie crew to be filming him. He was masculine beauty personified—dark hair, perfectly styled back, closely cropped on the sides, a dusting of dark hair on his angular jaw, and deep-set eyes that didn’t stray from his intended destination across the lobby.

  The man’s suit fit his form without any extra length in the legs or sagging in the shoulders—it had to have been tailor-made. The fabric had a hint of a sheen, giving the suit an expensive look even from a good distance away. He didn’t wear a tie, just a white dress shirt with the top button undone. His gait was deliberate but not hurried, easy confidence wafting from him like steam from a rain-soaked summer street.

  I had never seen the man before. I’d come to recognize many of the building’s occupants, but there was no chance I would have forgotten this man. My eyes were glued to him as he strode a dozen paces between the escalators and passed the man on the phone. I was so enthralled in his sight, I didn’t notice the end of my ride and stumbled forward as my foot hit the solid floor at the end of the escalator. I would have been mortified if he had noticed, so I didn’t dare look back. Instead, I lifted my chin and continued on, hoping to exude the same sense of poise and control I had just witnessed in him.

  Once I was out on the sidewalk, I shook my head, unable to stifle a laugh at my own expense. I might as well have been a child gawking at the toys on display in the window of an FAO Schwarz. I hadn’t been that captivated by a man in … I wasn’t sure I’d ever been so entranced by a man. It was a shame, too. So many eligible options in the city, and so few were of interest.

  I walked the block over to where I had plans with my cousin, Giada, for lunch. She’d been my best friend for as long as I could remember. Our mothers were sisters-in-law, and we were born one month apart. Where she was the oldest of three girls, I was the middle, but our personalities had always been perfectly suited.

  It was as if we were born to be close friends—soul sisters.

  We ate lunch together at least once a week, often at the same deli where I was currently headed. It was close to my office and had the best Kaiser rolls around. I reached the place first after moving up our lunch so unexpectedly. Grabbing one of the four tiny tables inside, I played a game on my phone while I waited.

  I’d never been big on social media. My parents didn’t let us girls get on Myspace or Facebook when we were younger, and now that I was on my own, it had never felt all that necessary. Outside of Giada, I didn’t have a ton of friends, which was fine with me. I had two sisters and three female cousins—that was plenty of girl drama in my life.

  “Hey cuz, what’s going on? Hope you didn’t have to wait long. I got here as quickly as I could.” Giada plopped down in the seat across from me, impeccably dressed, as always, long auburn hair falling in thick waves down her back.

  “Hey G! Not long at all. Sorry to spring the time change on you.”

  “Not a problem. I hope everything’s okay.”

  “Yes and no. Let’s grab our sandwiches, and I’ll tell you about it over lunch.”

  “Please tell me it’s not your dickhead of a boss again.”

  I rolled my eyes and grabbed her hand. “Food first, then talk.”

  We ordered and took our food back to the table as the deli slowly began to fill with people on their lunch hour. I quietly relayed the events of the morning, attempting to keep the conversation just between us in a restaurant the size of a shoebox.

  Giada was fuming by the time I finished. She was the only person I had told about my lascivious boss and knew about each of his disgusting antics. “Al, I know you want to be respected at work, but you can’t let that man keep doing this shit.”

  “I know. I realize it’s not going to stop if I don’t do something about it. You know how hard I’ve worked to make a name for myself at Triton. Even then, there are still people who whisper that I’ve gotten where I am because I’m the boss’s daughter. I wanted to handle the situation on my own and not have to raise a stink, but I’m out of options.”

  “You don’t have to raise a stink, just tell your dad. He’ll fire that guy’s ass in a heartbeat—no one has to know why.” In theory, her suggestion seemed like the easy answer; however, life was rarely so simple.

  “You remember in high school when Mindy Jenkins kept trying to fight me and bullied me every chance she could get?”

  “That bitch made your life hell—of course, I remember!”

  “Then you should remember that not long after it started, I tried to get my dad to help me. There was a planning meeting after school for an upcoming dance, and I tried to avoid going so I could stay away from Mindy. Not only did my dad refuse to help, he insisted I go to the meeting. He told me there were always going to be hard situations in life, and if he went around fixing things for me, I’d never learn how to handle them on my own. I know he’d want me to deal with Roger myself, so that’s what I’ve been trying to do. Clearly, not effectively, but I was trying. Plus, if I run to daddy for help, everyone in the office will see me as a spoiled kid.”

  “What does it matter what those people think?”

  “It matters because they’ll never respect me if they think I didn’t earn my job.”

  “They don’t have to respect you.” Her bright red lips lifted in a smirk. “They just have to work for you.”

  “Says the woman who’s never worked a day in her life,” I smiled back teasingly, knowing the comment wouldn’t bother her in the slightest.

  “You should be so lucky … oh, wait—you are! You have plenty of money; you don’t need to deal with this bullshit.”

  “What am I supposed to do, go shopping and host parties all my life? I’m not my mother, that’s not enough for me.”

  “Too bad,” she mused. “I’ll have to find someone else to accompany me on my shopping runs and spa treatments.”

  “Whatever. That’s not you either, and you know it.” I narrowed my eyes and tossed one of my chips at her.

  She laughed, her vibrant green eyes shining. “I know no such thing. What I do know is if you don’t do something about that boss of yours, I’m going to come up there and raise holy hell. Got it?”

  “I get it,” I smiled at my best friend. “And I promise I’ll file a complaint with HR. In the meantime, he’s gone for the rest of the week!”

  “Fabulous! We should take a long lunch break and hit Saks later this week.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “So, is that a yes?”

  I threw my head back and laughed. “Yes, I think that could be arranged.”

  “Boom! Now, get your ass back to work and file that damn complaint,” she ordered with every ounce of moxie in her five-foot frame.

  “Yes, sir, Colonel, sir.” I saluted her as I stood, then hugged my amazing friend. Not every girl was lucky enough to have a Giada in their life. I thanked my lucky stars on a daily basis that I’d somehow managed to score the best cousin ever.

  I walked back into work feeling optimistic and empowered. I would file the dreaded HR complaint and finally get Roger out of my life. There would be interviews and an inter-office investigation, but it would be worth it in the long run. Inappropriate comments were one thing, openly assaulting me was an entirely different can of worms. Not to say the comments were acceptable, but they hadn’t seemed nearly as threatening when his assaults were purely verbal.

  When I rounded the corner toward our offices, my eyes found Roger’s assistant, Beverly. She was a middle-aged woman who was pleasant enough, but I’d never spent all that much time talking to her. Roger preferred to work directly with me, of course, and Beverly mostly kept to herself. She peered up at me from her desk and gave me a tight smile that was laden with pity.

  She knew.

  It was there, etched in each of her features, leaving no room for question. She had called into the office
as a distraction, knowing exactly what Roger had been doing.

  A blur of emotions turned the lunch in my stomach into a heavy lump—gratitude to the older woman for helping me and excruciating embarrassment. We both knew I wasn’t to blame, but that didn’t stop the waves of shame from bringing a heated glow to my skin as I scurried into my office.

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