by Ginger Ring
“See?” Her eyes widened. “You’re a protector. A hero out to save girls at sweet sixteen parties.”
Arlo tugged at his collar. He needed to go in. Get away from this exasperating yet intriguing young woman. “I’m no hero.”
“I’ll prove it.” She took off running down the stairs of the patio, her heels clicking before she stopped and tore them off her bare feet.
“Wait.” He cursed and glanced at the heavens. What was she up to now?
“What for?” She stopped and turned his way. “Are you going to dance with me now?”
“Hell no.” Arlo plopped a fist on the railing. Where the fuck was this girl’s father? He didn’t have time for this shit.
The girl spun around and started running again.
“Hey, where are you going?” He said it loud enough for her to hopefully hear but not draw attention from the ballroom.
“To the lake for a swim,” she yelled.
“Lake Michigan? It’s too damn cold for that and you better be a good swimmer.” The lake was brutal on a good day.
“I can’t swim at all.” She tossed back. Her hair flowing as she ran.
What the fuck? He paced.
That was it, the girl was obviously insane and that’s why her dad didn’t care what she did, but for some unknown reason, he did. Arlo leaped down the stairs, took off on a run, and snared her arm before she could hit the beach. He swung her around and held her tight so she couldn’t go anywhere.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” This time he took her by the arms and gave her a good shake. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”
“No, I did it to prove a point.” She looked him straight in the eye.
“And what god damn point would that fucking be?” Arlo saw red. The fact that she would so recklessly sprint toward the water still had his heart racing. What if the girl had slipped and been swept away? He tried to brush it aside that he was only thinking about himself and that he’d be the one that would have to bring her lifeless body back to the party but it was more than that. The little dark-haired beauty saw him, spoke to him, and it wasn’t the way that others did. She spoke his language. It made no sense whatsoever. She was a child and a crazy one at that. “Again, what point would you have to make that would be worth risking your life?”
She pulled away from his grasp and started to walk backwards to the house. “That I was right?”
“About what?” If she didn’t speak up soon, he’d shake it out of her.
“That I was right. You are a protector, a hero. You just don’t know it.”
“I’m no such thing.” He stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. Time behind bars had crippled him. Left invisible scars that she couldn’t see.
“A coward would have walked away. You didn’t even think, you just came to my rescue.” She rubbed her arms as if cold and headed toward the house.
“Anyone would have done the same.” Arlo trailed her up the steps. Determined to make sure she went inside.
Picking up her shoes, she held the railing and slipped them on. “Are you sure about that?” She stood looking up at him. There was an elegance about her, even in her youth. Arlo shrugged and glanced away. He’d been away too long if this was the way young people acted. Games were for kids and he was a man. “Arlo Brunetti,” he glanced up when she called his name, “I will have that dance.” She swung around and ran into the building.
He waited ten minutes before returning to the ball room. The last thing he needed was to be accused of spending time with some capo’s daughter. Crazy or non-crazy. Spying Roman by the bar again, he hurried to his side.
“Where you been?” Roman lifted a beer to his lips.
“Out.”
“Out where?”
“Outside getting some air.” He took a seat on a nearby barstool. This night couldn’t end fast enough. “Are we almost done here?”
“Yeah, the birthday girl gets to dance with whoever she wants and then we can go.”
The music stopped as Bruno Rinaldi took the microphone and walked to the center of the dance floor. He made a short speech thanking everyone for coming, asking them to remove their masks, and then introducing his daughter for the final dance of the night.
Arlo did a double take when he saw who the man’s daughter was. There in the middle of the room next to her dad was the same girl he’d just chased down the beach before she could jump into one of the Great Lakes. Oh, fuck. The girl was Layla Rinaldi. It was her sweet sixteen party they were at. He rubbed his eyes. How had he missed that? Probably because when she’d been introduced earlier in the evening, he’d been wallowing in misery too much to notice, plus she’d been wearing a mask.
“Layla, of the many young, handsome men here tonight, who would you like to dance with?” Her proud father waved his hand at the crowd. A few guys of various ages puffed up their chests, eager for the chance. As the daughter of a powerful don, the man that caught her eye would move up the ladder fast. Young soldiers would kill for the chance to take on that role. Not to mention, she was a beautiful young woman.
Bruno bent his head to hear his daughter’s response. Like all bosses he had that classic poker face that never showed emotion but even Arlo could see the man was not happy with her choice.
The man straightened and smoothed his tie. The smile that crossed his face did not reach to his eyes.
“This should be interesting.” Roman jabbed him in the side with his elbow. “Poor bastard that ends up with her will have Bruno breathing down his neck for weeks to come.”
“That or get promoted for taking the girl off his hands.” Arlo turned away. He couldn’t care less who she picked, yet he did. It’d been the first time in a long time he’d spent time with someone besides Roman who really wanted to be with him, even if it had only been for a few minutes. Maybe he was making something out of nothing, he was four years older, for Christ’s sake, but in a few years… He looked back at the circus going on the in the middle of the room. A photographer stood by to catch all the highlights of the evening. Circus, indeed. Arlo reached for his glass.
“I welcome you all to join in the last dance of the night but first we give the birthday girl a moment to dance with her choice. My lovely daughter, the birthday girl,” he grinned in her direction and this time his love and admiration had reached his eyes, “has chosen Arlo Brunetti.”
A hushed gasp sounded in the large room.
“Damn.” Roman exhaled and Arlo nearly choked on this drink.
Chapter Three
Present day
Layla
Layla was a Rinaldi, yet here she was again spending more and more time with the Caponellis. They were family by blood in an odd sort of way. A few years ago, there was a marriage contract set up between her family and theirs. Roman was to marry the daughter of Bruno Rinaldi. There were other business-related things involved in the union but marrying Roman was something Layla never wanted to be a part of.
Sure, he was a handsome man by anyone’s standards. She’d have been respected and well taken care of for the rest of her life but that was not the best reason to marry anyone. Layla even came to Genoa to plead her case only to find out that Roman also was not interested in marriage. In fact, he’d fallen for a local woman named Madison.
Unfortunately, neither of them had any choice in the matter. It was said that if Roman didn’t go through with the marriage to her, he would be killed. How barbaric! Layla craved someone who wanted to marry her, not one in love with someone else. It went so far as the wedding day being planned and the invites being sent out.
Imagine her relief, not to mention Roman’s, when Madison’s mother, Connie, finally revealed that Bruno was also Maddy’s father. She had a half-sister! Being the daughter of a Rinaldi, Madison was able to marry the man she loved. Layla had been a bridesmaid and gotten to later dance with the man who’d never been far from her mind. A man who probably still thought of her as child, despite being only four years younger than he. She crossed
her legs and slid her fork around her plate.
Today Stephanie Barclay married Dominic Scarlatti, the cleaner for the mob. That man was hot as sin and scary as hell. Layla took another sip of champagne. Her father had left her alone after the marriage between Madison and Roman but just the other day he pointed out that she was nearing thirty and should start thinking about finding a man. Madison was now a Caponelli and Layla was the lone person who would reign over the Rinaldi clan. In his mind, she needed a strong man beside her to keep things under control once he was gone. Not to mention it was unheard of for a woman to run a mafia family. She would need a fierce husband to rule beside her and protect her. Not to brag, but there was a long line of eager beavers that would love that opportunity. Yet, it was the power they wanted, not her.
Layla had learned at an early age that not all the men who asked her out were interested in her. She looked down at her bare left hand. They wanted the influence that came with their ring on her finger. Whomever she married would rule the Rinaldi empire worth millions of dollars, if not more.
Not too long ago, their biggest rival, Fedor Dubnikov, had phoned her one night to ask for a date. As if she would go out with a member of the Bratva. It was rumored mental illness ran in that family and their cruelty was legendary. How he got her number was beyond her.
The problem with Fedor was the guy wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d sent flowers to the house, which she kept. He’d sent jewelry, which she returned. When the man called for the second time, she told him she was spoken for. Layla wasn’t one to ever lie but the guy was scary with a capital S. Even then he pressed for the man’s name. She should have hung up but Layla represented her family and therefore must be civil even to their enemies. Fedor did not live by the same code. The nutjob scared her and she didn’t frighten easily.
He insisted she give him the name of the man she was dating. There was no one but she had to tell him something. Layla gave him the only name she could think of that would make Fedor get off her back — Arlo Brunetti. The man she’d asked to dance at her sweet sixteen, the man she had secretly yearned for every night since, and the man currently sitting next to her at the wedding reception.
Layla risked a glance in his direction. Arlo was nursing a brandy and tracing a fingertip around the edge of the glass. It was hard to guess what might be going through his mind. He was a man of few words. What would he do if Arlo found out he was probably a target now for being her secret love interest? It was a given she needed to alert him and Roman of that recent development before the day was through.
After her birthday party so many years ago, she hadn’t seen him again until turning up in Genoa one day to plead with Roman for an out from their arranged marriage. At first, she didn’t recognize him. Her girlish daydreams still pictured him as the young man who’d come to her rescue when she was at her loneliest, but he’d matured and was even more dream worthy. The guy was well past six foot and had shoulders that seemed too wide to fit through an average doorway. He’d grown a short beard. It seemed like most of Roman’s crew had one now. It was as if moving to the Wisconsin tourist town had caused them all to want to blend in with the ‘up north’ group.
Layla looked toward the groom. Madison always joked that Dominic appeared to be a cross between a lumberjack and a serial killer. He was often seen in plaid flannel shirts and blue jeans—a stark contrast to the other guys in their designer Italian suits. Arlo tapped his fingers on the table. The man was bored. Clearly a wedding was not where he wanted to be at the present moment. Her lips parted and she leaned closer.
“Want to grab a bottle of wine and go to my room?” Layla placed an elbow on the table and a hand on his thigh.
His only response was to shake his head, pick up her hand, and place it on her leg. It was a game they’d played ever since reuniting those few short years ago. He obviously still thought of her as a child and she was more determined than ever to make him see her as a woman. Sitting so close, Layla continued to study his features. To her he was handsome. He lacked the model good looks of Jasper but sizzled strength and testosterone. The piney scent of his aftershave had her yearning for a romp in the woods.
Reaching for the butter, it was hard to miss the tan forearm in front of her. His skin was tan, muscle lean, under a dusting of dark hair. Layla took a long drink of water just imagining what the rest of him would be like. Clearing her throat, she turned her attention to his face. Cold dark eyes that she’d love to see flicker with interest. A straight nose and full lips. Her eyes focused on his mouth. Whenever he flashed that sexy smirk, it nearly brought her to her knees. It was hard not to stare whenever he was near.
“What?” He’d wiped his chin with a blue cloth napkin and tossed it on his plate. “Do I have food on my face?”
“Someday you’re going to fall head over heels for me.” Layla continued the assault. “You know I’m right.” It was her goal in life to throw the man off balance. She lusted after him like he was air. She wanted to breathe him in and forever keep him near her heart. It was hard to say what caused her obsession. Maybe it was the chase, or the fact that Bruno would never approve of their match. Maybe it was the way he seemed to feel her, understand her. It was hard to say. Either way, he was the only man that she’d ever been truly interested in. Having been raised by her father, she was always taught to be direct but even that didn’t seem to catch his attention.
“Maybe I already have.” He flashed the smirk she was just thinking about before turning it into a frown.
“What?” So transfixed on him, she forgot what she’d said.
“Maybe I already have fallen for you.” He winked.
“Really?” It was too much to hope that he’d suddenly changed his mind about her but she swooned just the same.
“Layla, you’re a tease. I’m sure you say stuff like that to all the guys.” Her hopes dashed as he shook his head and downed his drink.
“No, I don’t.” His comment irked her. Turning away, she pouted. This was the extent of their contact for the past couple of years. She made passes and innuendoes that he easily avoided. Sure, the man was nice, polite, even courteous as he made brief conversation but in a way it was true. Maybe she was a tease. They’d never have a chance to get to know each other better. Her home was Chicago and his was here. Two separate families that were connected yet very much apart.
“Layla, can you help us get a few things ready before we go on the cruise?” It was Maddy.
“Sure, if it’s okay with my boyfriend here.” Layla nodded in Arlo’s direction. Even if it would never be true, she could at least torment him a bit more and hope.
“Layla.” Arlo motioned a server for another drink and shook his head. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a flirt?” The twinkle in his eyes made her heart race. It was brief moments like this that had her convinced they could make something work despite the distance. There was a connection, she could feel it.
“Oh Arlo.” She rose and cupped his cheek with her palm. The short beard felt soft and tempting. “I only flirt with you.”
“Come on, Lay, let’s go.” Maddy dragged her away by the arm. When they were safely away, her half-sister whispered in her ear. “You really need to have a serious talk with him someday and tell him how you really feel.”
“I do. Every time I see him, I tell him exactly how I feel.” Maddy had invited her to a girls’ weekend a year ago and Layla had finally told her the story of their first meeting. Her sister, always the matchmaker, had been pushing them together ever since but Arlo clearly had not taken the bait.
“Sometimes guys need to be shown instead of told.” Her sister put an arm over her shoulder. “You know as well as I do that Arlo’s not a talker, he’s a doer.”
“Well, I wish he would do me.” Her face turned bright red and she quickly added, “I wish he would just ask me out on a date. Dinner, bingo, anything.” Layla turned her head and was thrilled to see him still watching them.
“Why not ask him yourself
?” Madison nodded his direction.
Everything always seemed too easy to Madison and things had a way of falling into place for her. The woman basically ran into her future husband at a coffee shop. For pretty much her whole life Layla was sheltered and not allowed to do much of anything without her father’s approval. It may be the twenty-first century but the mafia had traditions that went way back. She’d followed the rules like a proper young woman. After Bruno was reunited with Madison’s mother, he seemed to forget she existed, except to remind her she needed to find a husband and fast.
For years, Layla had drifted from project to project, looking for something to occupy her time and prove her worth to her father. Math had always come easily to her so he trusted her with the books and accounts. She found ways that costs could be cut and also suggested ways to make more money.
Her only true passion was dancing. Having taken lessons since she was a kid, it was the only thing she was really good at. Madison had successfully run several businesses, making Layla’s contributions so far in life seem minimal.
“Hey, earth to Layla.” Maddy stopped and looked her in the face.
“It’s okay. I’m just a bit confused right now.” Layla glanced at Arlo again, whose eyes were still focused on her.
“About what?”
“Where my life is headed.” She twisted to face Madison. “I’m almost thirty and still living at home yet I have nowhere to go. Father’s pressuring me to marry because that’s my only worth.”
“Nonsense.” Madison rolled her eyes.
“I have no skills,” Layla argued.
“Yes, you do. You went to business school, didn’t you?”
“I have a degree in accounting but what good does that do me? I have no interest in being an accountant. I did it to help with the family, just like Valentina pursued a law degree.”
