Mafias Embrace (Lethal Beauty & Smoking Steel Book 2)

by Darcy Ray

  With a kiss to the top of my head, he responds, "The business is thriving, there hasn't been any attacks or call to arms. We have expanded our reach, and Club Rosa is at an increase. Everyone wants to see Dominik Romanov’s prodigy. You may not be as active as you want to be, but that's because your men are handling it for you. Dominik delegated duties to us before he was murdered and we haven't stopped since. In the end, all decisions are yours. So yes, I think Dominik would be proud of you." Each word he speaks wipes away lingering doubt and shines a light on the tasks I have been performing. With a renewing breath, I look down to Dom’s resting spot and blow him a kiss.

  Movement to my right catches my eye, flickering my attention toward the disturbance, and I spot the caretaker. Patting Vik’s hand to let me go, I start my way over. The small trek over to him gives me the chance to observe the headstones that I pass and allows me to take note of their names and the unique epitaphs. Though I don't know any of them, I still respect them and avoid walking on their graves. After careful maneuvering, I finally make it over and stop behind the headstone of the grave the groundskeeper is currently working on.

  Tucking my hands into my back pockets, I rock on the balls of my feet and wait for the groundskeeper to finish what he is doing. Looking around, I see a car pull in, and an elderly couple emerges. Looking away from them, I turn my focus back on the tired man in front of me. "I like what you did to the place. I don’t think I’ve ever since a cemetery look this inviting. Oh, by the way, I never did get your name."

  Lifting his floppy hat to the side, he peers up to me, stops pulling weeds, and brushes his hands off on his pants. Clearing his parched throat, he responds, "I'm sorry about that ma'am. My name is Albert, but everyone calls me Al." After a quick check of his hand, he extends it out to me. I pay no mind to the dirt that clings to his hands or the grime under his nails. The filth doesn't make me cringe, hell, it makes me respect him more.

  Giving his hand a squeeze, I let go of it and watch as he winces as he notices the smudges on my pale skin. Not bothering to wipe it off, I say, "Well, Al, it's nice to meet you officially and on better terms. Oh, speaking of, thank you for keeping Dominik’s burial neat and proper." Al's already wrinkled complexion crinkles even more at the mention of Dom, his smile turns into a frown, and his yellow-tinged eyes dart down as if to hide the sadness.

  Walking around the stone, I approach his side and drop down to my knees with my feet tucked beneath me. Reaching out, I start pulling the weeds that he hasn't gotten a chance to get to. Albert doesn’t say anything; instead, he gives me a raised eyebrow and picks up where he left off. We don't say much as we pull the weeds together, he does, however, tell me how to properly pull the weeds out, which apparently means digging your fingers into the soil to grasp the root. A few more mumbled words, and we finish weeding the area. With all the rubbish picked up and thrown away, I stand from the ground and spot Viktor making his way over. When he is finally near us, he nods his head in greeting to Albert and then looks to me. "What’s going on over here?"

  Giving him a quick once over, I notice the redness that still lingers in his eyes, not wanting to broach the topic, I wave down to the grave and respond, "Albert and I just finished removing the weeds from . . ." Glancing down, I read the headstone and freeze. My brain ceases as I take in the name of the person lying six feet deep. "Jelena Romanov, Daughter of Dominik Romanov. My gaze darts over to Viktor, searching for an explanation, but he looks just as shocked as me. Instead, I turn my attention to Albert as if the groundskeeper would have any information. Pointing down to the headstone, I grind out my command, "What is this, Albert? Did . . . did Dominik have a secret daughter?"

  Raising his hands as if to show innocence, he just shakes his head and pinches his mouth shut. Anger flashes through Viktor, causing to stomp over to Albert and jab him in the shoulder with his finger. "Who the fuck is that groundskeeper? Tell us what you know!" With another shove, Albert stumbles, and falls to the ground. His frail body rattles from the impact, but he keeps his wallows to himself.

  If anything hurt him, he didn't let it show; instead, he slowly rights himself and utters, "I'm not sure, sir, I was just doing my job. I may talk to the dead, but they never respond." Crackles fill his voice and sympathy for the old man fills me. Holding a hand out to him, I assist him back to a standing position and cross my arms over my chest.

  Agitation makes me bristle, and I start to shuffle from one foot to another. I flick my eyes back and forth from Viktor to Albert, and finally, when the silence couldn't get any more uncomfortable, I shoot Albert a tense smile and say, “If you can think of anything, give me a call. Oh and Albert, take care of yourself." The disheveled old man nods his head and gives Viktor and I a mock salute before we depart from him.

  After dodging the gravesites, we finally end up back on the trail, so with a clear path to the SUV, we intertwine our fingers and let the crunch of dead leaves fill the silence between us. Back in the passenger seat, I pull out my phone and shoot a message to Octavia.

  S: How are you feeling bestie?

  O: Fucking pissy, I want out of this house, the damn guard dogs you got watching the place won’t let me.

  S: Well you're in luck, Viktor and I are on the way to get you, so get your ass dressed. xoxo

  O: About fucking time you punta!

  Smiling down at her message, I shake my head at her usual snarky comment. Fuck, I missed my best friend. With my phone now locked and residing on the center console, I reach over and grasp Vik’s hand. "Let’s go get my best friend. I hope you're up for a day of shopping." I can't help but let the humor and excitement filling me spill out, and it must be contagious because a jovial grin forms on Vik’s face.

  Giving my hand a squeeze, he looks over at me and snarkily retorts, "Until midnight tonight, your wish is your command, my queen. That was Frank’s order, and I am more than willing to oblige." Lifting my hand, he brings it to his lips and places a chaste kiss on it. With a final squeeze, he turns back to the road and drives us to our next destination.

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  Four hours, two pretzels, and a couple hundred dollars later, we finally make it back to my apartment. Our outing was full of laughs and consisted of one less body since the last time I went out. Even with all underground business pushed to the side, I still have the site of the gravestone lingering right in the forefront. Pursing my lips together, I debate about how I should handle the situation. I start to mindlessly scroll through my phone and freeze when I pass two names who might know: Doris and Doyle.

  My fingers glide over the luminescent screen as I type out my request to speak with both of them, along with adding onto Doris's message that I still have something for her from when the will was reviewed. Luckily, they both respond quickly and agree to the times I requested. With there being nothing else that I can do, I try to ignore the thoughts and refocus on what's going on around me. Scanning the apartment, I see Tavia holding up a new dress to her chest and talking animatedly to Frank, Joe, and Viktor, all while Godfrey and Jaime are nowhere to be seen. Now that I think about it, I actually haven't heard from Jaime all day.

  Standing from the comfy-as-fuck recliner that I have claimed, I start my way over to join in with Tavia’s conversation. As I walk over, I give Jaime a call to check up on him, but after a few rings, I go to voicemail. Frowning down at my phone, I hang up without leaving a message and right before I can send him a text, Octavia calls out, "Selene! Tell them how fucking awesome it is for this dress to have pockets!" To emphasize her flamboyancy, she holds the dress up against her chest with one arm, slides her free hand into the said pockets, and sash stays in a circle.

  Closing the distance, I grasp at the cotton material and inspect it further. "Well shit, I didn't realize it had pockets! That's so cute!" Sliding my hand into the open pocket, I gasp at how deep it is."Well shit, this is fucking amazing, I can fit nearly everything in there! I'm going to have to borrow this dress, b
etter yet, I'm just going to order my own!" Looking over toward my guys, I notice they are all staring at us with looks of bewilderment, amusement, and confusion. Shaking my head, I wave them off and turn back toward Tavia and say, "Psh, men, they will never understand."

  With a click of her tongue, Tavia throws the dress over her arm and motions for me to follow her. "Come on, chica; let’s put these away while they order food. I'm starving." After giving the guys our order for lunch, we grab our bags and head over to my apartment.

  I'm nearly done putting all my purchases away when I peek over to glance over to Tavia and see her looking down at her hands that are resting in her lap. Darkness now overshadows her previously bright expression. With my eyes locked on her, I hastily hang up the shirt that’s in my hands and then walk over to where she is sitting. She's so lost in her thoughts that she doesn't notice me sitting next to her. The moment my hand makes contact with her shoulder, she jumps and looks to me with her eyes blinking as if in shock. Keeping my voice low, I utter, "Are you okay, love? What's going on?"

  After a few seconds of picking at her jeans, she lets out a deep, sorrowful sigh and leans against me. With her head tucked underneath my chin, I wrap her in my arms and slowly start to rock her. When her body starts to shake from the silent sobs, I coo to her that things are going to be alright and that I’m there for her. I have no idea what's going on, but I have a feeling this is something that has to do with Neal. My best friend is scared of him just as much as I am, hell if not more. She was sleeping with the enemy and couldn't do anything about it.

  I don't pressure her to talk to me or even to stop crying; instead, I continue to hold my best friend. The one woman who has always been there for me, through rain and shine. She trained me when I was a server, helped me ace mixing drinks, and taught me how to suck a dick properly without gagging. There are no limits for the amount of love I have for her, and I know she feels the same. The simmering anger of what happened to her and Dominik flares like a raging inferno, a newfound desire to make Neal pay is all I can think about.

  As a whimper escapes Tavia, I run my hand over her head in a soothing manner. That newfound desire resonates a silent promise to my best friend. I will not only get revenge for Dominik, but I will get it for her. I will eliminate the cause of her sorrows, and I don’t give a fuck who plans on stopping me. I’m the fucking boss!

  Chapter Fifteen

  It's been three days since Octavia’s breakdown. After nearly an hour of her crying, she finally opened up and confirmed my suspicions. She's been having nightmares that Neal comes back and takes over, that he ends up killing not only my guys but me as well. As she spilled her nightmares, chills overtook my body, the hair on the back of my neck stood at full attention, and my jaw ticked from the amount of pressure I was applying when as I clenched it. Since that day, I doubled my efforts in finding Neal. As part of those efforts, I increased the bounty for whoever turns him into to me, dead or alive. I think fifty-thousand should light a fire under their asses.

  Reports of sightings have increased, along with more helpful information. Unfortunately, the extra heat to find him leads to increased violence. Two of my own are in the ICU after a drive-by gone bad. Got the fucking attention of Mr. Devoy. That fucker was tucked nicely in his office, and then boom, some petty shit happens and now he has to show his aging face. Thank fuck my lackeys have some kind of brains and that Doyle, our lawyer, knows how to work the system because once they heal, those fuckers are getting out scot-free.

  Pushing out a deep breath, I sign the last check made out to the hospital for their care of my lackeys and then slide it into the designated envelope. I've spent nearly all day in meetings and reviewing the job contracts that have been submitted. Thank fuck, I only have one more left. Bonus points it’s at an upscale restaurant because I've only had a chance to down two granola bars. After a quick check of the time, I close down my computer, grab my phone and purse, and then head to the destination.

  On the way there, I shoot a group text to my guys letting them know where I'll be, and of course, they all get pissy because I’m not bringing one of them with me. To calm them down, I turn on my location that’s built into my phone and promise to carry my handgun with me. They send a couple more disgruntled texts, but finally concede and continue with their own business. The restaurant that the meeting is being held at is only about twenty minutes from the club, but with the traffic working in my favor, I get there in fifteen. Handing my keys to the valet, I head into the building and nearly stumble with how dark it is.

  Everything about this petite restaurant is quaint and exudes a sense of secrecy or even romance. With a quirked eyebrow, I walk up to the receptionist, inform her of the code name that the reservation is under, and follow her to our table. As I pass multiple tables, I start to take in the decorations and become aware of the other people around me. Every table is covered in black lace or silk, silver candelabras hold black candles, and rose vines look as if they are climbing the back wall that leads into the kitchen.

  The receptionist stops at a large curved table in the back corner, hidden away from prying eyes and turns to me. "This is the table that was requested, please have a seat, and when your other guest arrives, I'll bring him back." Nodding my head, I climb into the bench and slide to the point that allows me a view of all doors and will allow me to have quick access to the exit. Pulling my phone out, I let my guys know I made it and check the time. Only five more minutes until the scheduled time, he has ten minutes, and if no one shows, I'm out.

  I'm only left alone for a few minutes until the waiter approaches the table with a bottle of wine in hand. In the dark lighting, from what I can tell, he looks like he is barely eighteen. Stopping in front of my table, he bows to me in greeting and then shoots me a grin. "Good evening, ma'am, can I interest you in some wine? Complimentary, of course." Fuck, for someone who looks so young he has a deep voice. Not to mention he is laying the flirting on pretty thick; husky voice and winking all at the same time.

  I'm going to blame the atmosphere, but his little flirting just made me blush. Gesturing to the wine glass, I answer him. "Well, if you insist. I'm not much of a wine drinker, but what the hell, it's on the house." The server gives me what has to be his million-dollar smile and then fills my glass, so it's over half full. As I take the glass from him, his fingers linger and then slide against mine as he pulls away. Bringing the glass to my lips, I hide the chuckles that I can't help but let out. If only he knew who he is messing with and how many men await me at home.

  He waits for me to take a sip of the wine, and once I hum in approval, he walks away. I spend the rest of my time sipping the wine and watching the people that come and go from the restaurant. Checking the time, I see that it's been nine minutes, so I down the rest of the wine and start to slide out. As I'm looking down to make sure I clear the legs of the table, someone slams their hand on the tabletop and startles me. My hand goes to my concealed gun, and I start to pull it out. Looking up, I glare at the cause. Standing in front of me is a heavy-set man dressed in a grey tweed suit that looks like it’s nearly bursting at the seams. Almost like a busted can of rolls.

  "I didn't realize Dominik was that foolish, but when he designated you as the prodigy, I nearly laughed at the joke. But I guess he was that dumb." A sneer fills his fat face, and as his eyes trail over me, the sneer only deepens. With his eyes locked on me, he pulls out a cigar and places it between his wrinkled lips. Patting around his coat, he hunts for a lighter but comes up short. Looking around, he spots the candle on our table and uses that instead. My eyebrows nearly fly off my face at what he's doing and the fact he is smoking inside the restaurant when they clearly don't allow it inside the building.

  Shaking my head, I slide back onto the bench, but this time, closer to the edge. I don't know who this is or what he wants, but I need to make sure all my options are available. I watch him struggle to get his cigar lit, and when he does, he takes a deep inhale and then sits on the opposite
side of the table from me. I expect him to be a dick and blow his smoke at me, but instead, he releases it in a plume above us. My eyes dart toward the waiter and then to the receptionist, both shooting him scowls, yet they look scared at the same time. Interesting.

  Straightening myself up, I look to him and start to dig at the reason we are here. "So, who are you and what's the reason for this meeting? Let's not play games either, you showed up nearly five minutes late, and I have shit to do. So, out with it." I cross my arms to emphasize my annoyance, and with the way I spit my words out to him, he should realize that I'm being fucking serious.

  Leaning back against the bench, he pulls the cigar from lips and stares at it as he twirls it between his fat fingers. Without looking at me, he grunts and replies, "I'm surprised you don't know who I am, but since you're a female and your position is not here at this table, I'll tell you. My name is Giovanni Moretti, the Don of everything south of your inherited line. What I'm doing here sounds better now that I met you." With his free hand, he starts to stroke his unkempt beard and then turns to me. "I'm going to make you an offer, and you're going to accept it, capisce?"

  Surprised by his sheer audacity, I lean back and fight to hold in a laugh. It seems I have a misogynistic bastard on my hands. With my lips pursed, I run my hands down the soft denim of my jeans and click my tongue against the roof of my mouth. "Is that so? Here’s the thing, Giovanni, I do what the fuck I want to do, when the fuck I want to, and how the fuck I want to. So, you making the assumption that I will willingly agree is quite absurd if you ask me."

  Spitting to the side, Giovanni snarls at me and points at me with the hand that holds the wobbling cigar. "Listen here you little cunt, I’m going to give you fifty thousand, and you are going to pack your shit and leave fucking town. Better yet, leave the country. I’m done with the niceties. I got your little fucking message that you left me by leaving my capo at death’s door. So, I'm giving you two weeks to pack up and leave. End of story!" With spittle flying out of his mouth, he jumps up from the bench which makes his gut nearly tip the table over. Letting out an enraged grunt, he slides out the rest of the way and storms out of the building.