Return to the Mob (Detroit Mafia Romance Book 6)

by Tami Lund

  He needed her help. He wanted her help.

  “I’ll pay you,” he blurted. Depending on her asking price, he may have to go to Uncle Frankie for help, but he knew he wouldn’t be denied.

  “Now you’re going to pay me to be your fiancée?” She made it sound like he was asking her to murder children, for Christ’s sake.

  “Look at it like a business arrangement,” he offered. “Sure, you’ll have to put up with me, but you’ll get to hang out with Julia and basically be on an extended vacation.” He hoped she didn’t ask him how long this assignment would last, because he had no idea.

  Nothing official had even happened. As far as he was aware, Patricia hadn’t filed any petitions or whatever one did when they used legal means to try to steal someone’s family away. He still hadn’t read his parents’ will, which likely spelled out how they wanted Julia to be cared for. He wasn’t sure if it even mattered. If Patricia had a good enough lawyer, she could fight whatever documents his parents had signed.

  Especially if it was proven that their deaths had not been an accident.

  Especially if Marco sought the revenge he so desperately craved.

  He swiped a hand over his face and took another slug of Jamison.

  Hillary leaned forward across the table. He caught a teasing glimpse of cleavage between the folds of her cream-colored, V-neck silk shirt and forced his gaze north, to her face.

  “Do you even realize what you’re asking?” she said.

  He arched his brow and took another drink. Yeah, he was pretty clear on what he wanted from her.

  “You need to appear to be a fine, upstanding citizen who is capable and deserving of raising your now orphaned younger sister. And the means by which you intend to do that are literally the opposite of what you want the world, your aunt, the courts to believe.”

  When she put it that way…

  He scowled, leaning forward as well so that they were practically nose to nose. Close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her otherwise bright blue eyes. Close enough that he could count the freckles splashed across her nose. Did she hate them? How would she react if he lifted his finger and gently stroked her skin?

  Abruptly, he pushed back so he could breathe and curled his lips into a deeper scowl. “I’m not asking your opinion. I only need your services. Be my fiancée until I’ve secured custody, and then you can go back to wherever you came from and be as uppity and perfect as you usually are.”

  She gasped, and if she’d been wearing them, he imagined she’d clutch at her damn pearls. They really did come from two different worlds, didn’t they? It was hard to believe he’d once believed he could fit into hers.

  Not anymore. Davit had seen to that. For Marco, there was no going back. For her, this would be a temporary dance on the wild side. A tease.

  “You were that one, weren’t you?” he murmured, swirling the liquid in his glass while he studied her. “Back in high school.”

  “T-that one?” She pressed her fingers against her throat, like she really was searching for a string of pearls.

  He smirked. “The one girl who wasn’t into the bad boys. Or at least you managed to convince yourself you weren’t.”

  Her lips opened on a silent gasp while her eyes widened, and he saw it in their depths. He was right.

  He lifted his drink in toast. “Here’s your chance, Hillary. A chance to dance with the devil without getting burned.” He paused. “Or are you too scared?”

  ***

  She should storm away. Instead, she pressed her hands to the table and then snatched them away, twisting them together in her lap to hide the shaking.

  How could this man who barely knew her, who thrived on pushing all her buttons, on arguing with her for the sake of arguing with her, see into her soul like this?

  He was so right about her. She’d always been a Goody Two-shoes, at least until Nina came into her life. And even then, most of the antics, any daring escapades were Nina’s idea, and Hillary more often than not sat on the sidelines and promised not to tell.

  He was right about the men she dated, too. Always the quiet, brainy ones. There was nothing at all wrong with those men. In fact, they were undoubtedly a much better bet than someone like Marco, but she had never clicked with any of them. There’d been no heat, no spark. The frustrating sizzle between she and Marco was hotter than anything she’d ever felt even in her longest relationship.

  She’d always avoided guys like Marco. They intimidated her.

  He intimidated her.

  Which infuriated her. She was a grown-ass woman with multiple degrees, a successful career, her own home. She should not allow any man to intimidate her, least of all this one.

  She stood, smoothed her hand over her skirt. “I need to think about it.”

  “Don’t take too long,” he retorted. As if she could commit to something this huge without taking time to consider the risk she was taking. “Luca and Nina are leaving soon.”

  Crap, she needed to call Nina. Frankly, she was surprised Nina hadn’t called her yet.

  “They already know,” Marco added. “If you’re wondering. They think you’re staying.”

  “What?” She thought back to when they’d decided to leave the restaurant. Marco had gone over to speak to Luca and Nina. That look Nina had given Hillary from across the room. “How dare you?”

  He spread his arms wide, and she was both annoyed and impressed by the abundance of confidence in the gesture. Oh, if only she had half his confidence. Then she could walk away from this madness.

  Or maybe be firmer in her resolve to stay.

  “I think we’ve established that I’ll go to whatever means necessary to keep my sister.”

  She had so many questions. What would he expect of her as his fake fiancée? How did he intend to convince the world, or at least the part of it that mattered in this little game, that he was a fine, upstanding citizen?

  “You won’t get hurt, Hillary.” His tone was suddenly serious. She knew he believed his own words. He’d protect her with the same fierceness he swore to protect Julia.

  And she believed him, appreciated the promise, even as her inner good girl warred against the need—rather, the desire—to be protected by someone else instead of taking care of herself.

  She cleared her throat and waved at the truck. “I suppose my bag is in there?”

  She knew it was. Julia had already guessed too. And she’d expected the mention of it would spur him to hop to his feet and hurry to retrieve it for her.

  Except this was Marco, who apparently did not have a polite, considerate bone in his body.

  She took a step toward the vehicle and then paused and whirled to face him. “I’ll do it.”

  His eyes lit up. Was that hope? Relief? Anticipation?

  “But I have conditions.”

  That fire in his eyes dulled as quickly as if she’d dumped a bucket of ice water over his head.

  Hillary pointed at herself. “I will be your fake fiancée, the perfect good girl to prove to your family and the courts that you are the best choice to be awarded custody of Julia.”

  She pointed at him. “Only if you treat me like that perfect, good girl who you want to spend the rest of your life with.”

  He frowned. “What does that mean?”

  She started flipping out fingers as she rattled off examples. “Be polite. Be courteous. Open doors. Offer to pour me a drink. Smile once in a while. Ask me if I’m ready to go before getting up and walking away. Wait to start eating your food until we’re all seated at the table.” She paused. “And go get my bag out of the back of your truck.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he did not move for long moments. To be honest, she wasn’t even sure he was breathing.

  “I’m not going to be your lapdog. Even if it is all make believe.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m just asking you to exhibit common courtesies. The kind that most people do without even thinking about it. Look at it this way: when this is
all over, you might actually be a good catch.” She infused a teasing tone into her voice so he would not guess that, in truth, he was already a good catch. Anyone willing to go to the extremes he was to protect his baby sister would, no doubt, love his wife with the same fierceness.

  Shoot, if he took her up on her offer and actually put forth the effort to be a gentleman, well, whomever he finally fell for would be one hell of a lucky girl.

  Chapter Seven

  The wind chimes’ abrupt tinkling jerked Marco out of sleep. Christ, he needed to change the alarm on his phone. Forgetting—again—that he wasn’t sleeping in his king-sized bed in his apartment, he rolled to the side to slap the snooze button and promptly collapsed onto the rug next to the couch.

  Damn it.

  Not that the couch wasn’t comfortable. God knew he’d slept in far worse places when he was in the service.

  The discomfort came from his situation. The one he’d devised. This level of misery was all on him.

  Hillary had been living under his roof for ten days now. In his head, he referred to his current state as Hillary’s Reform School.

  Yeah, he’d agreed to her terms and every single day since, he’d wished he hadn’t. He should have hit up one of the dancers from the strip club Luca used to own. Paid her to pretend to be a good girl, to help him gain custody of Julia.

  Except Aunt Patricia would see right through that act.

  Hillary wasn’t an act. She was the real deal. She was exactly the type of person Aunt Patricia would approve of to raise Julia.

  Every time he turned around, Hillary forced him to practice being a gentleman. They sat at the table for dinner rather than in front of the television. She asked him to refill her glass and fully expected him to put down his fork and go do as she bid. When they went to the grocery store, she stood next to his truck after he’d already hopped into the driver’s seat, her arms crossed, eyebrow arched, waiting for him to climb back out and open her door. She’d made Julia wait as well, so he had to open doors for both ladies.

  She’d made him do the same damn thing when they returned home too.

  One evening, he decided to veg in front of the TV, and she stood in front of the tube and insisted he ask if she and Julia wanted to join him and if so, what would they like to watch?

  The woman had a television in her bedroom, for fuck’s sake.

  But that wasn’t the point, was it?

  The real issue was that he was already beginning to act like this gentleman she was trying to create. It was happening without thought. And he didn’t mind it.

  It felt good to include others instead of constantly thinking only of himself. He was beginning to crave those bright smiles she awarded him when he was well-mannered without being told.

  It didn’t help that Julia found it all hilarious. She worshipped the ground Hillary walked on and was thus inclined to copy everything she did. So now Marco had two people attempting to reform him into—what had Hillary said?

  A good catch.

  Okay, fine, if he was turning into such a good catch, what did he get out of it?

  Sure, the expectation that this would help him win custody of Julia was there, and, yes, it was the most important aspect of this entire charade, but what else?

  He wanted more.

  And therein lay the problem.

  More of what? Certainly not more chastising when he didn’t act like a fine, upstanding citizen. Nope.

  He wanted more of Hillary. More of her attention. More of those subtle touches when she was pleased with him. Her sunny smiles, that infectious laugh.

  He wanted her kisses too. And…more.

  Shit.

  His annoying alarm blared again, and he shut it off. As he climbed to his feet and stretched, he heard a sound; someone was coming down the stairs. A moment later, Hillary stepped into the doorway to the living room, all sleepy-eyed and dewy skinned. She wore a camisole and a pair of pajama bottoms, and her hair was mussed. Christ, he had the strongest desire to wake up next to her so that he could roll over and lay there, staring down at her looking like that.

  What the fuck was wrong with him?

  He’d assumed his urge for more was purely physical. Wanting to wake up next to someone was an emotional desire. And he was most certainly not keen to become emotionally attached to Hillary Karney.

  It’s all fake, Marco. She’s doing this for Julia, not because she’s interested in you.

  “Morning,” she said, her gaze tracking the movement as he lifted his arms above his head. He clasped his hands and flexed his pecs and had to bite back his smirk at the way her eyes widened. And then he damn near laughed when her gaze dropped to check him out below the waist of the gray sweatpants he wore as pajamas.

  “Is Julia up?” he asked, skirting around her and heading to the kitchen before he let that look in her eye give him any ideas about how far she was willing to go for this farce of a relationship.

  “Already getting dressed.”

  It was Monday, and Julia was going back to school today. Marco planned to make her breakfast, drop her off, then head into the restaurant.

  He still hadn’t entered his parents’ bedroom, still hadn’t read their will, but he knew he was meant to inherit the restaurant. His grandfather had given it to his parents shortly before his birth, and there had always been the expectation that either he or Julia would take it over someday. Although that day was supposed to be when they intended to retire, not upon their deaths.

  He’d basically avoided all forms of reality outside of the four walls of this house since the funeral, and it was time to stop that. Julia needed the routine of school, and he needed the nonstop activity of running a restaurant to take his mind off this new reality.

  Luckily, he’d worked at the restaurant all through high school and returned once he left the service, so that learning curve shouldn’t be nearly as challenging as trying to figure out how to become a good catch.

  Hillary started a pot of coffee while Marco pulled ingredients out of the fridge and heated two pans on the stove. Julia’s favorite breakfast was a sandwich made of English muffins, fried egg, ham, and cheese.

  He lay slabs of ham in the pan, and Hillary placed a mug of steaming coffee next to his elbow. “Thanks,” he said absently.

  As he sliced the muffins and then popped them into the toaster, she leaned her hip against the counter, sipping her coffee and watching him.

  “What?” he finally asked.

  “I think I should go with you. To take her to school. You’re planning to walk her in, right? Make sure she’s all settled?”

  Of course he was. He grunted.

  “So this would be our first real test. Plus, it would basically be the announcement that we’re together. I don’t know if it’s the same around here, but in my hometown, gossip spreads through the parents at school faster than anywhere else.”

  “She goes to a small school, so it wouldn’t surprise me.” He swept his gaze over her fresh-out-of-bed appearance, and as much as he liked the look, said, “You’d better go get dressed then.”

  Her eyes widened. “That’s it? No argument?”

  “Why would I argue? This is literally why you’re living here.”

  He didn’t miss the flash of disappointment in her eyes, although he couldn’t fathom what it was about. She’d been grooming him to be the perfect fiancé—why was she suddenly hesitant about showing off their fake relationship? Unless…

  “You don’t think I’m ready. You think I’m going to suck at the whole ‘being a gentleman’ thing.”

  “No. Why would you say that?”

  He waved at her with the spatula before flipping the ham and cracking eggs into the second pan. “Why else are you hesitating?”

  “I’m not hesitating.”

  “I don’t see you hurrying upstairs to get ready.”

  “Are you trying to start a fight with me?”

  “Trust me, when I’m picking a fight, you’ll know it.”

&nbs
p; She snorted. “Isn’t that the truth.”

  He dropped the spatula and whirled to the side, taking a step toward her and then caging her in with his arms, his palms flat on the counter on either side of her hips. She stared up at him with those big doe eyes, her pupils dilated, her mouth slightly open, her chest heaving like she’d just completed a session on the Peloton bike.

  He watched her for a few seconds because she was hot as hell right now, and then he lowered his head until his lips were next to her ear. Her breath hitched, and he fought the urge to lick the shell, maybe nibble at it too.

  “I think you like fighting with me,” he whispered, and then abruptly stepped back because the eggs needed to be flipped before they burned, and he didn’t want to disappoint Julia on her first day back to school after her parents’ death.

  A moment later, he heard Hillary’s footfalls rushing up the stairs. He had no idea if she was going to get ready or going to hide.

  Probably going to hide. That had been a dumb move on his part, but he’d been wholly unable to resist teasing her like that.

  He accused her of enjoying fighting with him, but the reality was, he liked sparring with her. Their conversations, whether debating what to make for dinner or speculating how bad they each thought the upcoming winter would be, were the spark in his life at the moment. She was keeping his head above water when it would be so easy for him to drown in his grief, his desire to seek revenge, his fear of losing Julia.

  She didn’t hide.

  Julia was sitting at the bench in the breakfast nook, devouring her sandwich, when Hillary returned to the kitchen. She’d swept her bright red hair into a loose braid, and she’d dressed in a pair of form-fitting yoga pants and a green long-sleeved T-shirt.

  “Cool,” Julia said around a mouthful of egg sandwich, “you’re coming too.”

  “Of course,” Hillary said, smiling and sliding onto the bench next to her.

  Marco assembled another sandwich and placed it in front of her. “Look, Peanut, Hillary and I are—”

  “Pretending to be together so you can win custody of me. I get it.”