It was something I saw often, and I knew what she would say before she ever opened her mouth.
“My friend Camille said you might help me,” she admitted with a whisper. “There’s this guy—”
“Oh honey, there’s always a guy. Come on. I’ll get you on the mat. The first session is free. After that, I only charge $20 for a private session. But if you can’t afford it, I teach a free class every Sunday night. Sometimes they can get crowded, but my more experienced students come back and help a lot. You’ll learn plenty that way, too.” I led her over to one of the empty mats at the back of the room, and my guys knew enough to ignore us. No woman who found herself in a situation where she lived in fear wanted the attention of a bunch of intimidating men on her.
“How can you do that? You must lose so much money.”
I nodded. “Some things are worth more than money. The ability to defend ourselves is something that should be free. So here, in my gym, it can be.”
She slipped off her shoes as I took off the slippers I wore around the gym. I knew I looked like an idiot, but when I was in and out of rings and mats all day with wraps around my ankles, the last thing I wanted was man filth between my toes.
They were nasty creatures.
The moment my foot touched the mat, it felt like my body relaxed beneath me. It was where I belonged. Where I’d grown up, even when my parents encouraged me to explore more girly endeavors. Softening my expression as I turned my attention back to her, I didn’t beat around the bush as I got right to the point. Time wasted was time she could spend learning. “What’s your primary concern? Sexual assault? Being taken to a different location? Being beaten?”
“All of it,” she whispered meekly. “I have no clue where to start, to be honest.”
“Okay,” I said sadly, walking to the center of the mat. “I can work with that.”
Unfortunately, I’d worked with that far too often for my comfort. I could only hope it helped her as much as it had helped Ivory and Samara.
2
Enzo
Strolling in the front doors of Indulgence, I nodded to Dom as I passed, and he closed the doors behind me. Even when the club wasn't open, we always kept a bouncer on every point of entry.
When you made as many enemies as Matteo Bellandi, security was just the smart thing to do. "All's quiet, Boss," Dom said with a return nod, and I resisted the urge to wince. I knew damn well that with Lino managing the new properties and Matteo operating the more criminal side of the business, the men had started seeing me as their supervisor.
I was, in a way, but I also wasn't.
I didn't want to be.
The manager, Armando, should have been their boss. But since he wasn't part of the Bellandi family, that seemed to fall to me by default. I missed the days when I'd been just another sergeant taking orders from my commanding officers. Those times were much simpler, much more guilt free. In contrast, being in charge meant that if something went wrong, the blame was on me.
I didn't want that kind of responsibility when it was all I could do to keep my shit together half the time.
One booming noise.
That was all that stood between me and a gripping flashback that stripped away reality and plunged me back into my own living nightmare.
One sound. One vibration. One moment.
And then everything was gone.
"That's what I like to hear," I told Dom, giving a two-finger salute and making my way towards the front bar where Ash stood making sure it was set up for the night. Sundays didn't normally draw in a huge crowd, but Valentine's Day was another story. Indulgence filled with singles ready for random hook ups and hoping to find their forever while they drank their way to the bottom of a bottle. The gift card industry that capitalized on love and the desperation for an ever after that didn't exist, truly did a number on the single women in the city who acted like they'd failed at life simply because they were alone.
What was wrong with being alone?
There was nothing sexier than a woman who owned her single status and thrived in it, rather than wallowing in despair because she didn't have a man to call her own.
The woman who stepped into my path and blocked me from having a conversation with Ash was one of the ones looking for a meal ticket. I hated to think it about any woman, thanks to having five sisters, but there came a time where even I’d had enough. Even being raised to respect women couldn’t change the fact that she offered herself up on a platter any chance she got, despite my lack of interest.
"There you are, Lorenzo," she purred, the too-high tone to her voice grating on my ears in a way that did not mix well with the name I hated. Nobody, and I mean nobody, ever called me Lorenzo.
Her strapless little black dress clung to every curve, and even though I couldn't deny she was a beautiful woman, my cock didn't so much as twitch. "I've told you not to call me that. It's Enzo. Always Enzo," I reminded her, and then I side-stepped her to get to my true target.
I had way too much shit to do to deal with Vanessa's crap. Knocking my knuckles on the counter, I stared Ash down and waited. When he didn't provide any information and his face twisted into a mocking grin, I rolled my eyes. "Pick up and deliveries go as planned?" I asked.
"Smooth as could be. The product is gone. The cash is in."
"Good. Did Bryan come to pick up the cash yet?" Vanessa's eyes felt heavy on my spine, and I knew she studied every word that passed between us.
She wouldn't talk, and she knew the score. But that didn't mean that I wasn't bothered by the fact that the woman knew any details of the less savory part of the Bellandi business. It was just another reason that I'd never touch her.
A scorned woman who knew my dirty laundry was not my idea of a good time. I took security risks seriously. And that one had a flashing red warning sign etched onto her ass.
Do not fucking touch.
I was good with that, at any rate. The last thing I wanted was to get drunk on whatever love Kool-Aid seemed to be in the air. "Not yet," Ash said, nodding his head at Vanessa over my shoulder and motioning her on to get back to work setting up at the back bar. She let out an audible scoff, undoubtedly wanting to annoy me some more, before she moved on finally.
Tapping the bar one more time, I turned and spun for the stairs in a hurry to escape before anyone could follow me. Once I rounded the top, I found the privacy of my office and closed the door behind me with a sigh of relief.
I fucking hated people.
I hated their nosy bullshit and their phony crap. I hated all but the select few I considered family, and everyone else could just leave me the hell alone. I wanted real interactions. Genuine conversations. I dealt with enough scum through the Bellandi Empire that I didn’t have any interest in faking it for people who weren’t worth my breath.
Flicking on each of the monitors as I passed, I let them boot up to give me the unhindered views of every corner of the club as I moved to my desk and took my seat. The window to my left looked down on the full expanse of the main floor. I started up my laptop as I grabbed my cell from my pocket and dialed a number that I had called far too often in the recent months. "What's up, Enzo?" Scar asked, his voice dripping with amusement at my regular phone call.
I'd already called him once that day.
"Everyone turn up for the evening shift?" I asked.
"Hello to you too, fucker," he mocked with a laugh. "Yep. Bryan just left for pickup. Antonio, Leo, and Franky are off until tomorrow. The others all came in on schedule. We're safe behind castle walls for the rest of the day, and nobody has any plans of leaving as far as I know."
"Alright," I sighed. My free hand scrubbed over my face and I stared at the door as someone knocked softly on the other side.
"You've got to breathe, man. Your tension is at a whole new level the last few weeks."
"I'm missing something," I admitted, chewing at the edge of my thumbnail. "When I miss things, shit gets bad. I just can't put my finger on it." Another knock c
ame, and the sound threatened to jar me into the memory of what might happen if I lost focus.
People died when I didn’t pay attention.
The third knock pissed me off, but clearly it wasn't one of those scenarios that would go away if I pretended it didn't exist. "I gotta go." I hung up before Scar had the chance to respond and torment me some more. I knew, I knew, that this anxiety didn't seem normal to any rational person. I also knew to trust my instincts because they never failed me.
What the fuck was I missing?
"Yeah?" I called, slumping my torso over my desk. Vanessa opened the door and strolled in like she belonged, and my eyelids twitched in annoyance. "Do you need something?"
"You look like you could use some help relaxing," she cooed, approaching the desk and leaning down to touch her hands to the surface and flash her cleavage in my face. "I could help with that."
"Look, no offense. But there's way too much pussy out there for me to shit where I eat, especially here. It is not gonna happen, so how about we just stop this whole charade and move on with our day, yeah?" She blanched, and I nearly felt guilty for the harshness of the words.
Any other woman and I might have.
But the fury that transformed her face from a cloying sweetness to something akin to a gremlin left little doubt that I'd made the right choice.
Yikes.
"You're an asshole," she sneered.
"No, you're just so determined to have my cock and my bank account that you purposefully ignored all the times I politely told you no. I do not screw around with people on the Bellandi payroll. I value my head, thank you." Without another word to argue her case, she spun on her heel and left my office.
Nothing left to say to that, apparently. Because she knew it was true.
Women.
I never wanted to get so caught up in one that I lost sight of everything else. That was how people got dead. Something was wrong, and the last thing I needed was to be so wrapped up in a woman that I didn’t care.
I leaned back in my chair, picking up my cell again. I'd just check in with Lino and Ryker's houses quickly.
It couldn't hurt.
3
Sadie
I loved my mother. I really, really did. But on Valentine's Day, with all her kids and their families coming to dinner?
I was fully prepared to be drawn into the kitchen by the woman who held tight to the culture that raised her and the belief that all women should know how to cook. For Filipinas, it was crucial to being a good wife someday.
I wanted Ivory; at least with her we could bond over the chaos of my mother’s kitchen when we left.
Drawing in a deep breath, I paused before opening the front door. The sounds of my nieces and nephew playing in the living room already burst through, and it was all I could do to suppress the desire to go play with them. If I knew my mom, I knew that my brothers’ wives Joy and Nina would already be trapped in the kitchen and looking to escape the whirlwind that was Dalisay Hicks.
The kitchen would be a disaster, completely derailed by her desperation to make every one of our favorite dishes in one meal, like she didn’t get the opportunity to feed us every week.
I hated the mess she made. I couldn't handle the lack of organization in her kitchen, even in the best of circumstances. But when she cooked?
I wanted to run in the opposite direction or pick up a sponge. But all she wanted was for me to slice mango for the ensalada or shave ice for the halo-halo or whatever last-minute task she had that didn't require me to do any actual cooking.
It wasn't that I couldn't. I fed myself just fine.
It was that while I loved Filipino flavors when I was eating them, I couldn't cook them to save my life.
The door flung open as my niece Lily panted at me from the other side. "Grandma said you were lurking out here," she said with a giggle, snatching up my hand and dragging me into the hectic living room, where my father and brothers monitored all the kids and made sure they didn't break anything.
Namely, my father's precious flat screen.
"Sadie Anne, get your butt in here!" the she-devil called, summoning me to my pit of eternal torment. Why couldn’t I just lounge in the living room and watch whatever sport they’d chosen?
Because I had a vagina.
Despite the lack of balls swinging between my legs, I'd never really been one of the girls. As much as I loved to put on a dress and heels and go dancing, I had far more in common with my brothers than with their wives, even though I adored them.
“Coming, Mama!” I called back, leaning down to touch a brief kiss to my father's cheek and pinching my youngest niece, Penny, on her cheek where she lounged in his lap.
"Good luck," my brother Lucas sneered, looking positively gleeful from his spot on the couch. The youngest of us all, he was the only one of my brothers who wasn't married and didn't have a wife that would scold him for tormenting me. The others snickered, reveling in my misery.
Even with the kids tearing around the living room, there was less commotion there than in the kitchen, where I knew complete and utter chaos waited.
"Here, come cut the mango," Mom ordered when I entered the kitchen of doom. She stepped away from her cutting board and wiped her hands on the towel she kept tucked into her apron.
"Let me wash my hands first," I said. Stepping to the sink, I swallowed back my anxiety at the stack of dirty dishes piled up in it. I forced a smile to my face, trying not to let any of the others see my reaction, as I squirted soap into my hands and scrubbed them together in the space that remained available to me.
It wasn't much, but it would have to do. If I touched a dish, I'd have to wash my hands all over again.
I counted to five, then did it five more times as I scrubbed, humming a tune to hide the serious task of timing my handwashing. I rinsed, turning around with a smile on my face and ignoring the damp dish towel hanging on the rack next to the sink. Two paper towels did the job in a more sanitary manner. I ignored the slightly knowing look on my mom's face when I tossed the paper towel into the garbage. I made my way back to the mango so she could occupy herself with finishing something that cooked on her massive six burner stove. Meanwhile, my sisters-in-law worked to pull the already cooked items out of the oven where they were keeping warm and plated them onto dishes.
"Happy Valentine’s Day," Joy said with a grin, greeting me as I carefully sliced the mango. I tried not to move too slowly, tried not to make it obvious that every piece had to be the same thickness, as I turned a bright smile up to her and finished with a slice.
"Happy Valentine's Day," I said back. I might not agree with her that there was something particularly happy about the day, but I wouldn't snub her either. If there was one thing my relationship with my ex had taught me, it was that a happily ever after didn't exist for people like me.
My particular brand of wild was enough to drive any man crazy. Nobody could tolerate my high energy at all hours of the day or handle the lows that came periodically. They weren't frequent, not even enough when I’d been younger for my family to pick up that they may be anything aside from the normal influxes of a hormonal teenager.
They didn’t want to deal with the fact that everything had a place, and nothing could be moved without me returning it to its designated spot. They didn't want to feel deceived because I hid it well.
As though functioning well came out of a desire to be deceptive and not just because I wanted to at least have a semblance of normalcy on the surface. I ran a boxing gym for shit's sake.
It was fortunate that germs and bacteria didn’t trigger my compulsions as much as general disorganization and clutter. Otherwise, I didn't know where I'd be. Not running my gym, that was for sure.
Men were disgusting.
The doorbell rang, and Mom's face perked up instantly as my sisters-in-law loaded the massive dining room table with all the food options. I dumped the last of the mango into the bowl with the onion, tomato, and cilantro. Giving it a thorough to
ss, I moved to the limes and sliced them in half to juice and pour over the top. The jar of shrimp paste waited next to the cutting board, and I scooped out a few heaping spoonfuls onto the top before carting it over to the table just as Duke stepped into the dining room.
"What are you doing here?" I asked in shock, leaning into him to accept his hug as the brute snagged a piece of mango out of the salad and shoved it into his mouth.
"Your mom invited me. Unlike my so-called friends, she didn't want me to be alone on Valentine's Day," he teased, his blue eyes twinkling as he took his usual seat and greeted the other women warmly.
"What happened to Allyson?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Allyson was about three women ago, Sadie," Mom inserted behind me. "Duke refuses to bring any of them here. His mother says she doesn't get to meet any of them either. I assume that means he's enjoying the single life and not really committing to any of them," she lectured, and he grimaced in response.
Mom was a shark, rarely mincing words and never bothering to dance around subjects. There was nothing that made her uncomfortable. For someone who'd been born in a Catholic nation, under strict expectations because of the influence religion had in the Philippines, she'd adapted to the more open ways of the States thoroughly in her years with my father.
"Can we not?" Duke asked, eyeing her like she might snap and proceed just to torment him with discomfort. I snickered, pressing my lips together to hide my smile. I didn’t want to draw her attention to my dating life instead.
She was a demon, after all.
She scoffed, heading into the living room to gather the rest of the boys and the kids for dinner, and I took a seat next to Duke. Arranging the napkin on my lap just so, I ignored his knowing eyes studying the motion. We’d never talked about it, but since he’d known me since high school, he was well acquainted with my more unusual behaviors.
Shielded Wrongs: A Dark Mafia Romance (Bellandi Crime Syndicate Book 4) Page 2
