Liar's Lullaby: A Dark Mafia Romance (Mazzeo Mafia Book 1)

by Nicole Fox

  “Sorry, kiddo,” I say, turning on the spot to give her a smile. “Guess I’m just a really good hider.”

  Before I can walk towards her, Lucio beats me to it.

  I watch as he crouches to the floor in front of the little girl. She looks at him nervously, but she doesn’t seem as skittish around him as she normally is.

  “I like your braid,” he says, twirling the fat little blonde braid between his fingers.

  Wow. Is he actually making an effort with the kid?

  It’s like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs.

  “Thanks,” Evie says, giving him a shy smile. “Charlotte did it for me.” She shifts on her feet and I see her blush a little. “I like your eyes.”

  “I like yours, too,” Lucio replies.

  The conversation is so bizarrely cute that I can’t look away.

  But I’m also very aware of the fact that I’m standing at Lucio’s desk unsupervised, while he’s got his back to me.

  It feels so fucking wrong… but it’s an opportunity I can’t pass up.

  As quietly as I can, I shift a few of the files on his desk so that I can read their headers.

  I scan over a few names. None that I recognize, though. Nothing that jumps out at me.

  The desk has a series of drawers, but I can’t risk opening any of them now.

  “Isn’t it getting to be your dinnertime?” Lucio asks, straightening up.

  I walk around his desk quickly and try to keep my expression as unassuming as possible.

  “Mhmm,” Evie says brightly.

  “Come on, angel,” I say, taking her hand. “Let’s go get you fed.”

  “Do you wanna eat with us?” Evie asks, turning to Lucio.

  He pauses, clearly having assumed the conversation was over.

  “Uh… I usually eat a little later in the night.”

  “Oh,” Evie says. Her face drops instantly. The disappointment is unmistakable.

  “But I can eat now,” Lucio amends quickly.

  At that, Evie’s smile glows as bright as I’ve ever seen.

  He really is trying to make an effort with her. It’s actually heartwarming.

  The only downside is that it’s making me resent Lucio a little less.

  Which is… inconvenient. To say the least.

  “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Evie says. She drops my hand and reaches for Lucio’s.

  Suppressing a little sigh, I follow the two of them out of the office…

  More confused than ever.

  15

  Lucio

  How could I say no?

  The kid had turned the full force of those gray eyes on me and I found myself saying yes.

  Now, she’s slipped her hand in mine as we walk to the kitchen, and it feels fucking weird.

  But also… fucking great.

  Because she had reached for me.

  And for the first time, she doesn’t look scared or skeptical or nervous.

  In fact, she seems pretty happy.

  She’s skipping as she walks, her long blonde braid bobbing over her shoulder. She glances up at me and gives me a grin that reminds me of myself…

  Before my father beat it out of me.

  We enter the kitchen. Evie immediately moves to the center island. She struggles to get up on one of the barstools, so I automatically slip my hands under her arms and hoist her up easily.

  The instinct surprises me—the ease of it, the naturalness of it. How right it felt to simply help my daughter.

  “Thank you,” she says shyly.

  I sit down next to her, vaguely aware that I’ve barely spent any time in here.

  It’s a state-of-the-art kitchen, professionally designed, filled with the finest appliances and materials money can buy—and I can count on two hands the number of times I’ve so much as turned a burner on.

  Charlotte stands adjacent to us. She looks distinctly uncomfortable that I’m here at all.

  Which, of course, is an added bonus.

  I can’t stop thinking about how she looked up at me from under the desk just moments ago.

  Like she was burning up inside.

  Slow, exquisite torture.

  “So,” she announces to Evie, “how about pasta tonight?”

  Evie nods enthusiastically. “Yes, please!”

  “The drawer by the microwave has a stack of takeout menus from restaurants in the area,” I tell Charlotte. “There’s a couple of good Italian restaurants in the mix.”

  She looks at me as though I’m speaking a language she doesn’t understand.

  “What?” I say.

  Wrinkling her brow, she asks, “Why order in when you can cook?”

  “Why bother?”

  “Because I like cooking,” she tells me like I’m an idiot. “And it’s cleaner, it’s healthier, and it’s cheaper.”

  “And Charlotte makes the yummiest food,” Evie adds.

  I look down at her and raise my eyebrows. “Does she?”

  I have noticed that Charlotte and Evie spend an inordinate amount of time in the kitchen, but I hadn’t given it a lot of thought. Just so long as they stayed on the compound, I wasn’t going to question it.

  “Yeah,” Evie chirps. “She made French toast this morning with caramel bananas—”

  “Caramelized bananas,” Charlotte corrects fondly.

  “Yeah, that,” Evie says. “And strawberry com-potty”

  “Compote,” Charlotte laughs.

  “Mhmm,” Evie says. “It was so, so, so yummy.”

  Evie keeps yammering on about all the delicious food Charlotte has made for her, but my eyes are fixed on the chef herself.

  She moves to the fridge and picks out a light dough swaddled in Saran wrap. It’s clear that she’s familiar with this kitchen. Much more so than I am.

  “Did you actually make your own pasta dough?” I ask in disbelief.

  “Mhmm,” Charlotte replies, mimicking Evie’s high-pitched hum.

  “Do we even have a pasta maker?”

  “I put it on the second list I gave to Enzo a few days ago,” she tells me. “I assumed you’re the one that approves it.”

  “Enzo passes it along to me only when there’s something crazy on it. Something that requires my attention.”

  “Like what?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. You’ve yet to request anything unreasonable.”

  “Give me more time. I’ll think of something.”

  I can’t help but smirk at that.

  She does, too—for just a fraction of a second—before she pirouettes back around and gets to work once more.

  I watch as she tosses flour on the countertop and starts rolling out her dough. She recruits Evie to help.

  I stay where I am and observe their easy rapport. And as I do, I feel that strange clench in my chest again.

  Just a hint of it. But enough. Enough to make its presence known.

  I’m still not sure how to name it. How to process it. How to understand it.

  So instead of all that, I just ignore it.

  Once the pasta is rolled, cut into shape, and boiling in a pot, Charlotte gets to work on the sauce. She assigns Evie easy little tasks, but I notice that she doesn’t ask me to contribute at all.

  Which is fine by me. I’d rather sit and watch.

  And there’s a lot to watch.

  Like how methodically she cooks.

  Like how clean she keeps her work area.

  Like how much pride she takes in her cooking.

  “You’re a chef,” I remark after she’s wiped down the countertop.

  She actually looks embarrassed. “I’m no chef.”

  “Then what have I been watching this whole time?”

  “I can put together a meal,” she says dismissively. “It’s not the same as being a capital-C ‘Chef.’”

  I catch the sad little tilt of her tone, and I realize suddenly that that I’ve caught her in a lost dream.

  I lean forward on my elbows. “What�
��s the difference?”

  “I don’t have any professional experience. I’ve never been to culinary school. I don’t have basic pastry skills… The list goes on and on.”

  She turns towards the stove and mixes the sauce in with the pasta. The smell of rich cream and pepper is flowing throughout the kitchen now. My tastebuds are tingling.

  Then she fills up three bowls and brings them over to the island.

  She’s made a silky carbonara that looks just as good as it smells. Deep, ivory creaminess glazed over threads of golden pasta.

  I’m not sure if I should eat it or put it on a museum pedestal.

  My stomach rumbles excitedly. Eat it is the right answer, definitely.

  Even if it’s a shame to destroy something so beautiful.

  I twirl the pasta around on my fork and lift it up to my lips. As I do, I’m conscious of the fact that she’s watching me out of the corner of her eyes.

  She’s pretending she’s not—busying herself with drying pots and putting away tools—but she’s too obvious.

  I have her on a hook here. She’s exposed herself to me in this moment. Made herself vulnerable.

  I could crush her.

  But when the first bite hits my tongue, I let out an audible, involuntary sigh.

  Fucking. Exquisite.

  “Damn,” I admit, “that’s good.”

  A relieved smile lights up her face before she manages to squash it down a little.

  “Good,” she says, turning her attention to Evie at the other end of the island. “What do you think, kiddo?”

  “It’s super delicious.”

  “Super delicious, huh?” Charlotte smiles. “High praise from the princess.”

  We eat in silence for a few minutes, all of us chewing contentedly.

  I realize that I’ve never actually had a sit-down dinner quite like this before. It’s a familiar scene in many households.

  But never in mine.

  Not as a boy.

  Not as a man.

  Not in my whole damn life.

  When is the last time I’ve had a homecooked meal?

  As far as I can remember… never.

  When I look up again, I catch Charlotte looking at me. Her gaze falters and she glances down immediately, but her cheeks are aflame with color.

  “Thinking about playing hide-and-seek with me, Charlotte?” I ask innocently.

  Her response is to glare back and pop a forkful of pasta into her mouth.

  I laugh as Evie looks between us with obvious confusion.

  “What’s so funny?” she asks me.

  “Charlotte,” I tell her.

  “Charlotte’s funny?” Evie asks. Her nose is wrinkled as she tries to puzzle out the joke.

  “Hilarious,” I add. “She just doesn’t know it.”

  Evie shrugs and loses interest. When she looks back down at her food, Charlotte flips me the bird.

  I give her a wink in response, thoroughly enjoying myself.

  It’s that realization more than anything else that makes me take stock of the strange dynamic I have with the spitfire sitting across from me.

  Getting attached is not an option for me.

  Whatever I’m feeling right now—I need to tamp it the fuck down.

  Before I can delve any deeper into that particular minefield, I hear something.

  A loud BOOM in the near distance.

  A chorus of harsh shouts follows.

  Evie lets out a startled little scream. Charlotte straightens in alarm.

  I leap into action immediately. The kitchen is only a short distance away from one of the main gates into the compound.

  “Stay here,” I order both of them. “Don’t move until I get back.”

  I leave the kitchen only long enough to grab a gun from the side table in the adjoining room. Then I sprint outside towards the back gates.

  The gate is slightly ajar when I approach. I catch sight of a few of my men milling around.

  “What’s happening here?” I ask, getting their attention.

  “It’s under control, boss. The intruder has been apprehended,” Nestore informs me. His tone is just amused enough to let me know that he doesn’t consider the intruder to be a threat.

  “Stefano,” Nestore calls. “Bring her in. The boss is here.”

  Then Stefano and Marco proceed to bring in a… girl?

  She looks about Charlotte’s age and she has the exact same spark of fight in her eyes. Her curly blonde hair is a chaotic mess and her eyes dart from face to face as though she’s hunting for someone in particular.

  Then she catches sight of me and she goes still.

  “Who are you?” I ask calmly.

  She doesn’t say a word.

  “We found her trying to get over the wall,” Stefano offers. “She fell onto the trashcans out back.”

  I raise my eyebrows, never looking away from the blonde she-devil.

  “Hell of an entrance,” I comment. “You should have come better prepared.”

  She flushes with embarrassment, but doesn’t rise to the bait.

  My first instinct is that she’s a spy for the Polish.

  But in looking at her, something doesn’t add up.

  She’s clearly a rookie. Inexperienced, unprepared, and completely in over her head.

  And young.

  Way too fucking young.

  “What are you doing trying to get into my compound?” I demand coolly.

  Her eyes look past me, towards the house. She clenches her jaw stubbornly.

  I sigh. Fine. We’ll do things the hard way.

  I pull out my gun, cock it, and press it against her forehead.

  That does the trick immediately.

  The gasp that escapes her lips is guttural and sincere. Fear ripples across her face, and her knees almost give out. The only thing that keeps her standing is Stefano and Marco.

  A deep shudder passes through her.

  Then she steels herself and eyes me once again.

  “Don’t fucking test my patience,” I say. “Now answer me.”

  “I… I was curious… okay?” she stammers.

  “Curious?”

  “About the compound,” she offers. “I thought I could, I dunno, get in, maybe… Take what I needed.”

  I bark out a harsh laugh. “You thought you could steal from a secure compound manned with armed guards and surveillance cameras? As far as excuses go, that’s fucking terrible.”

  “People do stupid things when they’re hungry.”

  “You risked your life to fill your belly?” I say. “Is that the excuse you’re sticking to?”

  “Only a coward would kill an unarmed woman,” she tells me, ducking the question.

  I shake my head. “Antagonizing me is not the smart way out of this.”

  “Let me go.”

  I lower my gun and tuck it back in my pants. “Not happening.”

  I turn towards the house and gesture for Stefano and Marco to bring her in. We march back towards the building.

  We’re almost at the house when I hear Charlotte’s voice.

  Of course she hadn’t fucking listened to me.

  “I thought I told you to stay put in the fucking kitchen,” I snap. “Where’s Evie?”

  She doesn’t answer me. Her gaze flits past my shoulder and lands on the captive.

  And a stunned cry escapes her lips.

  “Oh, my God!”

  She’s standing on the grass, parallel to the pool. Her eyes are wide with shock as she takes in my latest prisoner.

  Strangest of all, recognition blazes across her face.

  “You know her?” I infer.

  Charlotte turns to me slowly.

  “Yes,” she whispers in a strangled voice. “I know her.”

  Then Charlotte bounds towards the blonde.

  “Stop!” I command, my voice carrying through the garden.

  She doesn’t even slow down. Instead, she sprints over to the girl—and swallows her in a tight, sist
erly hug.

  “Who the fuck is she?” I snarl.

  “Her name is Vanessa,” Charlotte replies with her face still buried in the girl’s hair. “She’s my best friend.”

  16

  Charlotte

  I want to scream.

  What the hell is Vanessa doing here?

  More importantly, how did she know where to find me?

  I stare at her, trying to glean some answers from her expression, but all I see is stubborn determination.

  That’s pretty par for the course, though.

  “Your friend tried to sneak onto my compound,” Lucio informs me. His tone is frigid again. So cold I almost shiver. “‘Sneak’ might be a little too generous, actually.”

  There are two of Lucio’s guards on either side of Vanessa. They’ve got a firm grip on her, but she’s still struggling to buck them off.

  I turn to Lucio. “Let me talk to her,” I request. “Alone.”

  He laughs derisively. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  I walk right up to him and—surprising even myself—grab his hand in mine.

  “Please,” I plead.

  His eyes go wide. It’s clear he never thought I would be pleading with him for anything.

  Neither did I.

  But for Vanessa, I’m willing to swallow my pride.

  “Lucio, she’s my best friend,” I tell him. “She’s the closest thing to family I have. All I’m asking for is fifteen minutes.”

  I’m very aware of the fact that Vanessa is still struggling against the two men who are trying to keep her contained. I know her well enough to know that her powers of self-preservation can sometimes take a vacation.

  As we speak, she’s spitting at them and yelling, “Get off me, you assholes!”

  “Do all your friends have a death wish?” Lucio asks me seriously.

  “Just please don’t hurt her.”

  “You think hurting me makes you big and tough?” Vanessa barks at him. “You think that proves something? You get off on hurting innocent, defenseless women?”

  Lucio turns and fixes her with the full power of his stare. Even Vanessa flinches a little bit at that.

  “First of all,” he intones, “there’s nothing remotely innocent about you. Secondly, that mouth of yours is a weapon in and of itself.”