Captivated

by Bethany-Kris

Liliana nodded quickly. “Yeah, sure.”

  “It’s Liliana, right?”

  She blinked.

  He grinned deeper.

  “Right?” he pressed.

  “Liliana, yeah, but if you call me Lily, I’ll probably gut you.”

  Might as well get that right out in the open and over with. She expected a bit of surprise in the man’s eyes at her warning, but he actually tipped his head back and laughed. And sweet Christ, that laugh of his was dangerous.

  The sound made her breath catch.

  The sight made her heart race.

  “Good to know,” he said.

  Laughter echoed from down the hall—her cousin, sister, and friends voices followed right after. Conversation about the movie they wanted to pick, or something like that. It didn’t really matter.

  “Ah, that’s what I was trying to find,” the guy said.

  Liliana’s brow dipped. “Pardon?”

  “I heard noise, but this place is so big that I couldn’t find out what it was or where it was coming from. I think I got lost.”

  She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “Well, the mansion is pretty big.”

  Liliana had a good mind to ask him what exactly he was doing at her grandparents’ mansion, and why she had caught sight of her father and uncles waiting for him and the other man before she left with the girls. She didn’t ask any of that because if the guy was in any way connected to her father and uncles’ business in the mafia, he probably wouldn’t tell her anyway.

  Besides, sometimes it was better not to know.

  That’s what life as a Marcello principessa had taught Liliana. It was also pretty quick to teach her that even men who weren’t connected to the life were their own particular brand of dangerous when it came right down to it.

  “I bet your friends are wondering where you are,” he said.

  It was only then that Liliana realized how close and alone the two were in the dark hallway. Sure, someone might hear her shout if she needed to, but none of that had even factored in to her usual cautiousness.

  In fact, the last thing she felt in that moment was unsafe.

  “They probably are,” she agreed.

  “Would you do me a favor first?”

  “Shoot.”

  He cocked a brow, and shrugged one large shoulder like it wasn’t a big deal before he said, “Give me directions to the downstairs—I don’t want to miss supper later. I hear that’s rude, and I’m going to be around for a while. I would hate to make a bad first impression and all.”

  Liliana laughed, but not for the reason he probably thought. The last thing he did was make a bad first impression.

  Far from it.

  Joseph Rossi.

  That was his name.

  Or Joe, rather. It seemed no one actually used Joseph when they talked to him, and instead, simply called him Joe.

  Liliana hadn’t even gotten Joe’s name before Catherine had popped out of the theater room upstairs, and shouted for her to hurry the hell up. Dinner came two hours later, and Liliana was—strangely—happy to find that Joe hadn’t been lying.

  He sat directly across from her at the table. His attention was on the conversation flowing around the table between her family, and the girls’ friends. More than once, though, Liliana caught him glancing her way, too.

  And not a quick glance.

  No.

  A lingering one.

  Especially when he thought she wasn’t looking.

  “I hope Damian made his flight,” her uncle—Giovanni—said before he shoved in a mouthful of food.

  “He did—let me know a few minutes ago,” Joe said.

  His gaze dragged away from Liliana as he spoke, and she couldn’t help but glance down at her plate and smile. It seemed like no one else at the table noticed their occasional glances, and for the moment, she was grateful.

  Oddly, Liliana still found herself wishing his attention was back on her instead of on other people at the table. She opened her mouth to make sure exactly that happened, too.

  “And where do you come from?” she asked.

  Although, she was pretty sure she knew the answer. His last name was enough of a hint to say he probably hailed from Chicago—or more specifically, he came from the Chicago Outfit. Another criminal organization much like the one her father and uncles were involved with.

  Liliana got what she wanted.

  Joe’s attention came back to her.

  “Chicago,” he said. “You couldn’t tell by—”

  “Your accent?” she interrupted with a sly grin. “Actually, the last name gave it away.”

  Throats cleared around the table, and Liliana could almost feel the eyes turning in her direction at her statement. Apparently, she was getting a little close to waters she probably shouldn’t be talking about. The men of her family never actively discouraged the women to discuss business, or la famiglia, but it was always a big no-no at the dinner table.

  That had never changed.

  “I’ve never been to Chicago,” she said.

  Joe lifted a single brow high. “We have a big lake. Lots of crime. Good food.”

  Liliana nodded. “And you, too.”

  “Pardon?”

  “It has you.”

  Joe matched her grin, then. “That it does.”

  A beat of silence passed before down the table, her uncle, Dante, said, “Joe, we will have everything set up for you tomorrow to make your stay in New York comfortable and quiet. I’m sure you understand why we would rather be the ones to do it than have you go on record anywhere.”

  Liliana’s brow furrowed.

  Quiet?

  What did that mean?

  Her confused thoughts drifted away as she glanced back at Joe, and realized something just by the expression on his face. Or rather, the lack of expression. He had suddenly—in nothing more than a breath and blink—reverted to his neutral, passive state.

  His gaze gave nothing away. No warmth, or interest. Some might even look in his eyes in those moments, and think the stare was cold or hard. His posture became a bit more rigid in the seat, and when he spoke again, his tone was flat yet concise.

  “Sounds fine,” he said.

  “Good,” Dante replied.

  Even when Joe’s attention came back to Liliana for a brief few seconds, his expression and posture didn’t change. It was as though he had dropped his defenses and pretenses with her during their exchange, and just as quickly, shifted back to someone else entirely.

  Certainly not the same man she had met upstairs in the hallway with his charming nature, and boyish grins. Sure, he had the same dark, sexy, and mysterious appeal now. Just for two entirely different reasons.

  Yet, Liliana had to admit … she was just as curious about this Joe, too. What made him like this, and why? Was it the men at the table—was he like them, too?

  Oh, yeah.

  Her curiosity about Joe Rossi dug in under her skin, and suddenly refused to let go. It only burrowed deeper the longer they sat at the table, and she continued to stare at him. She was pretty sure her attention wasn’t going unnoticed by others, but she didn’t really care.

  It wasn’t like her father was the type to hold her back when it came to men, or dating. He simply asked her to be careful, but he never stepped in.

  Or he hadn’t before …

  “Do you dance?”

  At the quiet question Joe posed, bringing Liliana out of her thoughts with a bang, the rest of the table quieted. Or at least the people nearest to them quieted down while they waited for her answer. She could plainly see the way her sister’s gaze darted between the two of them curiously, a lot like her cousin, too.

  A little too interested, maybe.

  The men at the other end of the table were too busy discussing something in hushed tones with their gazes locked on each other to notice what was happening a few seats away.

  “I do dance,” Liliana said.

  “Ballet, I bet,” Joe murmured.
>
  She swore she felt his words reach out and touch her like the softest stroke.

  “How did you know?”

  Joe’s smile deepened into a sexy smirk—just like that, his defenses and mask dropped once more, and she was given a glimpse of him. “The way you walk.”

  “The way I walk,” she echoed.

  He nodded. “It’s telling.”

  “And how do I walk?”

  “Like the ground is air, and you’re floating on it. Ballet dancers have a unique kind of grace. Mesmerizing, really.” Joe leaned back in his chair, adding quieter, “Some might say it’s even alluring.”

  Funny.

  That’s exactly how she would describe him, too.

  “Well, how did dinner go?” Jordyn asked.

  She gave Liliana a quick pat on her cheek—she had only come with her father to grab some stuff from her old room for her apartment before she was heading out.

  “It went … well,” Lucian said.

  Liliana didn’t miss the way her mother’s gaze darted in her direction. “Really?”

  Lucian came to a stop in front of Jordyn, and reached for his wife before pulling her into a tight hug that engulfed her mother. Liliana almost looked away simply because the action seemed so personal and affectionate, but she didn’t.

  Her parents wouldn’t care, anyway.

  They had never hid their love.

  And it was a beautiful love.

  “I promise,” Lucian murmured, “you know me.”

  “I do,” Jordyn said. “Did John show up?”

  “No.”

  Liliana stiffened at the mention of her older brother. Four years older than her, John was … well, her brother was a lot of things. Diagnosed with bipolar at seventeen, she knew that things were not simple for John in his life. Nothing was easy for him.

  He hadn’t made things easy for them, either, growing up. To say the least. His mania had manifested in ways that both terrified her, and hurt her.

  Mostly, emotionally.

  He could be nasty one second, and violently angry the next. He might say something so cutting, the words felt like knives slicing through someone’s heart.

  And then he would be good again, as though nothing had ever happened. It just made for a difficult and complex relationship, as far as that went.

  Liliana loved her brother, though. She just found it easier to love John from a distance so that they could both see each other a little more clearly. She didn’t want to hurt him, or worse, hate him for things he couldn’t control. And she worried if she pushed too much, or stayed too close, that was exactly what might happen.

  “Andino must know where he is,” Jordyn said.

  Lucian sighed heavily, and scrubbed a hand down his jaw. “I assume so, yes.”

  “Assuming isn’t good—we need to know.”

  “Gio said he was going to get ahold of Andino tonight, anyway. We need them both for tomorrow.”

  Liliana came to lean against the kitchen island, and gained both of her parents’ attention when she asked, “What’s happening tomorrow?”

  Her father graced her with a smile that usually distracted people. She wasn’t the type to fall for it. Jordyn gave her husband a look before she made a beeline for the entryway to leave the kitchen.

  What was that all about?

  “Nothing you need to be concerned about,” Lucian replied easily once his wife was gone.

  “And yet, I asked, Daddy.”

  Lucian gave the ceiling a look as though he were searching for the heavens before saying, “Just business, sweetheart.”

  “Joe?”

  Her father stiffened a bit.

  Liliana didn’t miss it.

  “Dante said at dinner that tomorrow they would set Joe up in the city. He comes from the Chicago Outfit, right?”

  Lucian chuckled, and patted his daughter on her cheek as he passed. “You’re too curious for your own good, Liliana. Let it go, sweetheart. You have much more important things to focus on with the ballet company now. Worry about that.”

  “Nice deflection.”

  Her father shrugged as he pulled open the fridge, and produced a beer before spinning around to face her. “So be it.”

  “So, you’re not going to tell me anything about him at all?”

  “Who, Joe?”

  “Yes, him.”

  Lucian popped the top off the beer, and took a swig before saying, “There’s really nothing to tell.”

  “Why’s he in the city?”

  “No particular reason.”

  Mmhmm.

  She didn’t know if she believed that.

  “He seemed … nice,” Liliana settled on saying.

  She didn’t think her father would appreciate her saying all the other things she also thought Joe was—sexy, gorgeous, killer smile, beautiful eyes, and dangerously alluring to her senses. Those were not the kinds of things fathers appreciated from their daughters.

  “Nice is one way to put Joe Rossi,” Lucian agreed.

  “But again, why is he here?”

  This time when Lucian passed her by, he patted Liliana on the top of her head with an affectionate touch. As though she were a small child again, and his greatest pride and joy. He always used to do that when she was a little girl.

  Oh, she had idolized her father.

  Loved him.

  Adored him.

  Still did, really.

  Lucian never failed her.

  A lot like her ma, too.

  “Liliana, in New York, Joe does not exist,” Lucian said as he headed for the doorway of the kitchen where her mother had disappeared to, “and it will do you well to remember that for a while.”

  “Doesn’t exist?”

  “That’s what I said, sweetheart.” Lucian ticked a finger over his shoulder, adding, “I always take care of things, even if it takes me a while to get to it—don’t forget that, Liliana.”

  What in the hell did that mean?

  THREE

  WHAT WAS SUPPOSED to be only a day for Joe to get settled into New York with whatever the Marcellos wanted to provide him, turned into a week. Not that he minded—this was their show, after all, and he was just there to do a job for them when they wanted him to.

  Nothing more, nothing less.

  If they wanted to fuck about and extend their timeframe, then that was on them. As long as he still got paid, even if he still wasn’t one hundred percent sure on this job, then he didn’t care very damn much about the rest.

  Besides, the week with no calls allowed Joe to do his favorite thing.

  Roam, and people watch.

  New York wasn’t all that different from Chicago, for the most part. Chicago was windier, and he recognized the streets better. He felt more at ease in Chicago—maybe a sense of protection that came with being an Outfit principe. It always followed him around there. New York didn’t afford him much in that sense, but at the same time, he liked that about it. He enjoyed that he could move almost freely with very little interference or worries.

  Here, nobody knew him. Or … nobody that he ran into, anyway. It allowed him to move within the crowds without actually being seen, and visit places he hadn’t been before. Since he didn’t have any expectations on him, he allowed himself the privilege to explore and get comfortable in the city.

  And then that had to end.

  Like all good things.

  Stepping into the small Brooklyn café, Joe did his cursory look at the bustling business. His gaze drifted over the people sitting in the booths, and at the tables in front of the windows. A line up of at least ten people between two cash registers was moving fast, it seemed. The place was modestly decorated with the usual cliché style of a café—coffee deco all the way.

  Still rather comfortable, though.

  Nobody paid any attention to the man in the leather jacket, and dark aviator sunglasses that stood just beyond the door. Joe glanced down to see he was standing on a latte-decorated welcome mat.

  Figu
res.

  How fucking cute.

  The mat, that was.

  Not the people.

  Joe didn’t see anybody he recognized sitting at the tables, even though this was the address that had been texted to his phone the night before with nothing more than a time attached. Since the only people who knew he was in New York were his immediate family, his boss, and the Marcellos … he figured he could safely narrow down who was calling him in.

  The Marcellos, that was.

  Figuring he might have to stay a while since nobody was there yet, he stepped into line behind what seemed to be the faster of the two cash registers, and waited. A good five minutes passed before he was finally able to order.

  Black coffee in hand—he couldn’t stand the taste when it was sweetened or creamy—Joe took a seat at the very back of the café. A few gazes came his way as he passed people by, but he didn’t pay them any mind.

  People stared for one of two reasons.

  His impressive size.

  Or they liked the way he looked.

  Either way, Joe didn’t much care as long as people didn’t try to actually engage him beyond the staring. He wasn’t much for chitchat, and certainly not with people he didn’t know. He much preferred to watch people, anyway.

  That was more interesting to him.

  Settling into one of the far tables, Joe leaned back in the chair and kicked his feet out to crisscross his leather boots at the ankles in the aisle. While a little rude as there was still a table to his left for someone to sit in—a small two-chair table—that was kind of the point. He didn’t want someone sitting next to him.

  Too close.

  Too bothersome.

  It was practically impossible to blend in when someone was staring you right in the face. Or, that’s what Joe found, anyhow.

  Joe sipped on his black coffee, and enjoyed the bitterness sliding down his throat. Behind his dark aviator sunglasses, the many people inside the bustling café had no idea that he watched them. He found human behavior fascinating sometimes.

  There was a man watching an Anime show on his laptop two tables down. A couple at a booth by the window were arguing about something even though they tried to keep their faces a reflection of calm. The employees moved in sync with one another, leading Joe to believe they had worked together for quite a while and were quite comfortable in their routine. Despite the café being a bustle of constant activity, the place was still pretty quiet.