by Bethany-Kris
“She went to the movies with John, according to Ma,” Cella said, shrugging. “I called and asked.”
“Huh.”
“Yep.”
Liliana stared into a storefront window as they passed, and wondered out loud, “Do you ever feel like she got a longer end of the stick with John?”
“Uh …”
“I just mean … she kind of never had to deal with the bad shit from John, right, not like we did. And so, she doesn’t have the same kind of issues we do when it comes to him.”
“I love John.”
“Me, too,” Liliana quickly said.
But the history they shared with their older brother was still very real, and a little too raw sometimes. It was just easier to deal with those feelings from afar.
“I’m actually really glad Lucia has a good big brother in John,” Cella said, smiling from the side at her sister, and linking their arms together again. “She got what we didn’t, and there’s nothing wrong with being happy for her, you know what I mean? And maybe for him, too.”
“What’s that mean—for him?”
“I don’t think it’s easy on John to be kind of distanced from us, either, but have you ever noticed how he doesn’t push us for more than what we give? Yeah, he knows how we feel, and respects it, I think. And that’s important, too.”
“Never thought of it like that.”
“Yeah, well …”
Cella trailed off, and left the rest of her statement unsaid. Liliana didn’t mind. This had been more than enough for her to take another look at her previous feelings, and reevaluate them when it came to her brother, and what she thought was his imposed distance.
“So, hey,” Cella drawled suddenly.
At just the sly tone her sister took on, Liliana knew Cella was about to get up to something. Whether or not Liliana would like it was a whole other story. Sometimes, it was a toss-up with Cella.
“What?”
“Last week at dinner—you know, the one with Mr. Built-Like-A-Brick-Shithouse.”
Liliana blinked.
What?
Cella laughed hard, and pointed at her sister. “Oh, my God, the look you just had—deceased. I am dead.”
“What are you talking about, Cella?”
“At dinner last week. You know, the mansion. Joe Rossi.”
Oh.
Oh.
No doubt, Cella had not missed the passing glances, or the way the conversation between Liliana and Joe at the dinner had felt laced with something else entirely. Friendly, sure, but a little bit more, too. Not to mention, Joe hadn’t bothered to pay any other woman sitting at that table any bit of attention but for her.
She adored that, too.
Liliana tried to school her features when she asked, “What about it?”
“Did I miss that there might be something there—or could be?” Cella asked.
“I mean, he’s cute—”
“More than, actually.”
A hot spike of jealousy flared in Liliana’s gut at nothing more than the idea of Cella finding Joe attractive. Before she could think better of it, she said, “Don’t look as much, and you won’t notice, Cella.”
“Wow, okay.” Her sister nodded. “Definitely something there. Tell me everything.”
Shit.
Now, her sister wouldn’t let up until—
Liliana’s thought process shut off entirely at the sight of a black stretch limo passing by them on the street. There were probably thousands of limos in the city. One on every block, if someone wanted to look for them.
It wasn’t so much the limo itself as it was the small flags on the front and back end of the vehicle. A signal to those outside of who might be inside.
And suddenly, Liliana shut down.
Or rather, broke down.
A full-blown panic attack right there in the middle of Fifth Avenue. Her heart raced to the point it felt like she was going to have a heart attack, and the only thing she could really hear was her blood rushing in her ears. No matter how hard she inhaled, it felt like she couldn’t get enough air with every breath. So, her breaths just came faster and faster while her palms clenched into tight fists. Tight enough for her fingernails to break the skin of her palms, and likely leave crescent-shaped bruises behind.
None of it registered, though.
Even after the limo was gone.
Even through her sister trying to help.
None of it registered.
Faintly, Liliana heard Cella saying, “It’s okay, breathe. In and out, slowly. Look at me, Liliana. Me.”
She couldn’t.
She couldn’t find her sister in the swarm of dizziness that had somehow become her mind, never mind the horror that was her anxiety.
A mess.
She felt like a total mess.
And then …
“I don’t know what happened, she was just—”
“It’s all right,” said a soothingly dark, familiar voice. “Liliana, sweetheart … have you ever heard of grounding?”
She didn’t reply verbally.
She might have shook her head.
“Okay,” Joe’s voice echoed back to her, “let’s find five things to see.”
The street. Pavement under my feet. A sky so pretty, and blue. Cella trying to smile. Joe with eyes on only her.
“Why are you here?” Liliana managed to ask.
Joe gave her a crooked smile. “And five things you can hear.”
Liliana listened for sounds even as Joe explained why he was on Fifth Avenue.
“Thought I might do some sightseeing since I am staying in the city for a while,” he said, “and I happened to see both of you from across the road. I wasn’t going to come say hi, but this seemed more important. And five things you can feel, and then we’ll see how you’re doing.”
Liliana thought about how she could feel the thumping in her aching feet even through the soft compression wraps, and the cashmere dress she had thrown on to look presentable before coming out to meet Cella. She could feel the nice breeze, too, and the heat of the sun’s rays on her skin.
But mostly important?
“You,” Liliana murmured. “I feel you.”
Joe grinned, and his hand on her wrist tightened just enough to make her smile, too. “Yeah, I suppose that’s one thing.”
Settled.
Calm.
Present.
The anxiety was there, sure, but not nearly as bad. Her breathing had returned to normal, and all was well again.
At least for the moment.
Liliana was lost in the daze Joe provided her when their gazes locked on one another. She didn’t have to think about anything else, or why she had been thrown into her first anxiety attack in almost a year.
“You okay?” Cella asked.
And the daze was gone.
Liliana nodded quickly, and tried to offer her sister a smile. She didn’t know if it came off as true, or not. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“What happened?”
“Not important,” Joe said before Liliana could try to deflect. “We don’t need anyone going into another panic attack like that by triggering themselves when they explain details.”
“Good point,” Cella muttered. She gave Liliana a look, mouthing, “I like him.”
Joe didn’t notice.
He was still looking at Liliana.
“If you’re good, then I’ll let you two get back to whatever you were—”
“No,” Liliana said before she could stop herself.
Two sets of eyes fell on her again.
She felt that fucking blush coming on again.
Jesus.
Joe raised a brow. “No?”
“I just meant … well, I might feel a little better if you talked to me some more, or … we went for a walk. Maybe?”
Why was she dancing around asking him out like a lovesick girl?
Thankfully, Cella seemed to catch onto Liliana’s nonsense, and out of the corner of her eye,
she saw her sister nod.
“Um, I am going to head down the road to my appointment,” Cella said. “Liliana, call me as soon as you are up to chatting.”
Okay, so maybe she loved her sister.
A lot.
Joe passed a look between the two. “You’re not doing something together? It kind of looked like it. I don’t want to ruin whatever plans you two had for the day. I was just going to head back to my place—or, where I’m staying.”
“We’re not doing anything. Not now,” Liliana said.
“And that is totally fine,” Cella added. “Later.”
They’d walked a bit, but not very far before Joe directed Liliana into a parking garage, and then into a black Mercedes. She hadn’t thought to ask where he got the car from—a rental, probably. Apparently, what Joe meant by where he was staying, was the Waldorf Astoria hotel in Manhattan.
She figured it didn’t matter.
“This suite is …”
“Something else, huh?” Joe asked, grinning from the wet bar. “Drink?”
Liliana made a face. “You know, I probably shouldn’t.”
“Ah, dancer.”
She shrugged. “Everything needs to be exactly as they want it.”
“As long as one of the things they want isn’t for you to starve yourself, or work yourself dead then … whatever makes you happy, Tesoro.”
“Some girls do.”
“Hmm?”
“Starve themselves down to nothing but sticks in the hopes of being noticed, or whatever the case may be. Their brains and mind get so sick from it all that they don’t even realize how much they need help. It’s sad, really. Scary. Once, I might have been one of those girls, too. Not so much anymore.”
Joe glanced down at the glass of whiskey he had poured, and twirled it a bit making the ice inside click against crystal. “Can’t say that’s a bad thing, though.”
“No, growth is … good.”
“It can be.”
Joe kept his gaze on the whiskey, and Liliana suddenly decided to be a little bold. They weren’t outside where anyone could see, or where her sister was right there to watch and make her feel nervous. There was no stumbling over her words, or feeling skittish.
Really, Joe didn’t make her anything but comfortable.
And a little hot sometimes.
Crossing the distance between them, Liliana came to stand right in front of Joe. It was only then that he finally glanced up from the glass in his hands to give her one of his slow, easy grins. The kind that made her stomach do that weird clenching thing—like butterflies for big girls.
“Hey,” she whispered.
Joe tipped his head to the side a bit. “Hey.”
“Thanks for helping me today.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Lucky you were there to help me, really.”
Joe quirked a brow high. “Yeah, lucky.”
Before Liliana could over think her next move, and while she was still feeling that bit of boldness in her heart, she stood on her tiptoes, and kissed Joe. It was a fast kiss—nothing too spectacular, and certainly not lingering. Just a sweet press of her lips against his, and then she was pulling away again.
As fast as it had happened, it was over.
Then, she waited.
For him, that was.
Joe’s gaze darted to hers, and she swore she saw a flash of heat behind his eyes. Without ever looking away from her, he set that glass of whiskey to the wet bar, grabbed her waist with a firm grip, and brought her even closer. She didn’t even get the chance to take a breath before he kissed her.
His kiss was not like hers.
Deeper, harder, and hungrier. A teasing stroke of his tongue against the seam of her lips, demanding she open up to him, and let him in. She couldn’t even help herself but to part her lips, and taste him.
Joe pulled her closer still until her chest was molded against his, and she found it hard to take in a decent breath. And only then did he pull away. His hand came up to cup her cheek, and his thumb stroked her cheekbone with a soft touch.
“I mean, if you’re going to kiss me,” he murmured as he pulled away, “then at least really kiss me, Liliana.”
She laughed breathlessly. “I wanted to see …”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you see whatever it was?” he asked.
Liliana grinned widely. “I did.”
“And?”
“Would you like to go out with me sometime, Joe?”
She expected an immediate response, but not the sudden silence that answered her back. And certainly not the slight stiffening in his body against hers. His mouth didn’t even open to speak, but she didn’t really need him to at that point, either.
She felt his refusal before he could even say it.
Rejection swept hard against the current of her lust.
Liliana blinked, and then took a step back. “Sorry, I guess I thought—”
“Hey, don’t do that,” Joe said, coming closer again.
“No, it’s fine. I suppose this was fine, but anything else probably isn’t your style, huh?”
Joe frowned. “You don’t know that.”
She knew enough about men like him to make an accurate assumption, as far as that went. And really, if he was going to reject her, she would much rather save some of her pride in the process.
Liliana waved a hand, and took another step back. Grabbing her bag from the spot where she’d set it down on the couch when she first entered, she slung it over her shoulder. “No, it’s fine, Joe. I should really get back to my sister. Thanks for helping me today—I appreciate it.”
“Liliana, just wait a damn—”
“See you around, Joe,” she said at the door, not bothering to even give him the chance to say more, or make some lame excuse for all of this, “or maybe not.”
FIVE
JOE STUFFED HIS hands in his pockets, and kept his head down as he walked on the Upper Manhattan sidewalk. In his leather jacket, and dark-wash jeans, he could have been any damn New Yorker taking a stroll. The baseball cap added in keeping his face covered, though he probably didn’t need it.
He was being precautious today. Probably a little extra, really. He figured it was better to be extra safe than ruin the Marcellos plans before they could properly get started—even if he didn’t know what those damn plans were for the time being. His entire job in New York was to stay out of sight, and live up to his namesake as the Shadow.
Joe could do that.
It was what he did best.
Joe had gotten a call earlier that Liliana would be staying late at the ballet company, and then heading to a dinner later to celebrate the upcoming show she had a major part in. Given her sister and cousin were going to be attending the dinner along with their mothers, there would be more than enough enforcers watching over them that Joe wouldn’t be needed.
Which was fine.
Sort of.
After the week before in his hotel room, Joe was still trying to figure out a way to step in on Liliana without her realizing he was the one watching her, and also apologize. He hadn’t meant to act like an ass, or offend her.
There were just things about them that was out of his control. Like the fact he was hired to do a job—one she didn’t know about, and then on top of that, had gotten guarding her added on top of the list.
Joe suspected that despite being the daughter of a Cosa Nostra underboss, Liliana probably was not all too familiar with the underlying rules that suffocated and surrounded the made men in the life. Things like women and daughters and dating were not something a man like Joe could just jump in to without some sort of preparation.
But Christ …
He wanted to.
More than anything, he found that he had wanted to say yes to her. To figure out some way to give her the date she asked for without showing them off to the public, so he could keep his cover like he had been told to do.
Surely, he could make it work.
Except he couldn’t …
He hadn’t said yes because respect came first in this life—it was the very first and last thing he had been taught before he was made. Sure, he liked to push the boundaries occasionally, but not so much that it might cause more tensions between the Marcello family and the Chicago Outfit.
Joe wasn’t that stupid.
He couldn’t explain all of that to Liliana, though. If she didn’t already know, then maybe someone hadn’t meant for her to. It did seem like her family gave her a little more leeway and freedom than most principessas.
That wasn’t a bad thing, either.
Slipping down a shadowed alley beside a rather popular Manhattan restaurant, Joe came up to the exit door at the back of the business. A light flickered over head in red, probably signaling that the door was locked.
A bit of time in New York had taught Joe a few things when it came to the Marcello brothers, and how they worked. The men might have seemed like they roamed freely without any kind of protection, but that was far from the truth. They always had at least two—but sometimes three—enforcers nearby.
Usually within shouting distance.
At least.
He suspected if the enforcers were anything like the ones doing business for the Chicago Outfit, then they kept their posts at businesses and such to make sure their bosses were protected. Something he knew well.
Putting his theory to the test, Joe knocked on the exit door with two knuckles. He waited five seconds, and then knocked again. Not a breath later, the door was pulled open, and Joe was greeted by a man just about the same size as him in width and height.
“What?” the man barked.
“Joe Rossi.”
The enforcer cocked a brow. “And?”
Apparently, not everyone knew he was working for the Marcellos in their famiglia. Joe wasn’t going to dwell on it; he had other shit to do.
“Lucian Marcello owns this place, right? Spends most of his working hours here in the private dining room.”
The enforcer’s face hardened. “What are you asking about—”
“Let him know Joe Rossi would like to speak to him.”
“You couldn’t come in through the front door, or what?”
