by Bethany-Kris
“What I do for my job is none of your business,” Joe said, tossing the man’s words back at him.
“On the contrary—I’m the one paying you.”
“Dante, actually,” Joe countered.
Lucian smirked. “On the surface, maybe.”
What?
Joe decided Lucian’s word games weren’t all that important right then. He had something else he needed to deal with. “I want to know why one of the sons of my mark approached Liliana on opening night of The Sleeping Beauty?”
That was what did it.
That was what made Lucian’s calm façade crack.
“Excuse me?”
Lucian moved a step forward—a calculating step if Joe ever saw one. It was like suddenly the man’s body was a coiling snake readying to strike, and Joe very well might be the target it came to kill.
“Rich Earl—approached Liliana during opening night of the show. I saw from the background, and didn’t step in because even though she seemed uncomfortable with him around, she had it under control. Also, I didn’t want to expose myself being there. She didn’t know. I didn’t want to freak her out or anything.”
“And you know who he is how, exactly?” Lucian asked, reverting back to the calm tone.
“I thought he looked familiar.”
“That tells me nothing.”
“I made some calls, and had some information pulled.”
“And what did you find?”
Joe’s gaze narrowed. “Why are you questioning me?”
“Because I can!”
Jesus.
“I found what I wanted to know—who he was, and because of that, how he’s related to this job considering he’s Earl’s son. Now, could you answer some fucking questions of mine, Lucian, or no?”
“He approached her?” Lucian asked.
“I’ve said that two or three times now.”
Glancing to the side, Lucian said nothing for a spell. Joe thought the man might have been considering his words, but it was possible that it was something else entirely. Like maybe Lucian was trying to check his rage.
But why?
What was Joe missing?
He was missing something, clearly.
“No,” Lucian finally said, “I am not going to answer your questions.”
Joe stared hard at the man.
Lucian stared back, unflinchingly.
“This is Marcello family business,” the man continued, “and you were hired to do a job for us, nothing else. Do your job, Joe, or someone else will.”
Joe’s jaw clenched. “All I am asking—”
“Is for something I won’t give you. Why haven’t you hit the marks yet, anyway?” Lucian cocked his head to the side, and his gaze narrowed in on Joe. “I do believe Dante gave you the okay last week to go ahead with the hits.”
Yes.
The day after Liliana’s show.
Joe hadn’t gone forward.
Yet.
“And why haven’t you done your job?” Lucian demanded.
“Because.”
Lucian sneered. “Because you were digging through information, and waited to see what you could find, hmm? Didn’t want to jump ahead of the gun lest it shoot you in the ass.”
Joe stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I said from the jump that these are high profile people, Lucian. I want to know why I’m supposed to kill them.”
“Just do your fucking job, Joe.” Lucian eased out of his defensive posture, but the hard, coldness in his gaze remained. “You’re heading to Chicago in a couple of days for that … business opening, correct?”
“Yes, the bar with my brother.”
“Do make sure you’re ready—or damn close—to finishing what we hired you for by the time you get back. Understood?”
How was he supposed to respond?
No?
“I’ll see what I can do,” Joe settled on saying.
Being back in Chicago was like crawling back in your comfortable bed after being away from it for far, far too long. Joe stepped off the private jet onto his home soil, and instantly felt like he might be able to let his guard down a little bit. It helped to see his father and brother waiting just across the tarmac.
And yet, something was still holding him back from being entirely happy that he was home a day later. Probably, the text messages coming into his phone, and the beautiful woman he’d left back in New York.
But who knew for sure?
You free tonight?
That had been Liliana’s last text.
Joe was still struggling to answer her back. Likely because he didn’t want to tell her no, or make it seem like he was rejecting her again. The very last thing he wanted Liliana to feel was as though he had just fucked her and run like a coward after. Because really, he hadn’t gotten to see her again since that night. At least, not while she knew.
Most of his days were spent following her around, and making sure she was safe, now. But that left him with very little time to do anything else, and the girl was a damn social butterfly. Always out and about, and it wasn’t like he could step in public and make himself known.
Not in the job description, unfortunately.
There was nothing more he wanted than to climb back on a plane, and head to New York to spend an evening with her instead of this goddamn bar opening.
And he hated flying.
Shit, that alone should have told Joe something.
Finally, he answered Liliana’s text back with a simple, How about Monday? Something came up.
Monday is good—I am free anytime after four.
Joe grinned down at his phone, pleased that had worked in his favor. Monday it is, sweetheart.
He stuffed his phone back into his pocket just as Cory rounded the bar with one of his usual cocky grins. “What are you behind here smiling like a fucking boy for?”
Joe gave his brother a look. “I am not. I’m … enjoying a good opening.”
He mentally patted himself on the back for coming up with that lie. Although, he should have known better because if there was anyone in his life who knew him well, it was Cory. He couldn’t hide shit from his brother.
“Nah, you were checking out your phone,” Cory said, resting an elbow to the bar. “And I know how much you hate these openings—you only like owning businesses because money. Cut the shit, and tell me what’s up.”
Yep.
“Just drop it,” Joe muttered.
“Met someone in New York?”
Joe stared hard at Cory, and silently willed his brother to go away. And of course, when he didn’t, all Joe could do was shake his head. “How do you even guess shit like that?”
“So, I’m right, then.”
Cory grinned in that way of his again.
Joe kind of wanted to punch him in the mouth.
“Maybe I met someone,” Joe finally settled on saying. He knew how his brother worked, and if he didn’t give Cory something to chew on for a while, then his brother would never shut up until he did get what he wanted. “And maybe it’s a little complicated because of circumstances and the job I’m supposed to be doing.”
“Who is she?”
“You don’t care, Cory.”
“Hey.”
The hurt in his brother’s tone actually made Joe turn to face his brother full on. Cory cocked a brow in challenge, and his posture matched with arms crossed over his broad chest. Both Rossi brothers were tall, wide, and built like brick shithouses. Something they took from their father, he supposed.
“I get you’re not like me, Joe,” Cory said.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“Women, dumbass. You’re not like me with women.”
“To say the least,” Joe muttered.
Women were like tissues to Cory. Fun and easy to use, and then quickly disposed of once he had gotten what he wanted from them. Joe didn’t have serious relationships, but he wasn’t interested in just busting a nut and moving on, either.
Th
at wasn’t his style.
“Yeah,” Cory continued, “so when you say maybe you met a woman, I’m gonna stop and ask about her, fucker. Because I know that means something to you just based on the way you are with females. So, what’s her name, and don’t try that ignorant shit with me again or I’ll bust your mouth.”
Had it been any other man …
Any other time …
Joe likely would have stood up for that challenge, and dared his brother—or whoever—to go ahead and fucking try it. He got his kicks out of that kind of shit, but especially with Cory considering the two had grown up beating the hell out of each other every chance they could.
But tonight, it just amused him.
Because it meant Cory gave a fuck.
“Liliana Marcello,” Joe said.
As soon as he said it, he plucked up the drink he hadn’t touched all night—three fingers of whiskey—and downed it in one single go. Because yeah, he needed a drink after admitting that.
Cory whistled low. “Damn. If that ain’t playing with some kind of fucking fire, I don’t know what is.”
Joe shrugged. “She’s …”
“Are you gonna give me some sappy shit, or …?”
Not even thinking about it, Joe struck out with his fist, and punched Cory right in the gut. His brother doubled over with a half-laugh, and half-moan. The commotion gained the attention of several patrons in the opening bar, but since it was mob-owned, and Joe recognized most of the faces, he just grinned and waved a hand.
These people knew how the Rossi brothers were.
“You are a fucker,” Cory said in a sneer as he stood straight again.
“Says the fucker who probably helped make me this way,” Joe countered.
Cory considered that before admitting, “Truth.”
Joe gave his brother another look. “No, I wasn’t going to be sappy. I haven’t grown a cunt in my absence, you shithead.”
“What, then?”
The two leaned against the bar, and watched the bartender down the way serve drinks with a fun flair to the people on the other side. Silent for the moment, it gave Joe the chance to think over his words before he just blurted something stupid out.
Plus, he didn’t exactly know how to describe Liliana, or what he thought and felt about her. It was complicated, and difficult. She was also different, and wonderful. Beautiful like nobody else. A fucking star in his eyes—captivating him with nothing more than a smile and a twirl.
“Ma would love her,” Joe said.
Cory stiffened beside him. “Oh?”
“She’s that kind of woman, you know.”
“Huh.”
“That’s all you’ve got to say?”
Cory’s gaze met Joe’s and he replied, “That’s all I need to say.”
“There’s strange shit going on down in New York, though, and I can’t really say I like it.”
“That sounds bad.”
“A little.”
“I could come to—”
“No, you can’t come to New York with me,” Joe interjected.
Cory scowled. “Why do you have to ruin all my fun?”
“Because you don’t know how to stay under the radar, Cory.”
“Fine—that’s fair. What’s the problem?”
Joe wondered how much he should tell his brother, but it really wasn’t all that much of a question for him. Out of everyone in his life, he trusted his brother the very most. Maybe it was their raising, or the fact they were so close in age and only really had each other to fall back on a lot of the time in this life. Nonetheless, he would give his life for Cory, and knew his brother would give his in return, too.
“All right, it’s like this,” Joe started.
It took a good ten minutes for him to get through the job the Marcellos asked him to do, and then all the weird shit that came up after. He didn’t leave out the fact he thought the two hits were too high profile to be doing close together, not to mention that he all but knew the Marcellos had to have a good reason for doing it, and it was likely going to draw attention to them. He added on the son of the politician approaching Liliana at her show, and then the meeting Joe had with Lucian just before he came.
“They keep telling me to mind my fucking business,” Joe said, “but I feel like there’s a lot of shit going on under the surface, and I need to know why this job was put in my hands to begin with.”
“The Outfit’s spoiled you, man,” Cory said.
Joe’s brow dipped. “What?”
“You’re a hired gun. A hitman, at the most. And you were hired to do a hit for them—nothing more, Joe. You’re used to Tommas or Dad giving you every reason why someone has to die, so you can do your strange guilt shit when you have to justify it to God.”
“First of all—”
“Shut up. Point being, they don’t owe you that information. You took the job, so that means you do it.”
“No, I took it because Dad asked me to,” Joe replied.
“You didn’t mention that.”
Joe shrugged. “Yeah, basically said because he’s asking me to do it, so I did. And even now when I try to raise my concerns about all of this, he brushes me off.”
Cory frowned. “That’s not like Dad, either.”
“See,” Joe said pointedly, “something is fucking up, man. I’m not crazy.”
“You think it maybe has something to do with Liliana? You said Lucian told you on the surface it may look like Dante was paying you, right?”
“Kind of suggested it was Lucian who was getting me to do the job, yeah.”
Cory nodded. “All right, now add on the fact the son of a senator you’re meant to kill was acting kind of friendly with Lucian Marcello’s daughter—”
“She has a goddamn name, Cory.”
“First, I realize she has a name, Joe. Step out of your feelings for five seconds, and think about this whole thing objectively. That’s probably half of your damn problem. You haven’t been able to really get your eyes away from the prize long enough to properly think about all of this.”
“The prize—what?”
“Liliana’s pus—”
Joe punched his brother again, but this time, in the shoulder. “Watch your fucking mouth.”
Cory rubbed the spot, and scowled deeper. “Keep hitting me, and I’m not going to help you at all.”
“You’re not helping very much right now.”
“You said she looked uncomfortable, and this … Rich Earl, the senator’s son, acted familiar with her. Maybe a previous relationship or something?”
Jealousy surged through Joe.
Hot.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
He swallowed the bitter taste it left behind, and tried to keep it from showing in his tone when he said, “That’s fair to say, sure.”
“How about I look there, then,” Cory suggested.
“What—at Liliana and Rich? She’s not seeing him.”
“But she might have been.”
Fuck.
True.
And that might give Joe some of his answers, too.
“I know some people,” Cory added under his breath. “I could have the info to you relatively soon.”
“How soon?”
“Depends on how much digging I have to do. I mean, if it were easy to find, you would know already. There would have been news about the Marcellos and these high-profile men they want you to hit, but you said there’s no direct connection that you’ve found. None that are obvious between the marks of yours, and the main men of the Marcello organization, anyway. That means, it has to be something deeper in their family. Something—or someone—behind these men that they’re protecting.”
Someone like Liliana.
Joe swallowed hard, not liking how this was starting to look. “All right, then. Don’t tell Dad you’re looking into shit. He’s already being a prick about this when I try to ask.”
Cory nodded. “You got it.”
E
IGHT
“RETIRÉ DEVANT! I said retiré devant, Anabel. Jesus Christ.”
“I did.”
“Then why was your leg still on the floor, girl?”
The argument continued on between the director and a dancer, but as long as it wasn’t her who was fighting with him, she found it easy to tune the man out.
Liliana fell from her position, thankful that at the moment, Gordo’s anger wasn’t on her. She felt bad for Anabel, though, because the girl had been in the correct move, and position. It didn’t matter—they were working on seven hours, and at the six-hour mark was about the time when Gordo’s patience ran thin when it came to training and rehearsals.
He couldn’t possibly have his eyes on twenty dancers at once, but he certainly thought he could. And thus, when his frustration or irritation with anything spilled over, he liked to take it out on the dancers.
Regardless if this was just another one of Gordo’s outbursts, or if the girl was actually missing her moves, Liliana was grateful for the break. It allowed her the chance to catch her breath, grab the towel hanging over the barre along the wall of mirrors, and wipe her face, neck, and shoulders down.
She was taking in her tired reflection when a familiar man stepped into the entrance of the studio. Her father was formidable on his good days—tall, dark, and brooding. Her mother liked to say Lucian could silence someone with nothing more than a glance in their direction, and a smart person could guess his mood just based on how dark the hazel of his eyes were on any given day.
Liliana knew it was all true.
She also knew that he was her dad. Lucian never scared her, and he certainly didn’t intimidate her, either. How could he when he was the same man who used to sing her a special bedtime song he made up just for her, or all the tea parties he joined in on when she was a little girl?
He was her dad.
That’s all she saw.
“Excuse me, but you can’t be in here,” Gordo said.
Lucian didn’t even grace the director with his attention as his gaze finally landed on Liliana across the studio. He pointed a single finger at her, and then hooked it as if to silently demand she, move.
