Boss (Chianti Kisses #2)

by Tara Oakes

  Rumors had swirled for years about who was responsible for the car crash. Nothing could be proven, though, and some very quick deals were struck to avoid an all-out war.

  When Mr. D followed, years later, from lung cancer, the family mostly got absorbed into others. Some die-hard old-timers like my uncle, chose to retire rather than swear loyalty to someone else.

  The Morettis were peaceful enough to the Lombardis where it seemed the obvious choice for me when I was old enough. Ties had been loosened over the years, as Dom and John have worked hard to distance themselves from their fathers’ way of life.

  The skirmish between them and Rizzo last year was surprising. Moretti stayed on the sidelines, not wanting to get involved unless asked. Everything seemed to die down when Rizzo was sentenced and I figured it was over.

  Then Dom called. Not only was our help needed, but a door to my past, to her, was shown to me.

  And here I am, four hours later, standing in front of her apartment door with my finger on the doorbell.

  ~*~

  THERESA

  All I want to do right now is soak in a hot bath with some lavender oil, sip on a glass of vino, and listen to some good breakup music. It’s been just under a week since Josh and I broke up, and I’ve downloaded everything from Alanis Morisette’s angry break-up anthems, to Taylor Swift’s love-gone-bad biographies.

  It’s not like I didn’t see it coming. We’re from two different worlds and even though there was a spark in the beginning… it just got boring. I mean, how many country club dinners can we go to with his parents?

  I took up tennis, sailing, and golf to try to fit in with his yuppy friends. Golf! What woman in her right mind wants to wear a sun visor and plaid to hit a stupid ball with a club? Plaid makes you look fat. It’s a fact.

  And then there was his family. They were as prim and proper as you can get. I felt like an exotic little pet they would take out and put on display. Every time I would see his Aunt Muffy, (yes, I said Muffy), she would ask me to speak Italian so she could attempt to speak in her forty-year old college intro, bad dialect, Italian. It was so embarrassing.

  He begged me to reconsider, having spent about a year together that he didn’t want to see thrown away. But, I need more. I don’t know what I need exactly, just… more.

  This isn’t my first break-up. It’s not even my worst. I liked Josh, but I won’t fool myself into thinking that he left me with a broken heart. Only one person has ever done that. And what are the odds that I would see him, after all this time, today of all days?

  I’ve forbidden myself from thinking about him, saying his name. It was self preservation, but it was effective. I survived and it only made me stronger. Even E.J. didn’t have my heart. He had something else, though; he had my body. In some ways, that was worse.

  E.J. was evil in his own way, but there was something about the forbidden, the off-limits, that turned me on. He played me like a well-tuned violin and made me beg for more. It’s a cruel twist of fate, I think.

  Carmine had my heart but not my body, while E.J. had my body but not my heart. Josh had neither. I’m seeing a trend. It’s all down hill from here. I pop the cork from the half empty bottle left over from last night. At this rate, I’ll be an alcoholic before I even find another boyfriend. Maybe I’ll meet someone in Betty Ford.

  I look at the glass in hand and think it’s just the way to get started on my pity party tonight. I carry it with me down the hall to the bathroom, and loosen my robe along the way, leaving it on the wooden floor somewhere between the living room and my bedroom. One of the biggest benefits to living alone is being able to walk around naked. It’s freeing, exhilarating.

  I perch my wine glass on the wide pedestal around the tub and fill the depths with hot, steamy water to drown my sorrows. My hair is thrown up in a clip and I press the remote in just the right places to cue the music, loud.

  The screen to my phone lights up, with a picture of V in her wedding gown flashing across for me to see. I breathe deep. I can’t talk to her right now. I’m too embarrassed to even think of what to say.

  How do you apologize for being a brat without actually admitting to being a brat? Ever since the wedding planning, I feel like I lost my best friend. Everything was about the wedding, or Dom. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for them. I love V, and I know she and my brother are perfect for each other. But, it’s kind of difficult seeing happy people with the perfect relationship while you are unfilled in your own.

  When I’d see them together I’d turn to see my own boyfriend and realize we didn’t have the same thing… that kismet, steamy, sizzling attraction that just draws you to the other person. We didn’t have that. We had golf.

  I convinced myself that once the wedding was over, V would return to normal and maybe I wouldn’t feel so disappointed in my own love life, comparing it to hers. But, what should have been a lunch with my best friend and sister-in-law comforting me and assuring me that one day I’d find my own drop-dead-gorgeous prince charming like she did. Instead it turned into a royal cluster-fuck.

  Not only was she practically ignoring me the whole lunch, in my post break up rawness, but she didn’t even have the gall to tell me about Carmine. That was a slap in the face. She knew how I felt about him. She knew what he did to me. And she welcomed him into her home without even giving me the heads up.

  I carefully step one foot into the deepening water, testing it. It’s perfect. I crawl into the comfort and close my eyes, soaking in its numbing relief. I feel my muscles soften, loosening, loosing their tension.

  I exhale deeply and listen to the music, the beats reverberating through the water and tingling my skin. I need this. I need to just relax and not think of anything. Not think of the fool I made of myself in a crowded restaurant, not think of the one person I prayed to never see again rushing toward me, and to not think of how disappointed I was when I realized that he wasn’t running to me, but rather past me to V.

  I can’t think of his dark hair slicked back, perfectly cut and styled. I can’t think of his dark eyes staring straight into me, fixed on mine as I blinked over and over to make sure he wasn’t a dream. I’ve had that dream too many times before, only to be disappointed.

  I’d imagined him showing up time after time, apologizing and offering some magical explanation that would somehow make it OK. He was just some fucked-up figment of my imagination each end every one of those times. How would I think this afternoon was any different?

  But then I felt him, heard him speak.

  He rushed past me, his body brushing up against my skin as it moved. His voice, in its well-concealed accent calling out. Calling out to V, not to me.

  It’s like the wound has been torn open again, with a fresh layer of salt having been thrown on. I can’t do this. I can’t think of this. I need to be numb. I take an healthy sip of my wine, finishing the glass, and then work the controls to increase the volume from the speakers once again. Dr. and Mrs. Jones from next door are in Florida, so I know the volume won’t intrude.

  Perfect. With this ringing in my ears, I won’t be able to clearly think about anything.

  I move to the beat, feeling the music course through me. And when it gets to the chorus where she sings about how her broken heart won’t get the best of her, I join in, belting it out word for word at the top of my lungs.

  ~*~

  CARMINE

  What the fuck is that?

  I put my ear up to the door. There it is again. I jiggle the handle. Locked. There it is again. The music is loud, but I can hear the screams.

  So far the threats have been directed toward V, but maybe we overlooked something? Theresa’s screaming her lungs out in there. The door lock is a digital one, not one that can be picked. I’d need a handheld skimmer to break the code.

  I look right then left. There’s only one other door on this side of the building, and no signs that anyone’s home. I pull my gun from its holster at my side, take two steps back and move quickly t
o charge the door, kicking hard as I command it to open. It does.

  The door is thick, as it’s blocked out the true volume of the music. It’s deafening. I look around quickly, no signs of struggle, no forced entry other than the one I’ve just made. There’s an empty bottle of wine on the counter. I hold my gun at the ready, moving quickly from room to room, eyes scanning.

  “Theresa!” I call out. I can’t be heard through the mind-numbing bass pumping through the walls. But, I somehow hear her scream again. I see a white pile of cotton on the floor. I kick it. It’s some sort of a bathrobe. No blood from what I can tell.

  Please… please let her be OK. I feel panic. It’s a feeling I'm not all that familiar with, having been hardened and conditioned not to let emotions mix in with situations like this. I pull back the chamber of my gun so it’s ready at the slightest touch of the trigger.

  Door after door is closed, but one is left ajar at the far end of the hallway. I fix on it and decide it’s my best chance right now.

  Every second counts.

  There have been millions of seconds since I left her all those years ago, but somehow, they don’t matter. The only ones that matter are right now. The second after second that passes until I find her. The second after second where I think the worst and curse myself for wasting all that time, all those years, all those seconds not being with her.

  I see steam escaping from the cracks around the door, hear her voice from inside. It sounds as if she’s being drowned. This is it, I let instinct take over and use my toe to push the door fully open, before I storm in to the huge bathroom.

  “Theresa!” I call out once again before I see her naked body lying in the tub screaming in shock.

  ~*~

  “Who the hell told you to break my door down?!” Theresa scolds me as I do my best to align the wooden object up with the doorjamb. I get it to sit properly in place but the lock is definitely busted.

  My ears still hurt from the loud music, although it’s been turned off for a few minutes now. I can’t guarantee that I’m not yelling, as I have no idea how my voice sounds. I’m temporarily deaf.

  “It just needs a new lock. I’ll have it replaced for you in the morning.”

  “Damn right you will. I have half a mind to call my brother and let him know what you just did!” she threatens.

  I laugh. She was always melodramatic.

  “Please do. Let him know how it sounded like you were being murdered and I raced in to save your ungrateful little ass.” I move past her to use her kitchen sink to wash my hands of the hinge oil. “You might want to leave out the part about you throwing your naked body at me, though.” I wink at her.

  I can hear her start to prepare a comeback, but I don’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me react to it. “I did not throw myself at you! I was attacking you!”

  I dry my hands on a nearby dishtowel. “Let me guess, you took a safety-first class for women?” I try to hold in my laughter as I touch the swelling area on my cheek from her feeble attempt at a punch.

  The only reason she even got close enough to touch me is because I was too shocked at seeing her naked, gorgeous, womanly body coming toward me. I was mesmerized, searching every curve to compare it to the ones I last remembered.

  I left a girl, all those years ago. I’ve come back to a woman.

  I shield my grin as best I can, even though I’m itching to steal another look at those curves hidden beneath her bathrobe. I can feel my pants getting tight in the crotch just thinking about it.

  “Oh, so now you’re some big tough guy with a gun, huh?” she taunts me.

  I turn, resting against the marble of the countertop behind me, throwing the dishtowel aside and crossing my arms. “Is that what you see?”

  She scowls. “What I see, is a coward. A kid with a perpetual boner who says whatever he needs to say to get a girl to give it up. He’ll lie to her, trick her, use her. And then just when she’s sucked in, ready to give everything to him, he takes off, leaving her with her broken heart thinking that she wasn’t good enough.”

  Her words hit hard. They don’t even come close to being true, but I know this is how she sees things, remembers things.

  “Is that really what you think? That you weren’t good enough? That you’re not good enough?” I find myself holding my breath as I wait for her answer. How could she think that she wasn’t good enough, when it was me who wasn’t up to par?

  She laughs an evil laugh, a hard laugh. “I used to. I used to think that.”

  I can see the tiny little vein throbbing in her jaw. I don’t doubt her words. “I know this sounds lame, Theresa. But, you couldn’t have been more wrong. About some of those things, anyway. But, I was a coward.”

  I can see she doesn’t trust me. I don’t expect her to.

  “Listen, I know it’s too late to explain or apologize, but I’ll be here for a little while, and I just thought I owed it to you to at least….”

  “Save it,” she brushes me off with her venom. “I’m not the same girl I was back then. I don’t need to hear your pathetic little words, Carmine. That girl is gone.”

  Huh. She’s as stubborn as always.

  “Good,” I proclaim. “That girl was kind of a bitch.”

  She eyes me in shock. “Now, unless you want to watch me sleep like a stalker chick, I suggest you go to bed.”

  I make the initial movements to take my shirt off.

  “Wha-what do you think you’re doing?” she exclaims.

  I smile, satisfied, as I unbutton myself. “Getting ready for bed, princess. Can’t leave you alone in here if that front door doesn’t lock.” I nod over to the broken wood. “I’ll take the couch.”

  She moves to talk, but stops herself. She eyes the door behind us, thinking to herself. I don’t wait for her stamp of approval. No way in hell am I going to let her sleep in this apartment, vulnerable. For Dom, sure, because I know he would expect me to stay and protect his sister, but also for myself. The thought of her being hurt, being in danger, nearly took my heart out of my chest earlier. I can’t risk it happening for real. The least I can do is stay the night.

  My collared shirt is draped on a nearby chair and I pull my undershirt up, over my head. I feel her eyes on me. I can’t lie. I like her eyes on me.

  “You gonna watch?” I play with her.

  I now work on my belt. Once she hears the rattling of the metal buckle, she knows what’s coming next. She snaps to attention.

  “Just make sure you’re gone before I wake up.” She stalks off and slams her bedroom door shut.

  I plop down hard on the luxurious sofa, facing the front door, gun cocked and ready near me. She’s still as pleasant as always. Miss Congeniality.

  Even more surprisingly, it still gets my dick hard.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THERESA

  He saw me naked.

  I can’t believe he saw me naked.

  Back when I wanted him, begged him, to look at my naked body, he repaid the favor by taking off in the middle of the night. Now… all these years later, when I want nothing more than to kick his butt all the way back to Italy, he finally takes a real look at me. And I didn’t even shave my legs.

  Aghhh! The smug little look on his lying lips makes me want to smack it off him. Knowing that he’s out there, sleeping on my new sofa, ruining it with his stench, the eau de douche bag cologne he probably buys in bulk, just pisses me off.

  I loved that sofa. It’s so comfortable. Do you know how hard it is to find just the right couch? Does he care? Nope. Now I’ll have to burn the damn thing.

  Aghhh!

  I turn over, furiously, my body full of angst. The pillow is both too hard and too soft at the same time. Nothing seems right in this bed, I can’t get comfortable. Closing my fist tight, I punch the pillow over and over again, trying to mold it to some acceptable shape while taking out my aggression on the innocent bedding.

  Now flat on my back, I stare straight ahead at the darker ceiling. I fe
el my eyes widen as they adjust to the darkness of the room, and I imagine the fury building within me shooting out like lasers into the shadowy sheetrock.

  Who the hell does he think he is? Barging in here like some road-raged psycho, carrying a gun… A GUN! My front door is busted, my beautiful and comfy couch is now tainted beyond repair and I can’t fall asleep for anything.

  This isn’t fair. I shouldn’t have to see him again. Not now, not ever. Not after what he did to me.

  EIGHT YEARS AGO

  “There’s no way we’re going to get away with this, Theresa.” V tries in vain to dissuade me from my plan.

  It’s taken me over a week to put all of this together. I’m not about to abandon it. As long as everything stays on schedule and we make sure to stick to the plan, we should be fine. Momma,

  Nonna and Aunt Rosie will be spending the night in Manhattan tonight, instead of heading home late after the children’s hospital charity event later today.

  It was a blessing in disguise when the invitation came. It’s been becoming more and more difficult to steal time away to meet Carmine. The summer’s gone so fast, and we only have a few weeks left together before his trip is over and he heads back across the Atlantic where he’ll be no more than a voice on the telephone until next summer.

  I’m pretty sure I’ve thought of everything. V will be spending the night at our house, and will be the perfect cover. She’ll hang out in my room with a movie and a pizza, in case Dom decides to check on us. I doubt he will, but just in case, I’ll conveniently be in the bathroom or indisposed. V is pretty quick, I have no doubt she’ll come up with something believable if she needs to.

  It’ll be easier to juggle excuses and think of quick cover stories to dodge one brother at my house rather than three over at hers. As long as she plays the music loud and makes occasional trips to the kitchen for the staff to witness, we should have a rock solid alibi.