I failed to mention how my heart still remembered Ranie like he had imprinted himself on my body. How I caught myself trying to grab a glimpse of him as I finished my last shift as a waitress.
Was I happy to be done parading through The Down & Dirty in lingerie in front of leering eyes? Of course. But I didn’t understand Ranie’s motives. He could have had me when we were teens. All he’d had to do was ask.
Instead, he ignored me throughout high school, and in turn, I had been bullied day after day. Now, he was back, and he expected me to suddenly be okay? My heart may have missed him, but my brain hadn’t.
Brody tossed me a shirt.
I caught it. It was old and frumpy and had holes in places there shouldn’t have been holes. “Are you serious?”
I studied Brody. He had cut his blonde hair a couple weeks ago, and it was now cropped in a gentleman’s cut, like the Fantastic Sam’s version of Ranie’s hairstyle. Brody had grown into his tall frame, and he could moonlight as a model.
I’d had people over the years ask me why I had never gone for Brody. Maybe I should have considered it. I loved Brody. I truly did. But I didn’t love him like that. When I looked into Brody’s green eyes, all I saw was how they weren’t as vivid as Ranie’s Peter-Pan-green eyes.
But times like these, I suspected Brody liked me.
I tossed the shirt back at Brody. “Can you find me a shirt that doesn’t make me look like a homeless eighties groupie reject?”
He had been sending me the worst of my closet all night. He clearly didn’t want me to go on this overnight business trip with Ranie, but it wasn’t like I had much of a choice. Ranie hadn’t relented, and short of quitting, which was unacceptable, that made me his manager.
Apparently, he was looking to expand The Down & Dirty into South Beach and wanted me to scout locations with him.
“Why are you even going, C?”
“I told you already. Just a year at this pay grade, and I can get Dad's shop back on track and maybe move out of this soul-sucking town." I was getting a six-figure salary, more than I would get in five years working as a waitress at The Down & Dirty.
“Hey, I live in this soul-sucking town.”
“I would visit of course.” I sent a smile his way. “Or you’re always welcome to come with me.”
He cocked a brow. “Just one year?”
“One year,” I promised.
How hard could it be?
* * *
* * *
Ten years ago.
I hung up on Niccolaio.
He’d been talking mid-sentence, but I wasn’t in the mood for his bullshit. It was the same old stay-away-from-Gallo spiel that had pissed me off over the past couple years. Growing up, I’d heard it enough from Dad. I didn’t need it from Nick, too.
A random senior matched my steps. “Where are we going tonight?” Did he not realize how pathetic he was for idolizing a fifteen-year-old?
Hardly a foot on Diavolo High ground and my status as King had already been cemented for the new year. Typical. It should have been Niccolaio’s throne, but somehow, by ignoring everyone and generally not giving a damn, I’d become the elusive, mysterious bad boy from one of Gallo’s Wattpad stories and stolen Nick’s crown.
I didn’t want it, but he didn’t want it either. So, where did that leave me? Being chased by my personal brand of groupies, like Justin Bieber on a sold-out tour. He’d been another one of Gallo’s guilty pleasures, and as if I needed the reminder of her, she strolled down the hall, looking hotter than any girl wearing goddamned overalls had any right to be.
I remembered those. They’d been mine from the school play we put on in sixth grade. One of the shoulders had been left purposely unclipped, exposing a lacy spaghetti-strapped tank top she had no business wearing. She’d tightened the waist area and cropped them into short shorts, and her long legs peeked out from under the jean fabric.
Fuck. Me.
Brody approached her from behind and covered her eyes like he was Chad Michael Murray auditioning for a B-grade RomCom. A smile spread across her face, and she laughed at something he said. Her small breasts heaved with each laugh, and I caught him staring at them beneath the lace of her shirt.
Bastard.
A smirk touched my lips. I wondered how he’d feel if he knew that, all this time later, my girl still wore my clothes. She swatted his hands away—good girl—and when she opened her eyes, they landed on mine. A couple feet and an ocean of misery separated us, yet she’d caught me staring.
Fuck.
She held my gaze.
Look away. Look away. Look away.
I didn’t know who I was begging—me or her?
“So… where are we going again?” the senior asked again. Saving face clearly wasn’t his strong suit.
Thankful for the interruption, I turned to him and faced the crowd that had gathered around me, like starved fish leeching on brine shrimp Gallo and I used to toss into ponds. “A party.”
Always the opportunist, Lacy leaned into me and chimed in, “My BFF is throwing one.” She nudged some chick. “Right?”
The poor girl squeaked and nodded her head like the mindless bobblehead dolls eight-year-old Gallo and I used to steal from her dad’s store.
“Whatever.”
I didn’t care who threw the party, as long as Gallo wasn’t there.
Because if I saw her wearing something of mine again, not even a hurricane could tear my hands away from her.
* * *
* * *
The Present
He picked me up at the park, where we had shared our first kiss. It probably wasn’t the best of ideas, but Dad had stopped by at my apartment, and while we lived in units next door to each other, I couldn’t kick him out. And between Dad catching me with Ranie and meeting at the park, I picked the latter.
Ranie stood in front of the jungle gym, staring at the spot where I had given him my first kiss so many years ago. I approached him as silently as I could from behind, but with my old carryon suitcase trudging behind me, I disrupted the peaceful night.
Still, he stared at that spot, even as I stood beside him. That kiss had haunted me for the past decade, and I didn’t need to stand in front of the jungle gym next to the object of my desires to remember it in high-definition.
So, I shifted my gaze to Ranie. The light pole illuminated his face, and he wore a long black designer coat over his bespoke suit despite the humid, warm April night, as if even the Florida heat couldn’t touch him. The shadows accentuated his high cheekbones, and though I hadn’t forgotten how devastatingly handsome he was, he still robbed me of my breath.
I had been prepared for anger and confrontation, but as I studied his face and the emotion in his eyes, the fight in me deflated. “What’s wrong?”
Still, he kept his Kryptonite-green eyes trained on that spot. “My sources found Niccolaio this morning. He’s somewhere in New York City.”
I had heard about how Niccolaio had killed their uncle and fled. Cristiano Andretti had scoured the town for his son. The six months following, I’d seen Andretti soldiers everywhere I went. Over seven years later, I guessed Niccolaio was still running free.
“What are you going to do?”
“I put out a hit on him. Five million dollars.”
I swallowed a gasp. “But he’s your brother.”
“Blood means nothing. Family means nothing. Doesn’t change the fact that people disappoint you.” He turned to face me. “You, of all people, should know that.”
I sucked in a breath. “That was uncalled for. Don’t talk about my mom.”
“I wasn’t talking about your mom.”
That left my dad. Which made no sense whatsoever. Aside from moping around about Mom, Dad had never disappointed me.
“Can we go?” I didn’t have time for his riddles. I wanted to get this weekend over with.
He nodded and started for the Range Rover. When I lagged behind, the wheels of my shoddy luggage catching on every
crack in the pavement, he rolled his eyes, carried my bag, and quickened his pace. I was tall, but he was taller, and I jogged to catch up to his long strides.
He opened the passenger door for me, waited until I settled in the seat, and closed it. Throwing my suitcase in the trunk, he slid smoothly into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “About what I said earlier…” He paused and took his time continuing. “Can you forget everything I said?”
I bit my lip. “I wouldn’t spill any of your secrets.” For years, I had known all about the nefarious deeds of his family, and I had never told a soul. Not even Brody or Dad.
“I know.”
He met my eyes, and we shared a look.
Understanding. Appreciation. Respect.
They filled the car, each second of history more painful than the next. I needed this weekend—this year—to pass quickly, because it was becoming clear just how relentless the feelings we’d once shared were.
* * *
The worst resentment that
anybody can have is one you
feel justified to keep.
Louis Gossett, Jr.
* * *
I sent a text to Isa, my maid, to take Spaghetti on a walk. Spaghetti was my blue-eyed, white and brindle husky-and-lab mix. I had gotten her as a puppy seven years ago, and the last thing I needed was for Gallo to see her. Or for her to find out the big, bad mafia boss had a dog named Spaghetti.
“What are we doing here?” Gallo’s voice shook as I pulled past the gates of my family’s estate.
Except for my usual day-to-day staff, only I lived here. Uncle Luca, Mom, and Dad were dead, and Niccolaio was dead to me. Pretty soon, he would actually be dead. And once I finished my volontà del re, which I was in no hurry to do, Luigi would have no reason to stop by, too.
I glanced at her. “We’re stopping by my place. I have to change and grab my luggage.”
“Oh.” She got out of the car on shaky steps when I parked, and unease spread across her face as she took in the mansion for the first time in over a decade. Almost two. “It looks the same as I remembered it.”
“I haven’t changed a thing.” I nodded my head at Matteo, my butler, as he opened the door for us.
“It feels so… empty.” Gallo’s eyes widened, and she pivoted her head to me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I-I’m sorry about your dad.” She even made sorrow cute.
“You heard about that?”
She was walking in front of me, headed to my wing of the mansion like it had only been yesterday since she last came here, but at my words, she turned around. “Brody told me, and his friends from high school told him.”
Right. Brody. That fucker.
I swallowed my irritation at the asshole who had been trying to steal my girl since he had first set eyes on what was mine. “It happened three years ago. Going on four in December.” I opened the door to my room and let her walk in first.
She grabbed a pillow—her pillow from when we would have sleepovers in Kindergarten and grade school—and laid at the very edge of my bed. I didn’t even think she realized what she was doing, or which pillow she was using.
“I’m sorry, Ranie. I know how close you guys were. I couldn’t imagine how I’d feel if my dad passed away.”
Truth was, I had been a little mad that she hadn’t been there for me when it happened. She was supposed to be. If so many people hadn’t butted their way into our friendship, I had no doubt Carina Gallo and I would be together right now. Probably married, even.
But that wasn’t our reality. And no matter how much I tried to turn it off, I couldn’t help but be in love with her. It was why I’d pushed her away all those years ago. It was why I’d called in a favor to get her that scholarship at Duke. And it was why my pulse pounded in my throat whenever she was around.
I grabbed the Louis Vuitton luggage from my walk-in closet and walked back into the central area of my room. Honestly, I could have had one of my house staff grab it for me, but I couldn't resist seeing Gallo in my home after so long. And she looked at home here. Truly.
Her eyes met mine when I exited the closet. Her cheeks were flushed, and she had my nightstand drawer open like the little snoop she had always been. “What’s this?”
I swallowed my groan. I didn’t need to look to know what she was talking about. “Mind your own business, Gallo.”
She pulled the red dress from the drawer. “You kept this? But I threw it away that night at the park.”
And like the pathetic, lovestruck sap I had been and still was, I’d taken it out of the trash as soon as I had seen it. And kept it beside my bed for over a decade after I had Isa wash it with the soap Gallo had always used.
She held it to her nose and smelled it, her face dumbstruck. “This smells like—”
You.
It smells like you, Gallo.
Like roses; and magnolias; and cedarwood; and apples; and humid summer nights at the park, where I stole what better have been your first kiss; and Spaghetti Sundays at the Gallo house, where we cooked spaghetti in your dad’s kitchen, like we were husband and wife, and you were the chef you’ve always wanted to be; and those beautiful, hydrangea-blue eyes that I missed so much that I bought a dog with eyes that same shade of blue and named it fucking Spaghetti.
I grabbed The Dress from her hands, placed it in the drawer, and turned to leave. “We’re late for our flight.”
“Flight?” She scrambled after me but glanced back at the drawer, a question on the tip of her tongue.
I didn’t let her voice it. “I didn’t stutter.”
I was an asshole, but I hated feeling vulnerable. Maybe if our relationship were what it had once been, I would have told her everything. But our history wasn’t something I could slice through like butter. It was full of bones and cartilage that needed to be picked and prodded and handled with caution.
“But South Beach is just a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Miami Beach.”
“Exactly.”
I sent a text to my assistant to have the plane prepped for takeoff as soon as possible. To be honest, I hadn’t been planning on flying. I had been looking forward to two-and-a-half hours in a car with Gallo, yet I’d panicked when she saw The Dress and, like a nervous pre-teen on a date with a girl way out of his league, blurted the first thing I thought of.
I needed Gallo to give me a chance to win her back, and I’d be damned if I scared her away first.
* * *
* * *
The twenty-four-minute, waste-of-gas private flight passed in silence. I kept glancing at Ranie, who looked comfortable bathed in luxury yet uncomfortable under my scrutiny. But I couldn’t help it.
He’d kept the dress.
He’d. Kept. The. Dress.
I didn’t know how I felt about that. Okay, that was a lie. The thrumming of my pulse consumed my body, and each time I looked at him, I found it difficult to breathe. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask them because I was afraid of his answers. Fearful that, if he said what I think he'd say, I would fall. Harder than I had ever fallen.
By the time we got to the five-star hotel Ranie had booked our reservation under, I was spent from silencing myself.
“Are you sure?” Ranie looked like a man unused to not getting his way as he asked, for the fifth time, whether or not they had an extra room.
He was the one who had booked a His-and-Her suite for us, and now it was like that was the last thing he wanted. I was almost offended, except I wasn’t too keen on sharing a room with him either. Not when emotions ran so high between us.
The front desk lady, who had gone from flirty to apprehensive to worn with each reiteration, repeated, “I’m sorry, Mr. Andretti, but the hotel is fully booked. We already canceled and refunded a regular patron when you made the last-minute reservation this morning."
He straightened. “Well, cancel and refund another person.”
“It’s almost midnight, sir.”
“I-I—”
“Ranie,” I interrupted, taking pity on her. “It’s fine. We’ll share a room. No big deal.”
Except it was a big deal.
A huge fucking deal.
“This is my hotel. I’ll be damned if I can’t get a room in my own hotel.”
Of course, it was his hotel.
I could barely afford a shitty studio apartment, and he owned a beachfront hotel in South Beach.
“I get that, but it’s late, and I want to sleep.” I yawned for good measure. “Can we just go to bed? And if you want your own room tomorrow, you can harass the poor lady in the morning.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t harass people.”
“Oh, my God.” Arguing with him was pointless. I turned to said harassed lady. “Can I get a key to the room?” When she handed me one, I headed to the elevator and called after me, “Follow if you want. I don’t care. I’m going to bed.”
He followed, and when the elevator doors slid shut, we were back to excruciating silence. At this rate, we could make a silent film out of this trip. But he turned to me, and the panicked urgency in his eyes, like this trip was slipping away from him, spoke more than words ever could.
My heart dipped and need coursed through my body. Every woman deserved a man who looked at her like Ranie was looking at me. Like nothing else would satisfy him but me.
He stepped closer to me, his control visibly slipping. “Why is it that you’re the only woman that can bring me to my knees?”
“I don’t see you kneeling.” My false bravado sucked, but it was the only thing standing between us and the bad decisions I wanted so desperately to pursue.
He lowered himself slowly.
“What are you doing?” I reached for his shoulders, trying to get him to stand up. “Get up!”
“You want me to kneel, and I’ll kneel.” He looked up at me. “Tell me what you want from me, Gallo, and I’ll do it.”
Ranieri Andretti: A Second-Chance, Enemies-to-Lovers Mafia Romance Novella (The Five Syndicates Book 3) Page 5
