Claiming The Don’s Daughter

by Renee Rose

  She forgot about Carlo until he gripped her elbow and leaned in to say, “hey, I’m going to go.”

  “What?” She blinked. He wouldn’t leave without her, would he?

  “Why don’t you stay at your place tonight since you’re right here anyway?”

  Only then did it even occur to her that she’d messed up. “Oh.” She looked up in confusion, a little too tipsy to understand yet what had happened. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yeah.” He kissed her on the cheek. Not the lips. “I’ll see you later.”

  “No, wait, I’ll come.” She’d learned in college it was best to leave while the party was still good. If you waited around for something better to happen, things usually got worse. And John’s lack of... anything had already dug under her skin.

  “No.” His expression was inscrutable, but she recognized the finality in it.

  Her skin pricked with warning. “Wait... are you mad?”

  “I’m going to go. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “No, Carlo—” She grabbed his arm. When she realized she’d called attention to them, she released his arm.

  He turned and walked away.

  Grabbing her purse, she followed him out the door. “Carlo, hang on!”

  He stopped in the hallway, his face still unreadable.

  “I’m coming with you.” She caught up to him but he didn’t move to escort her out.

  He faced her, and rubbed his forehead. “Bambina, I can’t do this.”

  “What?” Her voice pitched up as the panic showed through. What was he saying? Her heart pounded in her throat.

  “I don’t think it’s going to work out for us. The timing was bad. You weren’t ready for a new relationship, you just need a distraction and…” He sighed. “I don’t want to be your sloppy seconds. It was arrogant of me to think I could make you forget about your douchebag ex, but clearly I can’t.”

  Her vision blurred. “No, Carlo. I’m sorry. You’re not sloppy seconds.”

  He didn’t look angry, his expression only held regret. Or even sympathy. Well, yeah. He was the one breaking up with her.

  “It’s not your fault. You can’t change what’s in your heart. It is what it is. Go on, get back to the party—it’s where you belong. I’ll pack up your things and send them over tomorrow.”

  She literally could not breathe.

  And then he turned and walked off. Just like that.

  Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I don’t belong there,” she said, her voice rising with a sob.

  He didn’t turn around. Wasn’t going to rescue her from herself this time. It was over.

  Turning, she rushed back to Maggie’s. She needed a friend, and she didn’t give a shit anymore what anyone at the party thought of her.

  Which was too bad, because it was too late for that change of heart.

  * * *

  Carlo licked his wounds the next night over a few drinks at Caruso’s. Al owned the bar/pub as a silent partner after he rescued it from bankruptcy a few months after his strip club was bombed. The owner/manager, Vito, hadn’t been part of the organization, and he still wasn’t, but he was okay being in bed with them. He gave Al an office in the back and they all got their drinks for free. Al provided him protection when he needed it, kept 50% of the profits and owned the note on the building and business. It made for a nice home base for Family business.

  Summer had texted him that day asking if they could talk but frankly, he wasn’t up for it. It was hard enough to accept she didn’t share his feelings. He sure as hell wasn’t ready to sit down and re-hash that fact with her.

  It had been his own fault. He shouldn’t have moved so fast. He’d known she wasn’t ready to dive into a new relationship yet, but the moment he’d held her in his arms, he’d been unwilling to let her go. But it was time to smarten up. Maybe in time they could try again. Or maybe she’d never be interested in a guy like him. The party had proved he certainly wasn’t her “type”.

  Sonny was at the bar and they played a few rounds of pool. Normally he cleaned the table before the other guy ever took a turn, but tonight, Sonny won all three games. “Something bothering you, boss?”

  He shook his head, even though they both knew his denial was a lie. Funny how three weeks with Summer had changed everything for him. Despite the familiar surroundings and people, he felt unmoored. Eight years ago, he’d lost his home country, his family, his position. He’d found a new one here and it had fulfilled his need to belong.

  Until now.

  Now, as he tossed back another gin and tonic, he’d never felt so disconnected or alone. He wasn’t an American, like them. He wasn’t actual family—at least not a blood relation—to any of them.

  Summer had complained that she didn’t know him, and he supposed it had been true. No one here really understood him. Hell, did he even know himself?

  “Want to play another game?” Sonny stood beside him, rubbing chalk on the tip of his pool cue.

  “Nah.”

  “Oh shit…”

  His eyes shot up to follow Sonny’s gaze. The Russian was walking toward him with purpose. He looked high as a kite and furious as hell.

  He and Sonny both palmed their guns. Alexei would’ve been patted down for a gun by security at the door, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have one hidden somewhere. The moment he arrived, the Russian cocked his fist and let it fly.

  Carlo blocked it and delivered an uppercut to the gut. The Russian doubled over. Sonny pressed the barrel of his gun behind the guy’s ear.

  “Walk to the back. Al doesn’t like any scenes in here.” They frog marched the guy straight out the back door to the alleyway where Carlo let him go and waved his hands. “What the fuck?”

  Alexei lunged for him again. Sonny followed, keeping his gun pressed to the guy’s head. The Russian’s pupils were tiny dots, his face unnaturally pale. He wrapped his fist in Carlo’s shirt. “Where is she?”

  “Who, the girl?”

  “Of course, the girl. Where is she? I need her back.”

  “You’re not getting her back. She was mine and I got rid of her. End of story.”

  “You gave her to the cops.” He spit a little as he rasped in his thick Russian accent.

  “Fuck you. Why would I give her to the cops, asshole? I used her, I sent her on her way. If the cops picked her up, that’s not on me.”

  Alexei’s eyes had narrowed to slits and his breath hissed in and out of his nose. A bit of saliva gathered at the corner of his mouth. “Dago cock sucker.”

  Carlo punched him in the stomach again. Sonny smacked the handle of his gun against the Russian’s head.

  “Get the fuck out of here. If I see your face here again you’re a dead man. And you’re not welcome at my game anymore.” Carlo punched him one more time.

  The guy crumpled a little but the drugs kept him from feeling much. They left him in the alleyway and locked the door, letting the security guard know to never let him in again.

  “He’s gonna be trouble,” Sonny warned as they walked toward Al’s office. “We shoulda capped him.”

  Carlo’s nape prickled. He didn’t take murder lightly and couldn’t justify it now, but Sonny was probably right. They hadn’t seen the last of the Russian.

  They walked to Al’s office in the back and tapped on the door.

  “Come in.”

  Cigar smoke filled the room and Don Al sat in his leather captain’s chair, puffing on a cigar. Pauly, Bobby and Vinny all lounged around, shooting the shit with him.

  He’d planned on filling Al in on the situation with Alexei, but not when they were all lounging around like this.

  “Hey guys.” He accepted the handshakes and man-hugs from the other men.

  “Ah, here’s the guy who’s been keeping secrets.” Vinny had been drinking. He always had a bone to pick with Carlo, acting like he didn’t deserve the position he had. Vinny was older and he was family, so yeah, he probably thought he ought to be in Carlo’s shoes. But he ma
de bad decisions. Consistently. So he hadn’t risen in the organization.

  “What secrets?” Al asked, his eyes ever sharp.

  He shrugged. He didn’t know what the fuck Vinny was getting at this time. The only thing on his mind was the crazy fucking Russian.

  “Why don’t you tell him?”

  Carlo’s lip curled. He wasn’t in the mood for one of Vinny’s challenges tonight. Hell, he’d gladly flatten the bastard. “Tell him what?”

  “That you’re fucking his daughter.”

  Rage turned his vision to red. Nobody disrespected Summer like that. His body sprang into action before thought even registered his decision. Their bodies crashed to the floor with a thud, his fist smashing into Vinny’s face. “You don’t talk about her that way,” he growled through clenched teeth. He handed another punch to Vinny’s jaw twice before he caught a blow to the mouth that busted his lip.

  “Get him off.” Don Al’s tone held heat. Which was better than frost.

  Pauly and Bobby hauled him off and held his arms, lifting him to face the Don.

  Al walked around from behind his desk, his face a mask of anger. “Is that true?”

  He yanked his arm out of Pauly’s grasp and wiped blood from his chin with the back of his hand. “I’m not fucking her. We were…” What? What could he possibly say that would keep Don Al from kicking his ass?

  Al gripped his shirt in his fist and yanked him close, his fist cocked. “You were what?”

  “I’m in love with her.” He sounded like a pansy in front of the guys, but nothing less than the truth would be worth uttering to Al about his precious daughter.

  Al’s fist flew and Carlo let it land without dodging or defending himself, because he was the don. Pain exploded in his eye and he saw stars as he slammed back into the wall.

  “You don’t take from me,” Al said, still up in his face. “You don’t take from me without asking first.”

  He closed his eyes, weariness overcoming him.

  “Look at me,” Al growled. His fist still gripped Carlo’s shirt.

  He opened his eyes, not lifting his head from the wall. “It’s over. It’s over, anyway.” Not that it would matter to Al. A betrayal was a betrayal, he supposed. Al was right. He should’ve asked first. He’d been a fucking coward.

  Al’s eyes narrowed. “What the fuck do you mean, it’s over?”

  “I mean, I made a play for her, and it failed. She doesn’t want me. She’s still hung up on her ex. End of story.”

  Al’s fingers eased from his shirt and he stepped back. Shaking his head, he said, “Get out of my sight.”

  His brain shut off completely. Numbly, he walked to the door and exited, not looking back. Had he been permanently dismissed or did Al just needed time to cool down? It was probably just shock, but he couldn’t even muster a reaction to it. He wouldn’t have cared if Al sent the guys out to cap him in the parking lot.

  He just really didn’t give a shit anymore.

  * * *

  There were many moments in her life she wished she could have a do-over. The night she fell hook, line and sinker for John. That jump into the orchestra pit that shattered her foot. None of those even came close to how much she wanted to re-do Pete’s birthday party.

  She’d barely ate all week, too sick with regret. Her apartment had never felt so lonely—not even when she’d first moved in, after her breakup with John. She’d tried calling and texting Carlo all week, but he’d been politely putting her off.

  She’d screwed up, royally. She’d been such a self-involved bitch, ignoring him at the party, worrying so much about what John thought. She wished she could go back in time and fix it all. She would have never gone to the damn party. Or if she had, she’d show off Carlo with pride.

  Carlo was right, she had been hung up on John. But losing him made her realize how insignificant John really was. He’d never done the things Carlo did. He’d never made her feel sexy or taken charge of her body. He’d never given her mind-blowing orgasms. He’d never cared about the details in her life or how she handled them. His brand of discipline had been to belittle her. How different from Carlo’s dominance.

  Carlo... Carlo had been amazing. He’d cooked for her, cared for her, protected and punished her.

  And what had she done for him?

  Zilch.

  She hadn’t thanked him. She’d been needy and insecure. She’d hung him out to dry at the party, which must’ve been completely humiliating. Especially for an alpha man like him. And yet, he hadn’t even been angry. He’d just seemed sorry about the whole thing.

  Which... hell. That meant he had truly cared. Could she make him care again? Make him give her another chance?

  Pulling on her big-girl panties, she baked a batch of double chocolate brownies with nuts—the way he liked them—and arranged them on a plate, covering them with plastic wrap. Grabbing her purse, she took the brownies and headed to her car. If Carlo wouldn’t take her calls, she’d just have to camp out at his apartment until he talked to her. When she arrived, she saw his car on the street. Ignoring the pounding of her heart, she took the elevator up to his place and knocked on the door.

  He answered the door in a pair of jeans and T-shirt that hugged the muscles of his chest and arms. She gasped when she saw his face. His eye was black and puffy and he had a raspberry on the corner of his mouth, as if he’d been in a fight.

  “What happened?”

  An impatient shake of his head warned her off the topic.

  She swallowed. “I just want to talk.”

  He leaned in the doorway, not inviting her in. “Summer…”

  She thrust the plate of treats at him. “I baked you some brownies.”

  He sighed and took the plate. “You’re killing me, here.”

  “Will you just let me in? Give me a chance to apologize? I screwed up. I behaved badly at the party and—”

  “I can’t do this, Summer,” he interrupted. “I appreciate the apology, but it doesn’t change the situation. The thing is—my feelings for you are too real. Summer, I—” He shook his head.

  Her heart thudded painfully against her chest. What was he saying?

  “This wasn’t a new thing for me. I’ve cared about you for years. I picked the wrong time to show you my feelings. You’re not in a position to accept them. It’s okay. Maybe we can try again in the future.”

  “I’m ready to try again now,” she pleaded. “I’m over John, I swear—”

  He shook his head. “Let’s give it some time. We both need some time.”

  “No, I don’t.” She was using that shrill, stressed tone he didn’t like, but he didn’t give her the warning look. He was done disciplining her. He was done with her.

  He stepped back into his apartment and swung the door closed. “I’ll see you on Sunday.”

  And then she was facing wood, her eyes and nose stinging.

  * * *

  He hadn’t heard from Don Al since the night at Caruso’s, but he’d gone on as if he still belonged in the organization. Until he heard differently, he still had responsibilities. A high-stakes game to run, managing the grappa shipment from his great uncle they were smuggling in to avoid import tax. A new shipment of cell phones to be distributed to avoid taps or tracking.

  He was driving from the docks when his phone rang. “Uncle Junior.” His one tie to his old life, he hung onto Junior like a lifeline.

  “Carlo. Mario paid me a visit.”

  “Fanculo.” Fuck.

  “He seemed to think I’d been sending your mom flowers on her birthday.”

  He cursed again.

  “Well, I didn’t tell him anything. He’s family too, but what he did wasn’t right. We had a stare-down over ammazzacaffè and when he stopped questioning me over the flowers, he asked about my exports.”

  Fanculo, fanculo, fanculo. “Well, if he comes, he comes. I’ll be ready for him.”

  “That’s why I’m warning you.”

  “Thanks, Junior. Everyth
ing on track for the next shipment?”

  “Still on track. I’ll tell you when it’s in motion.”

  “Thanks, Junior. Talk to you later.” He hit the end button and cursed again.

  The phone rang again. Al. Shit.

  “Carlo speaking.”

  “Carlo.” Al sounded worked up. “I don’t know what the fuck you did, but my daughter is at my house crying her eyes out over you.”

  His throat closed.

  “You have one hour to get your ass over here and make it right or I’m going to cut off your balls and shove them up your nose. Capisce?”

  Ignoring the tightness in his chest, he said, “I’ll be right there.”

  Summer. Fanculo.

  He’d expected she’d have a hard time with it being over, but that didn’t mean she loved him, it just meant she wasn’t up for another rejection in her life right now. But hell, if Don Al told him to fix it, he had no choice in the matter. Yes, he’d rather win Summer’s heart fair and square, but claiming her by default would do in a pinch.

  He maneuvered through traffic, his hands tight on the wheel. It took him 25 minutes to get to Al’s. He tapped on the door, then let himself in.

  Carmen popped her head out from the kitchen. “Hey Carlo.”

  “Hi Carmen. Where’s Summer?”

  But he saw her already, twisting to look at him from the couch. She was surrounded by wadded up tissues and her eyes were puffy and red. The uncertainty on her face ripped at his heart.

  “Come here, bambina.” He held out his arms.

  She started crying in earnest, but rushed to him, throwing her arms around his neck. He pulled her up to wrap her legs around his waist. She buried her face in his neck. He walked out the back sliding glass door to plop down on a pool chair, holding her cradled against his chest.

  “Carlo—”

  “Hush.” He didn’t want to talk about it—the pain of her rejection was still too fresh. Rehashing the whole thing would just send him into retreat again, and right now she needed him to soothe her. He rubbed slow circles over her back, just holding her.

  She sank into him, pressing her body tightly against him as if she needed the closeness and reassurance. They sat there, bodies intertwined, breath synchronized for a long time, until the sunset turned the water of the pool a pale pink.