Triple Threat_An MFMM Romance

by Daphne Dawn

  17

  Sofia

  Phew, Franco’s gone again.

  Can I risk it?

  Tentatively, I glance around. I feel like a five-year-old girl about to steal the last cookie from the cookie jar.

  Still no sight of the brothers. Of course that doesn’t mean they’re not about to pop right up in front of me. I mean Franco left saying something about being right back.

  But it’s so fucking tempting. As if moved by some invisible force, my hand inches forward. I never shake on a job.

  But, right now, my hand’s trembling.

  Come on, Sofia, I rouse myself. You can do this.

  I mean what fucking harm can come to me?

  Briefly I close my eyes and then, like the Nike motto, I just do it.

  I make myself another cup of coffee.

  The machine they call the beast is practically begging me to use it. As soon as I turn it on, I’m bathing in the strong scent of coffee, and I close my eyes.

  I breathe in and out as slowly as I can muster. For some reason, my heart’s beating a little faster than normal.

  Get a grip, I command myself and watch the thick black liquid trickle into my cup. Holy shit.

  I can see why they’re obsessed with this thing. It does make awesome coffee.

  With no particularly hurry, I bring the cup to my lips and revel in the velvet texture and bitter taste.

  As I savor the hot drink, I look around the kitchen. Being the type of chick that does not spend much time in rooms like this one, I can’t say I’m overwhelmed, but I can appreciate it for its grandeur.

  I’ve seen a cooking show here and there, I’ve seen the kitchens of four chef hat restaurants, and I vividly remember my own mother’s kitchen.

  It was nothing like this.

  For starters, this one was the size of a small two-bedroom house. The one in the home I grew up in was like the size of a bathroom in this mansion.

  Mom didn’t have all these gadgets, pots, pans and knives. All she had was a stove, an oven, a couple of pots, one knife, and a whole lot of love.

  She cooked with love—love for me, her daughter.

  The memory has me choking up.

  But as I stare at the different areas in this huge kitchen I couldn’t help shaking the feeling that whatever cooking goes on in here is also done with love, passion, and enthusiasm.

  I’m just about to wander outside to see what else I could find when my gaze zeroes in on a piece of paper.

  It’s lying all-alone, abandoned, forgotten on one of the marble top benches. Quickly, I glance around. I’m still alone.

  Should I take a look at it? Of course I should. I’m here on an undercover assignment, not some tea party.

  I need to get my fucking skates on to start working or else.

  The Senator is not a nice man to deal with if he doesn’t get his way.

  Slowly, looking left and right, I walk over to the paper. At first glance, it seems to only have random names on it.

  The closer I look, the clearer the scribbles become.

  It’s a handwritten note. Neat, proper, penmanship.

  With a furrowed brow, I study the list.

  At the top of it is the word ‘Panther.’

  Then followed by:

  Jaguar.

  Eagles.

  Rams.

  Titans.

  Cowboys.

  And on and on the names go.

  Beside each name are numbers and a sum of money.

  Realization dawns on me the longer I look at it.

  Of course.

  Match-fixing.

  The Monatello family is well known for its far-reaching influence and alleged match-fixing. So far no one has been able to get any cold, hard, evidence.

  Until now.

  Until this very fucking moment.

  I nearly jump for joy before my heart plummets down into my little toe again.

  What am I to do with this list? I can hardly hide it in my ever so tight and revealing crop top.

  My skirt is also out of the question.

  Darn. Darn. Darn.

  Why am I so unprepared?

  If my phone was working, I could take a photo and get it analyzed for precise data. I have no idea, off the top of my head, what the current ladder looks like, who is playing who and when.

  Fuck.

  Biting my bottom lip, I look around, frantically trying to come up with a plan.

  This is such a fantastic find, with very little effort on my part. Okay, so I had to fuck all three of them the night before, but heck, it wasn’t that onerous.

  Maybe I can hide it till I have a way of making a copy of it?

  Somehow I’ll need to come back and take a photo or scan it. Either would be good. Copying it myself will be of no use whatsoever.

  Experts these days would be able to precisely identify the type of paper this has been written on, what pen was used, and who has written it.

  I spin on my heels. Where would you hide something in a kitchen?

  No, wait, where would you hide something in a kitchen of humongous proportions?

  My eyes fix on the drawers. Every kitchen has one—the bottom drawer where all kinds of crap goes into. The bottom drawer one forgets until the day one moves.

  Were those footsteps?

  Now my heart is racing in my chest faster than a race horse.

  If I’m going to do it, I’ll need to act now.

  Quickly, I grab the piece and shove it in the bottom drawer. It looks like any other kitchen drawer I’d seen, full of useless bits and pieces.

  Hopefully, whoever has left he paper in the kitchen will not go looking for it anytime soon.

  Before anyone could ask what I’m doing, I straighten up and gulp down the last of my coffee. Maybe I had just imagined that someone was coming?

  “What the fuck?” I hear a voice behind me, and I nearly spit out the bit of coffee left in my mouth.

  Busted.

  “Sorry,” I mumble as I debate how to handle this.

  I’m never caught off guard...until now. This is a fucking first for me.

  Almost in slow motion, I turn around.

  When my eyes look into Antonio’s, I feared the worst.

  Frantically, I try and come up with an excuse for picking up the piece of paper and putting it in the drawer. But words failed me.

  18

  Antonio

  Not many people piss me off, but the bastard on the other end of my call just has.

  Then, I see her catch my eye.

  She looks different somehow. The change is difficult to explain.

  Since I’m on the phone, I can’t concentrate on what she’s saying. I point to my mobile and mouth, Phone call.

  Instantly, she brightens and gives me the thumbs up.

  Maybe she heard me swear at my caller and thought I was swearing at her? Of course.

  How rude of me. I’ll have to apologize to her when I finally piss this idiot off.

  “I don’t care what you have to do. I don’t want those drug lords in our casino,” I growl and hang up.

  By now, Sofia’s looking at her feet. She’s not wearing any shoes.

  “I…” she starts, but I cut her off.

  “Sorry, Pasticcio,” I say and move toward her with outstretched hands. She looks even more beautiful than last night. “I was not swearing at you earlier when I came into the kitchen.”

  Relief seems to wash over her.

  She would not make a very good poker player. Her face is an open book.

  She’s obviously very fragile.

  I lean in and kiss her on each cheek, twice to be sure. Without meaning to, I stay a little longer than necessary, bathing in her scent.

  Her scent reminds me of a mixture of roses, vanille and sweet spices. Maybe it’s just because we’re in the kitchen. But it was a bewitching kind of smell.

  My eyes roam over her body. She’s flaunting her sexy curves, the tight top and skirt leave very little to the imagin
ation.

  Already, I can see colors I’d be using to accentuate her cheekbones and those exquisite lips.

  “And how are you this morning, my little cupcake?”

  I bathe in the smile she gives me. If someone doesn’t throw me a lifeline, I fear I might drown.

  Why is this woman on the look out for a job as an escort agent and why isn’t she in someone’s kitchen barefoot and pregnant?

  Come to think of it, she’s in our kitchen, bare foot.

  Wicked thoughts come to mind, and I shove them out of the way.

  Seriously, where is a husband, partner, or at least boyfriend? She’s one hot angel, too hot to be single.

  “Ehm,” she interrupts my thoughts. “Do you know…”

  It’s at this very moment that Franco and Marco come in. They’re in deep discussion, and I wait for them to finish before I turn my attention back to the gorgeous Sofia.

  I love how her name rolls off my tongue.

  Sofia.

  If memory serves me correctly, Sofia means wisdom.

  “Now,” Franco says, interrupting my thoughts.

  “I…” Sofia starts again but one energetic hand wave from my brother shuts her up.

  “It’s time we talked about you, Sofia,” he starts, and I try to hide my big grin.

  Suddenly, I feel all of six years old and about to be let loose in the candy store.

  Sofia, however, looks anything but excited. I want to put my arm around her shoulder and tell her it’s all right.

  “I think you told us you were on the way to a job interview,” Marco says.

  Sofia nods. Her dark eyes widen and fill with tears.

  Franco takes over. “You were going to apply for a job at an escort agency, right?”

  Another nod. “Yes, I only just got to town,” Sofia says, voice shaky.

  What’s happened to the confident girl of earlier?

  “And I need a job to…you know… my boyfriend left me…and…” She stops. She’s about to cry.

  “Mama mia,” Marco cries, echoing our sentiments. “Escort agency work is hard.”

  Sofia shrugs. “I can work hard. I don’t have qualifications for anything else.”

  Franco looks at Marco and me.

  “You’re sure you want to work as an escort?” I press.

  When our eyes meet, I can tell she’s anything but thrilled about the prospect. If I run into this ex-boyfriend prick, I swear I’ll punch his lights out, and I’m not even the short-tempered one in the family.

  “I accept that.” Franco’s still in charge and obviously enjoying his moment.

  Well, he should be in charge. He runs the escort agency of the family business.

  “But not every girl is cut out to be one of those,” he continues.

  Now she lets out a little wail.

  It’s too fucking much for me to bear. We should just tell her.

  “Come on, Franco. Get on with it,” I say.

  “What I’m trying to say, Sofia...” Franco shoots me and Marco a look that says, Don’t you dare interrupt my speech. “We think you’d be wasted working in one of those places.”

  “But I need a job.” Now the tears are running down her cheeks.

  “Just tell her,” I urge.

  I can’t help myself. I walk over to Sofia and put my arms around her.

  “We think you’re pretty special, Sofia, so we don’t want to employ you in our agency. No. We want to employ you personally as our own escort.”

  My eyes have been on her the whole time. She doesn’t seem to understand what Franco just told her.

  I squeeze her shoulders.

  “That’s right, Pasticcio, you’ll be working for the three of us.”

  Slowly, realization spreads across her face.

  She smiles.

  “That’s if you think you can handle us,” Marco interrupts.

  “But…” she starts and stops again.

  “Told you,” Marco teases. “She isn’t up for it.”

  Now Sofia pulls out of my embrace and straightens her back and shoulders.

  “Excuse me?” She turns toward Marco. “I don’t think you know who you’re talking to.”

  She punches him the chest, a playful gesture and one that Marco appreciates.

  At first, Marco just stares at her, eyes wide open, then he starts grinning from ear to ear.

  Looks like having Sofia around for good will bring a whole lot of new fun into our lives.

  19

  Sofia

  It’s difficult not to get carried away.

  This is the best fucking news I’ve had since they offered to take me to their home in the mansion yesterday. Was it really only a day ago I started this whole charade?

  So much has already happened. I feel like I’ve been here for months.

  Okay, well maybe not that much has happened, but still—I can’t help feeling like I’ve known them for more than a day.

  My eyes move from one to the other as I try and plan my next move. This assignment is going to be a piece of cake from now on. The initial plan had been to get hired as an escort to get the dirt on them, but this is so much better.

  I’ll be right in thick of it—the heart of the outfit, so to speak.

  Man, oh, man. I feel like rubbing my hands together and doing a little victory dance.

  It’s silly, I know.

  Normally I don’t experience so much joy when things on an assignment go my way. I tell myself it’s got absolutely fucking nothing to do with the prospect of being able to be close to these sex gods. No way.

  My mission is clear.

  I work alone. I don’t get attached, not even to a gold fish.

  The main reason for celebrating is how easy it’ll be to get all the dirt I need. I mean, if they leave important pieces of paper lying around in the kitchen, there must be some kind of office here. And if there’s a home office, there’ll be a computer.

  There hasn’t been a computer yet that I haven’t cracked. Once I hack into their computer, all the dirt is mine. I can already picture myself handing the Senator the tiny memory stick.

  Isn’t it amazing how so much useful information fits onto something so fucking small?

  A tiny glimmer of pity ignites deep within me.

  They’re hardened criminals, I remind myself.

  These are exactly the type of men responsible for my dear mom’s miserable, fucking hard life. For that they’ve got to pay. It’s a steep price, but heck—they’ve got it coming.

  There’s bound to be a massive bonus from the good Senator when I deliver.

  He can be a generous man when he wants to be.

  “Sorry,” I look back to Antonio.

  With my thoughts running away from me, I had missed something in the conversation.

  “Is there anything special you would like to do this morning, tesoro mio?”

  The Italian rolling off his tongue is like dark chocolate melting inside of me.

  Holy shit.

  “Erm,” I plan my next move.

  Stay cool, I remind myself.

  “There are a few things I need,” I start and drop my gaze.

  For some reason, the lies won’t come as easily as they usually do.

  “The limo is yours, babe,” Marco says and starts to leave the kitchen. “Sorry, amigos. I’ve got meetings this morning. Ciao.”

  He blows a kiss in my direction and is gone before I can say anything else.

  Should I raise the tiny matter of payment? I mean so far, they’ve only said I’m to be at their beck and call, and that’s not bad. Workers usually get paid, however.

  And would I look better if I ask such important questions?

  Franco turns to his brother. “What about you, Toni?”

  Antonio has his hands in his pockets and shrugs.

  “I don’t have much on this morning,” he says.

  “Good. Maybe you can go with Sofia. Use the business credit card to get her whatever she wants. We’ll write some of
it off on tax.”

  My ears prick up.

  Tax. Business talk. Here’s something I’m definitely interested in.

  Are they really talking about writing stuff off on tax?

  “You sure? I mean...” Antonio starts.

  Franco says, “If she’s going to work for us, we’ll call it a uniform. But if we can’t, fuck it. It doesn’t matter.”

  He turns to walk out. “Ciao, Sofia. Make sure you treat yourself to something nice. You deserve it. Last night was fucking awesome.”

  And now, it’s just Antonio and me. For a few minutes—maybe only seconds—we don’t speak. I don’t know what he’s thinking, and I haven’t got a fucking clue what to do now.

  Trouble is, my insides are in total inner turmoil.

  I’m struggling to have a clear thought. Part of me would have preferred to be alone.

  If I could search the house from top to bottom, I might just find what I’m looking for. Once I’ve got all the intel, I can go again.

  Unfortunately, Antonio doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere soon.

  I sigh. Time to make the most of what fate has dealt me.

  Antonio is good company, and apparently, he’s got a credit card I can use.

  If need be, I have access to funds.

  The Senator has made sure there’s a secret business account available for me to use on these undercover assignments. It’s only for emergency spending.

  If I’m to buy a new wardrobe, shoes and such shit, I might struggle to justify these expenses to the Senator.

  When it comes to money, he’s not a man to trifle with. On these missions, I have to account for every dollar spent. So with the money taken care of, what else will I need to do?

  There’s the small matter of my mobile phone. It’s dead as a doornail and needs power.

  The fastest approach will probably be to buy a new cable this morning. Maybe I can stop at one of those internet cafes where you can recharge your phone as well?

  One thing’s sure—if the Senator doesn’t hear from me any time soon, he’s going to flip.

  “You in a hurry?” Antonio asks, and I look up at him.

  Define in a hurry. I shrug. Of course, I’m in a hurry. I need to find critical information to get you and your brothers behind bars.