by Bethany-Kris
Vanna breathed a sigh of relief.
And also scowled.
She’d burned the bottom of the chocolate.
Perfect.
Well, he could eat his disgusting glazed cake.
She didn’t give a fuck.
“Mario, man,” came a familiar voice as the footsteps came closer.
Mario swung away from Vanna, and she removed the pot from the burner. Shutting the stove off, she turned with the hot pot to take it to the kitchen island and begin the process of straining the chocolate as Mario’s sidekick—demeaning? Yes, but also true—Jase came into the kitchen with a grin that annoyed Vanna instantly.
His next words only made it worse.
“Got some news you’re gonna like, man.”
Mario rounded the kitchen island, picking up a pear from the fruit basket as he passed. “And what is that?”
“Got word a certain boss was arrested at his house today.”
“You serious?”
Vanna glanced up from her work, knowing better and that she should mind her own damn business, but she had never been very good at those things. Thankfully, neither man seemed to notice her interest in their conversation.
“Yeah, Guzzi,” Jase said, “guess a couple of his boys were taken in, too, and a lot of the family’s men.”
It took every ounce of willpower Vanna had not to react to that statement. She knew better, anyway, because if Mario saw it, she would pay for the mistake later. Hadn’t she already pushed his buttons enough for the day?
She thought so.
Better not to play with fire.
“How long until they’re out?”
“Hard to say—some of them are already released. Not the boss, though.”
Mario whistled low, turning around slightly to eye Vanna, and give her a look that screamed for her to keep quiet, and say nothing. “Sounds like something that might be good for our business. When the Guzzis are away, other families can play.”
“Want me to call the boss, and—”
“Nah,” Mario said, turning around again and taking a bite from his pear, saying as he chewed, “I’ll call my father and let him know. See what he wants to do—there’s a racket the Guzzis have on the east side with a distribution company that he’s been trying to find a way into for a while now, and with them in an uproar, the company might be willing to switch to our side of things to keep the cash flow coming in for it.”
Yeah.
She bet he was enjoying this.
Snakes never missed an opportunity to creep in.
“And we should celebrate this turn of events in the city,” Mario added after a moment, taking another bite of that pear, “because business should always be celebrated.”
• • •
The only time Vanna could leave Mario’s home now was when he wanted to show her off. It could be a dinner at his parents’ home with the rest of the clan, or taking her to a party at someone else’s house, but it all came down to the same thing.
Showing off his beautiful thing.
His thing he won.
Vanna didn’t get a choice either way, but she had learned quickly enough that the better her behavior on these little trips out, the easier Mario was to deal with when they returned to his home. His home because it still wasn’t hers. She didn’t care—it would never be hers.
Tonight, he’d brought her to a restaurant opening. A business that he’d apparently decided to invest in, and because he wanted to show off his growing status to the people that would eventually determine his fate after his father stepped down as the boss of the Camorra clan, the majority of his people were there to celebrate, too.
Vanna hugged a drink at the bar, trying her best to stay civil as each new person who had yet to see her ring, although they all knew of the engagement, came around to get a peek, and congratulate her once again. Thing was, no one seemed surprised about the marriage, even if it had been announced a month ago, but more like ... this had been inevitable to them.
Perhaps, that bothered her the most.
She’d lived in delusions.
The other thing no one noticed?
How all her smiles were fake and forced. The way she angled her body away from Mario when he stood at her side. And that despite her efforts to join conversations because that was polite and expected of her, she had little interest in these people or their life.
She’d always thought of it as her clan, too.
Even if that came with pain.
She no longer thought of them as hers at all.
“What are you doing over here again?” Mario asked as he came to stand next to her at the bar.
Vanna tipped up her glass for him to see. “Getting another drink.”
Bullshit.
She’d been nursing this glass for fifteen minutes.
He didn’t call her out on the lie.
“Well, my mother wants you to show her the things the designer picked out for the wedding. Indulge her for me, would you? It’ll keep her happy, and then Senior will get off my fucking ass, maybe.”
Ah.
She often wondered if Mario dealt with the same shit from his father that he put her through on a regular basis. Senior expected his son to behave exactly right—no excuses. The next potential boss for the clan, he didn’t dare step out of line now, or risk facing the wrath of his father which was never pleasant for the man on the receiving end. It even stretched as far as Vanna because God knew if Senior found out the truth about her involvement with another man, he’d blame Mario before he came for her, too.
As for his mother ...
Vanna fought not to roll her eyes.
That fucking sham again?
She didn’t pick anything for the wedding—the designer did it all. She couldn’t even be bothered to choose a goddamn color scheme, and now he wanted her to pretend like she was having the time of her life planning this wedding just to keep his mother happy?
Great.
“Sure,” Vanna said, sighing.
“Thank—”
“Mario, we got a problem.”
He swung around, and Vanna followed the same path, although slightly slower. A problem for Mario usually meant good things for her, if only because it got him away from her for a little while. Vanna wasn’t about to complain should that be what this was, too.
“What do you mean, a prob—”
Mario’s words cut off as a group of men flooded the entrance of the restaurant. Vanna’s heart stopped for a split second as her gaze landed on the man fronting the group dressed in black, tailored three-piece suits, their aloof auras spilling throughout the room and bringing the restaurant opening to a fast, silent stop.
All at once.
With just their presence.
“Bene,” she whispered.
Thankfully, neither man standing there heard her.
But God ...
She felt Bene.
From all the way across the room.
Worse was the way she felt his gaze when it turned on her after scanning the large space. It was as though he just knew she was in the place, and he intended on finding her. The two of them stared at one another from across the floor, and she swore the room disappeared for a moment.
Everything else went away.
It was just him.
And that rage in his gaze.
It burned.
She deserved it.
Did he know now?
Had he figured it all out?
The hatred in his eyes said yes.
“What in the fuck are they doing here?”
Mario’s sharp question brought the situation back into sharp focus for Vanna. She tore her stare away from Bene, though it was the very last thing she wanted to do. Quickly, she counted the six men who accompanied Bene, two of which were his brothers ... and the third, well, apparently his older brother’s—Christopher—twin came back into town because a third brother that looked identical to Chris stepped around from behind the other men to sta
nd with his brothers.
“They know we’ve been trying to get in on their racket with the distribution company for the last couple of weeks while they’ve been trying to get a handle on their legal issues, and—”
“Shut up,” Mario snapped.
The man did.
His gaze slid to Vanna, but she stayed neutral, her expression holding that same indifferent stare while his burned with fire and fury. She could see his silent questions and demands without him needing to vocalize it, too.
Did you get them here?
You better not have done this.
Keep your fucking mouth shut.
“What do we do?” the guy to Mario’s left asked.
The silence in the restaurant stretched on.
“Get them the fuck out.”
“And cause a scene? It’s not just the clan in here. Outsiders, Mario, think about it.”
“Fuck.”
His snarl slithered across the quiet floor.
Vanna saw the way it made Bene smirk.
“Go assure my father I have this handled,” Mario ordered, eyeing his father fuming at the table nearer to the middle of the dining section, “before he blows a fucking gasket.”
The man didn’t hesitate.
Then, Mario turned on her, his back to the room, and his viciousness coming back out to play when he grabbed her arm hard enough to make it ache.
“And you,” he muttered.
Vanna gave him a look. “What about me?”
“You stay put—don’t draw that prick’s attention while he’s here. If anyone finds out you were fucking him, I will put a bullet in your skull, Vanna. Do you hear me?”
Yeah.
She heard him.
“Answer me.”
“Yes, Mario.”
“Have another drink. Don’t even look at him.”
Involuntarily, her gaze drifted over his shoulder to find Bene again. Now, the group had come a little farther into the restaurant, and Bene currently snatched a drink up from a table. One that another member of the clan had just ordered, but never even got the chance to enjoy before Bene downed it in one go, and then set it back to the table.
Mario yanked on her arm, bringing her attention back to him. “What did I just say to you, huh?”
“They’re just flexing,” she told him, “they know the Camorra was fucking in their business while they were distracted, and now they’re here to show you how big boys play. If you’re going to make moves like you did in their world, you better be prepared for them to answer you. Move is on you—keep throwing your threats at me or focus on making sure they know you won’t be pushed around. It’s your choice, but everyone is watching, Mario.”
That did it.
She knew it would.
He let her go and turned to face the room again.
The room watched on.
Now, Mario walked the thin line.
Vanna liked that better.
• • •
The restaurant separated into two distinct sections, with a row of tables directly in the middle with regular patrons who didn’t seem to have the first clue about the danger they were currently in that Vanna had dubbed no man’s land. On the left side of the business, the Guzzi men dominated three tables, passing drinks back and forth, laughing at the jokes told between them, and ordering more food every so often.
On the right ...
Well, the Detti clan fumed.
Perhaps it was because they couldn’t actually do anything here when the Guzzis had yet to cause a problem. And that was the thing, wasn’t it?
They just were.
Their presence, solid and loud.
A power play if she ever saw one.
Mario hadn’t been ready for that.
“All right, I think it’s just about time you cafones take your leave here,” came the thundering voice of one of Senior’s closest men as he stood from his table. With a narrowed gaze locked on the Guzzi men across the way, it seemed he had at least reached his limit of dealing with the outliers. Silence stretched on in the business, and for the first time, Vanna figured some of the diners who were just regular people off the street were starting to understand this situation wasn’t normal as they glanced between the two groups.
Perfect.
So much for not causing a scene.
Marcus Guzzi spoke first. “We’ll leave when we’re ready—sit down, don’t make none and there won’t be none.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
“A problem,” Bene said over his shoulder, but passing something that looked like a card to his brother across the table. “Don’t make a fucking problem, and there won’t be one.”
“I—”
“If your boss wants to have a discussion about why he’s been encroaching on our business on the east side, then we’ll chat,” Marcus said, “but otherwise, I’m going to continue enjoying my food, and then maybe I’ll leave when I’m done. And unless you’re going to make me do something different, I would love to see you try, I suggest you sit down, and shut the hole in your face before someone else does it for you.”
The air sucked out of the room.
Silence reigned.
Marcus went back to cutting the piece of chicken in front of him as though he wasn’t bothered at all by the turn of events, and he hadn’t just threatened a man. “This is good, not dry at all,” he told the man to his left at the table, “so someone give the chef my compliments.”
It took another ten minutes.
The Dettis conversed in hushed tones.
And then chairs were moved.
Tables pushed together.
On one side, Marcus sat with his plate of food, now alone at his table as the rest of his men scattered to all the corners of the room. On the other side of the table, Senior and Mario sat in their own chairs to face him for the chat he wanted to have.
With no one watching her ... or so she thought, Vanna took the chance to slip into the back hallway leading to the bathroom. She needed a breather, a second to be alone, and deal with the emotions warring in her mind and heart.
She didn’t get the moment.
Bene followed her.
And when she spun around to face him as he entered the bathroom behind her, she swore the only thing she saw in his stare was pure hatred. It only worsened when his gaze dropped to the large engagement ring glittering on her finger.
Yeah.
He definitely knew.
17.
“Were you engaged to him the whole time?”
Bene wasn’t sure why that was the first thing he decided to ask Vanna when he got her alone—a dangerous thing to even attempt, considering their circumstances, and yet he couldn’t control the urge to follow her when he saw her leave the dining room. No one was even watching them when everyone’s eyes were trained on the men sitting at the table opposite to one another.
God knew he should have asked her a million other things. Who in the fuck did she think she was coming after his family, to start, and had he been her target from the very beginning because she saw him as the weakest link in his family ... or was he just a chance encounter that she couldn’t help but take?
No, instead he asked about that man.
The one he saw touch her.
Get close.
Who he had been told, just recently, she was engaged to.
Engaged.
Vanna shook her head. “No, that was—”
“No suffices,” he bit out.
“It’s not the whole story, though.”
“You think I care about your story?”
She blinked. “If not for an explanation, then why follow me back here at all?”
“Maybe I wanted the chance to choke the fucking life out of you while I could.”
He expected to see fear from the threat.
She showed none.
Because of course ...
She had to know it was an empty threat.
A lie.
One
of many he was sure to speak with her.
“My whole life,” she tried to say, “I was told this was my purpose ... to take from your family the way they took from mine. That I didn’t have a family because of yours. And by the time I started to think a past I had never even experienced wasn’t enough to justify what I was doing, it was too late for me to fix it. No one knew what I was doing with you, or about my plans until much later when I was already trying to figure out a way to make it better, and it went downhill fast.”
Things made sense, then.
It clicked all at once with the shit he knew about Vanna—information he had been able to get pulled about her family history, and where she came from—with the stuff he knew about his parents’ history. How their worlds had intertwined before either of them even knew one another all because of a manipulative woman his father married before he ever even met Bene’s mother.
Pasts always came back to bite.
And it hurt.
“I don’t need you to tell me anything, you know?” he said, shaking his head as he sneered a bit. “Once I finally decided to really look into you, it turns out you weren’t very fucking hard to figure out. Where you came from? Why you did this to us? I don’t need you to say it because I know.”
“I—”
He didn’t care to hear what she had to say.
At all.
“No, it’s my turn now,” he snapped, taking one risky step toward her, “because I think you’ve had more than enough time to lie and tell me stories, didn’t you?”
She said nothing.
Bene nodded, expecting that. “Yeah, you know, our parents never hid shit from us. They didn’t want us to be ashamed of their life—of this legacy they made for us. I bet you think I didn’t know about my father’s first wife, huh? Or is it you that doesn’t know very much about her, Vanna?”
Her brow dipped. “I only know what my father told me.”
“Another bastard made by Gabriel Canali—the only thing he ever gave my father’s first wife was his last name, and she was so desperate to get rid of that small piece of him that she was willing to trick my father into a marriage with her to do it, too.”
Vanna straightened a bit.
Bene didn’t back off in the slightest. “Oh yeah ... and then when she had what she wanted from my father—to get away from hers—she couldn’t get away from him fast enough. But don’t worry, she came back just long enough to almost get my mother and brother killed, before she swallowed a bottle of pills, making sure to kill my uncle’s child she was carrying while she did it.”
