by Nia Farrell
He would have considered it if his mother was still alive. Holidays weren’t the same without her. Neither was Italian Fest. She wasn’t born a Visconti, but she’d been the love of his father’s life and the matriarch of the family until the day that she died.
This would be the sixth year for the 5K fitness walk and pink ribbon run that they’d added to the festival in her honor.
Shaking off the sadness, he pulled to a stop in front of his father’s palatial home and handed the keys to the soldato who’d drawn valet duty for the day. “Thanks, Angelo. Got a new one at the gate, huh?”
Angelo grinned. “Give you some grief, did he?”
“Some.”
“That’s Salvatore, Manny’s nephew. One tour in Afghanistan and he decided that he preferred his excitement spaced out a bit. He’s still learning faces, but he’s doing okay.”
“What happened to Bernardo?”
Angelo dropped his gaze to the keys and weighed them in his hand. When he answered, the look in his eyes was inscrutable. “I’ll let your father fill you in. And Matteo, welcome home.”
On the surface, nothing had changed. The massive oak door still creaked when it opened. The marble tile in the front foyer was still polished to a mirror shine. Normally, his father would have been there to greet him. Instead, he saw Paolo, standing with his hands folded, waiting for him inside.
“He’s on the phone,” he explained. “The family’s dining at Giovanni’s tonight at seven. Your suit is laid out in your room. He knew that you’d want to shower and unwind from the drive. Once you’ve cleaned up, he’d like you to meet him in the study. Val’s due in from the vineyard any time. Marco and Antonio are still on the tour bus, but they’ll meet you there once they get their crew settled in.”
Matteo felt his father’s strings and knew better than to fight them. Dom Visconti was a puppet master. The rest of them served his will and danced to his tune.
He headed upstairs for a shower.
One wall of his bedroom was maintained like a shrine to his high school and college years. His varsity letters for track and football. His college diploma. Pictures from when he’d nearly made the junior Olympic team in track and field.
His mother had been so proud. His father, too, he guessed.
Not that he missed throwing a discus or hurling a shot put, but that bullet to the shoulder had pretty much ensured that he’d never compete in the Senior Olympics decathlon.
Eying the tailored suit and crisply pressed shirt laid out on his king-sized bed, he fished a pair of silk boxers and socks from the extras that he kept here, for when the family was on lockdown, and headed for his en-suite. Full bottles of his preferred fragrance-free body wash, shampoo, and conditioner were in the shower. His extra razor used to trim above and below his stubble held a new blade.
The guard at the front gate might be learning the ropes, but the household staff was as efficient as ever.
Shucking his clothes, he turned on the taps and brought the water to temp before stepping inside. Funny, he missed the steam shower at his house more than the woman that he’d shared it with.
While recuperating from his wound, he’d found himself comparing Chiara to the woman who had saved him. Remembering the angel of mercy who had seen to his every need was enough to make him half-hard.
Of the few regrets that he had, taking Beth Shelton was the one that plagued him most.
He preferred to imagine that she was still alive. Vibrant. Straddling his hips, sinking her wet warmth onto his cock, and fucking him like there was no tomorrow.
At the time, her fate was sealed. His had still been in question.
Cupping his balls and fisting his dick, Matteo jacked off to the mental image of Beth Shelton that he could never quite erase. The water washed away the evidence of his lust. He wished that it could cleanse him of the sting of guilt as well.
He stayed beneath the spray until the tension had eased from his muscles. Toweling off, he dried his hair, brushed his teeth, and groomed his stubble, maintaining the rugged look that women seemed to find so appealing. Done, he dressed for the evening, slipping into freshly polished Italian leather loafers that had miraculously appeared while he was in the shower.
Matteo made his way downstairs, nodding to the two soldatos that he encountered along the way. Checking his dress watch, he saw that it was a little after six. Whatever conversation he was about to have with his father would have to be short, continued in the limo on the way to Giovanni’s, or finished after dinner.
Discussions in public were like social media posts. They had to be innocuous enough to share with the world, not just family or friends.
He rapped on the closed study door.
“Come in! Come in!”
Giovanni Visconti pulled open the door and stepped back to let Matteo in. Reaching, the Dom put his hands on his shoulders and kissed his cheek.
Pulling back, his father looked him over, inspecting him from head to toe. “You’re looking good. Looking good,” he said. “Hunts can be hard on a man.”
“They are, but I take care of myself. I exercise. Eat right. Keep it out or keep it covered to stay clean.”
“Doc will make sure that you are.”
It wasn’t until Dr. Romano moved that Matteo noticed him. Resigned to his fate, he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeve, exposing his left arm for the draw. Two tubes of blood and one bandage later, he rolled down his sleeve and rebuttoned his cuff.
He would never go against his father with others present, but once Doc was gone, he made his feelings known. “Blood work, Pop? Really? That wouldn’t have fucking waited until tomorrow?”
His father’s frown of disapproval dug furrows in his brow. “Language, Matteo! You should watch your tongue. Doc was free, and the sooner you’re cleared, the better I’ll feel. Don’t deny an old man his comfort.”
Matteo sighed and shook his head. “You might be getting gray, but you’re far from old, Pop. You can still run circles around most of the people half your age.”
His father started to dismiss the notion with a wave of his hand but shrugged his shoulder instead. “But not as quickly,” he allowed. “I’ve slowed down. I’m making an effort to enjoy what life has to offer. You should do the same. Things have changed since you’ve been gone.”
Matteo’s breath hitched in his chest. A tidal wave of worst-case scenarios threatened to drag him under.
Shit.
“Are you okay, Pop? How’s your heart? Your blood pressure? Blood sugar?”
“Fine. Fine,” he assured him. “Except for taking a little blue pill from time to time, I control everything else with diet and exercise.” Leaning closer, he stage-whispered, “I learned that from my son.”
Matteo exhaled the breath that he’d been holding and forced himself to relax. “That’s great to hear, Pop. You had me worried there for a minute.”
His father grew serious again. “You’ve had me worried since last July. I thought that we were going to lose you, but you were stubborn enough to pull through.”
“With help,” he said grimly.
His father’s eyes missed nothing. “With help,” he agreed. “But come. Tonight, we celebrate the prodigal son’s return. Val’s having the limo brought around. We’ll ride together. It will give us a chance to get caught up a bit before Marco and Tony take over the conversation with their music talk.”
Matteo had left his restaurant in good hands. His manager had years of experience in the food service industry and an unerring knack for knowing how to increase their upper-middle-class clientele. Keeping things fresh, expanding the menu, adding new wines, and using social media for more exposure were working to the point, they either needed to add on to their building or open a second location.
Matteo was leaning towards the latter.
The table reserved for them was situated in a quiet corner with a commanding view of the dining room. As far removed from the kitchen noise as they could get, they would at least be
able to talk softly enough to keep their conversation private, even after the table closest to them was seated.
The salad course had just been served when two young women in designer dresses were shown to the next table. “Would you look at that?” Tony whistled softly. “If she visits the ladies room and I disappear for a while, don’t come looking for me. You know what I’m saying?”
Marco rolled his eyes. “Which one, dickhead?”
“The one with sass,” he said, eyeing the brunette who talked with her hands and had plenty to say. “She’s got spirit. I like that.”
“Shallow thinking,” Marco chided. “It’s the quiet ones you have to watch.”
And Matteo was. The friend had brown hair, too, shades lighter and much longer. It was swept away from her face and caught up in the back, revealing her fine bone structure and an unusual pair of earrings, shaped like triangles and sparkling with faceted stones. Her outfit redefined “little black dress.” The black fabric bodice had been cut away, baring her exquisite shoulders and most of her back. A wide, jeweled band circled her neck like a collar. Another jeweled strip flowed down her spine, connecting her collar with the fitted black sheath that hugged her curves.
Her beauty was enhanced with expertly applied makeup. She wore bright red on her lips and dramatic, smoky shadow over her eyes. He wished that she would look this way.
Being seated across from her animated friend put both of their faces in profile. While his quiet beauty kept her eyes focused on her menu, her friend was busy taking in the recently updated décor and seeing who else was there to enjoy it.
The mayor of Diamond Springs was dining with his wife and another couple. Other patrons included bank presidents, corporate officers, attorneys, real estate moguls, and at least one judge who owed his position to the Viscontis. Miss Sass seemed to know quite a few of them. She kept up a running dialogue while Miss Quiet decided what to order.
Eventually, Miss Sass noticed their family.
And recognized his rock star brothers.
Was she actually fanning herself?
Tony preened. “She’s as good as mine,” he bragged. “Just look at her. The way she’s shifting in her seat, her panties are already soaked.”
Miss Quiet closed her menu and put it down. Whatever she whispered to her friend, Miss Sass’s answer made the color leach from her face.
The quiet beauty turned. When those smoke-lidded eyes finally met his, Matteo felt like he’d been gut-punched. It was her. His angel of mercy. Here. Alive.
“Hey,” said Marco. “Isn’t that…?”
Matteo held her gaze, refusing to let her look away. “Somebody tell me what the fuck she’s doing here,” he whispered. They’d all been at the Avenging Angels’ safehouse. They all knew what should have happened but didn’t. “Val?”
“Pop,” Val said softly. “It’s your call.”
“I decided to keep her,” his father said simply. “In case things didn’t work out with Chiara. You seemed…fond of her at the time. She knows how to keep her mouth shut. She’s polite. Obedient. Too independent for me, but that will be your problem if you decide to keep her.”
“If I decide to keep her?” Matteo needed a drink. He was having a hard time, wrapping his brain around what his father was offering.
His father tsked. “Of course. I was going to give her to you at Christmas, except you never came home. Valentine’s Day slipped by you, too. Maybe next time when I tell you something, you’ll listen.”
“Pop, you can’t—”
His father raised an imperious brow. “You don’t want her? Fine. Say the word, and I’ll make sure that you never have to see her again. Val…?”
They’d kill her.
One word from him, and she was as good as dead.
He felt like he was trapped in a dream, half fantasy and half nightmare. How many times had he thought about her, wishing things had been different? Well, his wish had been granted.
“Does she know?”
“That I’m giving her to you? No. I thought I’d leave that to you.”
She was his.
For however long he wanted to keep her…she was his….
Whatever he decided to do to her, however he used her, no one in his family would say a word. What happened would be his business and no one else’s.
He would see that she understood that from the start.
11
When Beth had asked Juliette to share the day, she’d told her that she had won a contest. She’d told so many lies these past few months, what was one more?
Juliette’s excitement had been on the rise all afternoon, beginning with a trip to a designer store that neither of them could afford on their own. After playing dress up, they’d had their hair, makeup, and nails done. A limo had arrived to take them to dinner.
All of it—from dresses to dessert—was courtesy of Giovanni Visconti, but she couldn’t tell anyone, including her best friend. Instead, she’d put on the mask that she was so good at wearing, pretending that everything in her life was fine, that she was fine. She might look calm and collected but inside, she swore that she could feel her last nerve unraveling.
As observant as Juliette was, she was oblivious to Beth’s inner turmoil, which was just as well. Actually, it was a nice change, watching someone else’s excitement when Beth’s daily challenge was to not drown in dread.
Juliette’s vibrancy lit her face and animated her hands while she talked. With her journalist’s mind and artist’s eye, she was in her element, surrounded by the movers and shakers of their city. The restaurant was the premiere Italian eatery in Diamond Springs. The décor had been updated since the last time they’d come, willing to splurge on an expensive dinner if it meant listening to Ribelle.
“Oh, my God!” Juliette’s hands froze, mid-air. “It’s them!”
Beth smiled indulgently but refrained from turning to look despite her curiosity. Whoever it was, Juliette was seriously fangirling. Lord, help them.
“It’s the Visconti family!” Juliette whispered. “Marco and Tony are with them. Oh, my God!”
The Viscontis were here.
Juliette might be glowing with excitement, but Beth felt herself grow pale at the possibilities. Lifting a silent prayer, she closed her menu, placed it on the table, and followed the light in Juliette’s eyes to the crime family who controlled Diamond Springs.
Like a blasted magnet, Beth’s gaze was drawn to the man at the center of the table. Giovanni Visconti looked every inch the well-heeled patriarch that he was. To his left were the objects of Juliette’s adoration, his sons Marco and Tony who performed with Ribelle.
But it was the son to his right who caught her attention and refused to let it go.
Matteo was here.
It was all she could do to stay where she was when every instinct urged her to flee. What was she supposed to say to him?
Nothing.
Nothing.
She couldn’t say anything without Dom Visconti’s permission, and he hadn’t given it.
She’d wondered why Mr. Visconti had decided to treat her to everything today. Italian Fest was his official explanation. He hadn’t mentioned that Matteo would be back. She should have known. The Viscontis always attended as a family. She’d been mentally preparing herself for seeing Matteo there on Saturday, but it was only Thursday and he was here.
What the hell was she supposed to do?
Pretend. Pretend that she didn’t care that he was as attractive as ever. Pretend that she didn’t notice the searing heat in his gaze. Pretend that he was just another diner, not the dangerous man that she knew him to be.
Pretend that she was unaffected when she could feel her body’s burgeoning response. If this kept up, her rabbit vibrator was going to get a workout when she got home.
“They’re headlining on Saturday,” Juliette gushed. “I can’t believe they’re here. And so fucking close. Tell me I can’t ask for their autographs.”
“You can’t ask
for their autographs. You don’t want to intrude on their family time together. They’re having a meet-and-greet after the concert on Saturday. I was going to save it for later, but I managed to score you a ticket.”
When Mr. Visconti called Tuesday and began putting demands on her, she’d had no qualms about sweetening the pot.
“You’re kidding! No, you’re not kidding. And just when I thought today couldn’t get any better. Holy fuck. I need to go shopping again. What the hell am I going to wear?”
Beth pursed her lips. “Something that screams ‘take me and make me yours?’ I’m sure you’ll find something.”
Juliette’s confidence wavered. “There’ll be hoards of girls, all with perfect asses and huge tits. They won’t even notice me in that sea of flesh.”
“They will,” Beth said. “It’s a meet-and-greet. You’ll have at least one chance to make yourself memorable. Remember, the brain is the most powerful sex organ in the body. Intrigue them, and they’ll want to know more. You have between now and Saturday night to find something to wear and think of what to say. You can do this—but Juliette? Are you sure that you should? I mean, they’re…”
She almost said Viscontis.
“Part of a band,” she finished lamely. “Here today and gone tomorrow. They just finished their tour. After weeks on the road, you should consider yourself lucky if all they give you is an autograph and a handshake.”
The waiter brought their appetizer, effectively breaking the hold that Matteo had on her and blocking Juliette’s view of her idols. Her best friend heaved a theatrical sigh. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. I’ll wear my press badge and pretend that I’m just there for a story—although checking facts isn’t nearly as much fun as checking out packages. Too bad I’m such a sucker for barbells and tats. He would have been fun.”
“Which one?”
Juliette frowned fiercely. Narrowing her eyes, she shot her a look of pure disbelief. “Tony,” she hissed.
