by Cindi Madsen
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Cindi Madsen
Copyright © 2016 by Cindi Madsen
Sale of any edition of this book is wholly unauthorized. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part, by any means, is forbidden without written permission from the author/publisher.
Cindi Madsen Books, LLC
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Cover design by Makeready Designs
Formatting and editing by CookieLynn Publishing Services
First Edition: January 2017
To Ariane & Christy, for reading the very first draft of this book & telling me how much you loved it. Mushy, mushy love.
Chapter One
Being a waitress for a place rumored to be Mafia Central wasn’t what Cassie had planned on doing with her life. No, the goal had always been to get an education and become something. What exactly, she wasn’t sure yet, and considering she’d started college four years behind everyone else, she really should’ve figured it out by now.
Once Dad’s medical bills and the cost of his funeral are paid off, my main focus can be school and deciding what career field I’m going into. That was the thing about pesky bills—they turned up every month, regardless if you were ready for them or not.
Only two months into the new semester and she was already behind. Picking up extra shifts at Rossi’s Ristorante wasn’t going to help, but it made her breathe easier when it came to the bills. I probably shouldn’t be moving right now, either. But what am I supposed to do? Stay in a neighborhood I’m terrified to go home to every night?
In an attempt to keep busy, Cassie straightened the giant stack of menus at the hostess stand, flipping the upside down ones so they all faced the same way. Rossi’s had an old, classic feel to it. The brick exterior displayed the same sign that’d been there for generations, now faded from years of sun, rain, and snow, and the interior was spacious, with plenty of space between the dark wood tables. The last place she’d worked had so many tables and chairs there hadn’t been room to walk, much less deliver food.
Cassie’s favorite part about Rossi’s, though, was the huge mural painted on the far wall. It gave the illusion of looking out arched windows at a lush Italian countryside. No doubt it was as close to seeing Italy as she’d ever get.
The front door opened, and Vince DaMarco, also known as the other reason Cassie never said no to extra shifts, walked in. The strong jaw, dark eyes, and ever-present five o’clock shadow would’ve been hard enough to resist, but he was also smart and hard-working. Buff and brains was a hard combination to come by.
He flashed her a smile, and her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. “Cassie. Hey.”
“Hey.” She pushed her glasses up her nose, then inwardly smacked her hand away—it was a nervous tick she couldn’t rid herself of, and she readjusted them three times as often whenever Vince was around.
He folded his arms across the top of the hostess stand, bringing him close enough to make out all three shades of brown in his irises—not that she’d spent hours analyzing them or anything. “Thanks again for filling in last minute,” he said.
When he’d called earlier today, he sounded almost hesitant, which she’d read as possibly nervous. For one delicious moment, she thought he might actually ask her out. Images of what that would be like had flashed through her mind in rapid succession—talking somewhere besides Rossi’s, gradually leaning closer and closer as attraction snapped in the air between them, a kiss at the end of the night…
Even now, the residual images remained, making her heart skip a couple of beats.
Instead, he’d asked her to fill in for Mia, which brought reality screeching back. Of course Cassie agreed, even though she had too much to do and not enough time to do it. She’d do anything if she thought it might put her on Vince’s radar.
If she were bolder, she’d attempt to flirt—just reach out right now, put her hand on his muscled forearm, and say something witty. Plenty of women ogled and flirted with him when they came in, like it was as easy as breathing. Teenage girls giggled when he walked by, ladies his age practically threw themselves at him, and older women—often seated with their husbands—would smile and steal glances.
But Cassie had always been shy, especially when it came to guys, and especially when it came to exquisite male specimens she didn’t have a chance with. I may as well just face my fate. I’ll work here forever, never get a degree, and watch as some other woman scoops up Vince.
“…the special again.”
She jerked herself out of her thoughts, staring at him as if that’d make the beginning of his sentence appear. Between his nearness, his deep voice, and her unattainable daydreams, she hadn’t been paying attention to his words. She pushed her glasses up on her nose—damn it, stop doing that—and then asked, “What about the special?”
Vince’s eyes locked onto hers, and her throat went dry. “Where did you just go? One minute you were smiling, and then you were frowning. I was starting to think you had a personal vendetta against lasagna.”
Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “Sorry, I’m just tired from staying up late to do my homework and then this morning’s classes.”
He tilted his head, studying her as if he didn’t quite buy it.
“So,” she quickly said, putting his statement together with the end of the sentence she’d heard. “Lasagna’s the special again?”
“Yeah. Angelo forgot to place the food order. It was the only thing I asked him to do, but even that was too much for him.” Vince sighed and glanced toward the back where he spent most of his time in a small office, paying bills, ordering food, sch
eduling, and all the other management duties. Then his gaze flicked to the bulging backpack at her feet. “Feel free to break out the books when it’s slow. I know you’ve got a ton of studying to do, which was why I put you as hostess. And I’ll get you a day off this week, I swear. Even if I have to wait tables myself.”
Cassie laughed. “Oh, right. You waiting tables. Uh-huh.”
Vince’s mouth dropped open. “What? You don’t think I can do it?”
She almost readjusted her glasses but stopped her hand a few inches short and wrapped a strand of hair around her finger instead. “I just can’t picture it… Although I bet you’d get huge tips. Especially from all the female customers.”
One of his dark eyebrows quirked up and amusement sparked in his eyes. Crap. Did she just practically confess to being obsessed with his hotness? Or was this flirting? Maybe she could pull it off. If she had a follow-up move, it’d feel more like a win.
“We should, uh, have a competition,” she said, her pulse racing at her sudden boldness. “See who gets more tips by the end of the night.”
A slow smile spread across his face, bringing out the slight indention in his chin, and light-headedness set in. “You’re on. I’ll have Linda fill in at the hostess station during the evening rush so you can wait tables. Loser buys dinner… somewhere besides Rossi’s.”
“It’s a bet.” Using the stand to block her movements, she pinched her thigh to make sure this was truly happening. It hurt, so she was going with yes.
“Later, then.” He started past, then abruptly turned around and leaned in, the hostess stand no longer serving as a barrier between them. “Fair warning,” he said in a dangerously low voice that sent a shiver down her spine, “I don’t know how to lose.”
She tried to come up with something clever, but her brain failed, so she just said, “I guess we’ll see.”
Despite the temptation to watch him walk through the restaurant the way she usually did, she forced herself to turn around. Besides, now she could let the goofy grin that tugged at her lips free. Three months of working together—most of which she’d spent trying not to drool when he spoke—and they were going to have dinner, win or lose. So really there was no losing.
Coming in on my supposed-to-be-day-off was totally worth it.
The opening door made her automatically switch into welcoming hostess mode. Only it wasn’t a customer; it was Mr. Carlo Rossi, the owner. His stops into the restaurant were sporadic and unannounced, but he was forever in a good mood, an impossible-not-to-return smile on his face.
“Afternoon, Cassie,” he said, his enigmatic personality lighting up the entire entryway. “How’s my favorite waitress today?”
That was probably an exaggeration, but she played along. “I’m well. You want a table, or are you heading to your office?”
“Business first, dinner later. When Dante and Sal get here, can you send them back to my office? We’ve got a meeting scheduled, and it’s very important we’re not interrupted. Capisce?”
“No problem,” she said.
Mr. Rossi shot her another big smile and then walked back toward his office. When he’d hired her, she had no idea about the rumors claiming he was involved in the mob. It wasn’t until she mentioned where she worked at study group one night she’d learned people thought he was some sort of Mafioso.
“Doesn’t he fit the type?” one of the guys in her econ class had asked as she’d scribbled down notes.
She’d filled her words with as much sarcasm as she could manage at ten p.m. “You mean Italian?”
Ever since, she found herself watching him as he had dinner with his usual group of friends, wondering how the rumor had gotten started. Surely it was just that—there was no way he was connected. Each time she scolded herself for even questioning it. When she was desperate for a job that paid well and worked around her schedule, he’d hired her and had been nothing but nice. The truth was, while he looked completely intimidating, he was a teddy bear of a guy who owned a restaurant with delicious food and a loyal customer base.
People and their gossip, she thought, shaking her head. Thinking of study groups reminded her that she should be cramming while she could. Only her motivation had disappeared about an hour after her last cup of coffee.
Cassie drummed her fingers on the hostess stand. With her and Vince’s competition on the horizon, standing up here for the next hour or so was going to be torture.
The door swung open again, and she straightened, her hostess smile fading when she saw Dante and Sal.
“Hey, girl.” Sal winked at her, the cavalier expression on his face showing how smooth he thought he was. “I didn’t know you were working tonight.”
The guy was everything Vince wasn’t—scrawny build, pointed nose, and his hair looked like he’d used Crisco to slick it into place. He’d asked her out several times, and even though she’d politely declined each time, using her busy schedule as an excuse, he was persistent.
I only hope Vince decides to be as persistent. If he even wants to pursue me. Maybe he’s just bored, and I offered something to help make the hours pass faster. A ball of nerves formed in her gut. Tonight was her chance, and she needed to focus so she didn’t blow it with one of her signature awkward moves, like the time she joined a coed volleyball game to try to impress a guy and ended up serving the ball right into his face while he shouted encouragements. The “you can do it” affirmations stopped once blood started gushing from his nose.
“Mr. Rossi here yet?” Dante asked, crossing his massive arms over his chest. He, on the other hand, was good-looking and completely aware of it. But Cassie was as uninterested in him as he was in her—his tastes roamed more toward the silicon-enhanced type of girl.
Cassie nodded. “Yeah, and he wants you two to meet him in his office.”
“We don’t want any interruptions once we start our meeting.” Sal placed his hands on the hostess stand and leaned in. “But maybe later I’ll come interrupt your work.”
The innuendo in his voice made her skin crawl. Luckily she was saved when a family of five walked in. “Excuse me. Duty calls.”
After she seated them, she pulled out her books and read through her notes while rolling silverware. She glanced at the time on her phone. Forty more minutes till dinner rush.
Cassie inwardly groaned when Allegra Rossi strolled in. She had two variations of animal print spandexed to her body, and her dark hair was teased into a bouffant, as usual. If anyone were scary enough to be a mob boss, it would be Allegra. She’d probably whack someone over something as minor as breaking a nail, or her lipstick not being fuchsia enough.
“I need to see my husband right now,” she said in her heavy New Jersey accent.
Cassie shot Allegra her most winning smile—at least she hoped it came off that way. “Mr. Rossi’s in a meeting and specifically said he didn’t want to be interrupted.”
Allegra placed her hands on her hips and stared at Cassie like she was an idiot. “Did he specifically say not to let his wife in?”
“No, but—”
“That’s what I thought. It’s an emergency. Now go tell him that I’m here.” Allegra waved her hand in a shooing motion. When Cassie didn’t immediately respond, the woman glared at her.
Cassie sighed. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
Gritting her teeth, she walked through the restaurant. It’s like she’s hell-bent on getting me fired. She once overheard Allegra complaining to Mr. Rossi about her. “After all,” she’d said with a sneer, “she’s not even Italian.”
Yeah, the blond hair, green eyes, and beyond pale skin pretty much gave her away. She hadn’t realized it was a requirement to be Italian to work at an Italian restaurant. Luckily, Mr. Rossi seemed unfazed by the demand.
Cassie pushed through the large double doors, walked past the kitchen and walk-in freezer, and hesitated outside of Mr. Rossi’s office. She had a feeling he sometimes came into the office more to avoid Allegra than to do actual work.
Cassie’s stomach clenched. She hated to interrupt and go against Mr. Rossi’s wishes, but unfortunately, his wife was scarier than he was. Biting her lip, she knocked on the office door. When she didn’t get a reply, she twisted the knob and cracked the door open. “Sorry, but your wife insisted—”
The office was empty.
A relieved breath escaped her mouth. The meeting must already be over. I bet Mr. Rossi’s out back taking a cigar break.
She headed for the back exit, a lightness in her chest now that the threat of interrupting Mr. Rossi was over. Why he chose the alley to smoke in, she didn’t know. It was cramped and always smelled of old food and garbage, but to each their own.
She cracked open the door and caught sight of Vince. He looked handsome as ever, although there was a hardness to his features that usually wasn’t there. She heard a voice she didn’t recognize and strained to make out what he was saying.
“Please no,” the male voice said. “Just give me more time.”
Something prevented the door from opening farther, and as she moved her face closer to the small gap, she saw Dante, Sal, and Mr. Rossi. A guy knelt on the ground in front of them, hands clasped like he was praying. “I’ll get it for you, I swear.”
Mr. Rossi pointed a gun at the man’s forehead, and she vaguely registered the long silencer on the end of the barrel as her brain struggled to catch up to the surreal scene unfolding before her eyes. “It’s too late for that,” he said.
Then he pulled the trigger.
Cassie screamed.
Blood poured from the dead guy’s misshapen head, and she stared, unable to look away, unable to believe this wasn’t all just a horrific dream. Wakeupwakeupwakeup.
All the living faces turned toward her. Mr. Rossi swung up his gun, the barrel aimed right at her.
Instinct took over, and she shoved the door closed. A bullet punched a hole in the wood inches from her head, sending splinters raining down on her and causing her heart rate to skyrocket. She spun on her heel and sprinted back down the hall, past the kitchen. She darted into the dining area and weaved her way through tables and people, pushing her body as fast as it’d go.
