She came to a stop in the entry of my apartment, seemingly unsure as she took in her surroundings. I had noted how orderly everything was at her place, but I had no room to talk. My place bordered on institutional, but it wasn’t because everything was in its place—there were no things. I’d never needed to buy crap just to own it and clutter up my living space. I’d grown up owning hardly anything and saw no reason to collect things now that I had money.
I had comfortable sofas with modern lines, the requisite number of end tables and lamps, and muted paintings on the walls. What I didn’t have were shelves with worthless knickknacks and fake plants cluttering every surface. It was the perfect escape from the chaos of life in the city.
Leading her into the living area, I motioned to a sofa. “Have a seat.”
“I like your place,” she offered as she sat down gingerly, taking off her heels and pulling her legs up to her chest.
I tipped my chin but didn’t otherwise acknowledge her comment. “Why the fuck haven’t you told anyone about your boss?” I stood at one of the large windows and stared outside as I waited for her response.
“I was trying to handle it on my own. Up until last week, there wasn’t much to handle, just some inappropriate comments here and there. I didn’t want to go running to daddy, not that he would have helped me anyway.” The last part was muttered under her breath, not meant for my ears.
“Why the hell would you say that?” I turned back to her in astonishment.
“My dad’s a big believer in handling your own problems. I’ve been messed with in the past, and he told me to figure it out—I wasn’t going to run to him for help, just to have him embarrass me.”
I couldn’t imagine a father not wanting to murder anyone who had hurt his daughter. But then again, my dick of a father hadn’t given two shits about me or my sister. Maybe Alessia had misunderstood her father, and maybe he was an asshole, there was no telling.
“You said you filed a complaint—why was he still working there?”
The color that had returned to her smooth olive skin drained away. “I tried to, but the HR office was out for training. I was going to do it the next day but got distracted.”
I ran my finger back and forth over my bottom lip as I stared at my little songbird. “So, you lied to me.”
She peered up at me through her lashes, regret and guilt leaking from her eyes. As if I’d had any question about my twisted proclivities, my dick roused at the sight of her small and broken. She was mine to protect, but also mine to do with as I pleased, and her current state gave me all kinds of depraved ideas.
“You can bat those eyes at me all you like, but it’s not going to save you. I’ve warned you about lying to me … twice now. However, as much as I want to bend you over my knee this instant, we have other matters to discuss, so I’ll just say this. If your boss makes lewd comments to you, you tell me. If the mailman catcalls you, you tell me. If any man ever puts a hand on you in a way that makes you uncomfortable, you tell me. Am I clear?” I waited until she nodded before I continued. “Now, what got in your head that made you think you needed to end things between us? And, I swear to God, woman, do not test my patience with a lie.”
I leaned my back against the wall and crossed my arms over my chest. I was genuinely curious what her reasons would be, assuming she told me the truth. A part of me hoped she wouldn’t. I would make her writhe until she begged, and still, I would deny her so she would understand what it felt like to be refused. It wouldn’t help my cause to win her over, but seeing her tied up and panting would be worth it.
Alessia’s eyes danced around the room, fear wafting off her in palpable waves. Eventually, her resolve solidified as her eyes met mine. “I know about you, Luca. I know who you are.”
Every muscle in my body went rigid. “What do you mean?” I asked cautiously.
“I know you’re in the mafia. I can’t be with you—I’m not okay with that.”
Wariness gave way to confusion. I’d been certain she was oblivious—decided the naivete wasn’t just an act. She’d had no idea about my associations, which meant someone had fed her information. It had to have come from someone she knew, someone she was close to, someone willing to put their neck on the line to warn her.
We kept that shit locked down, not like the days of John Gotti, where press conferences and flashy mob killings were an everyday occurrence. The new American Mafia had gone back to its Sicilian roots. Omérta—our code of silence—was an absolute, punishable by death, and not just your death, the death of your loved ones. Too many made men had turned rat over the years; there had to be severe repercussions for turning on your family.
Whoever told her had to be in the life. I wondered if she knew or cared whether that person was connected, because she clearly resented my involvement. She was looking at me like I pushed the elderly in front of moving vehicles for fun. Alessia was the most complex, confusing woman I had ever met. Each word out of her mouth was more confusing than the last, and like a buffoon, I couldn’t get enough.
“What I do for a living has nothing to do with you and me.”
“So, it’s true?” A glimmer of hope fizzled out in her eyes. She had hoped I’d deny her allegations. I hadn’t denied them, but I also wasn’t going to admit anything—another lesson I’d learned early on.
“I’m just an ordinary man, no different than the men in your family or anyone else. I’m a capitalist. I pursue lucrative business opportunities when they arise. I am the same man today as I was last week when those pretty eyes gazed at me like I hung the moon, begging me to kiss you.”
“But you hurt people and break the law. I can’t just ignore that—it changes things.”
“You seem to have a very pretty picture painted of the world around you. We aren’t so far off our less-civilized ancestors. This life is cutthroat—whether it’s business opportunities, relationships, or anything in between. You think politicians and the wealthy play by the rules? That’s a joke. They’re more corrupt than the thugs on the street. I loan people money, just like any other banker. People don’t have to accept my terms. They want a lower rate, go to a credit union—I’m not forcing anyone into anything. The law says, because I’m willing to take a risky bet and lend money to someone with shit credit, I’m a criminal. If a stockbroker makes a risky trade, would you call him a criminal? No. I’m not a saint, but I’m not the devil you’re making me out to be.”
Chapter 17
Alessia
His eyes sparked with anger as he came off the wall, energized by his speech. What he said was true to an extent. I wasn’t naïve enough to think corruption wasn’t rife in the world, but charging an oppressive interest rate wasn’t the same as breaking kneecaps to get your money. The more I thought about it, the more defensive I became.
“You tell me not to lie, but that’s exactly what you’re doing,” I argued, sitting up straighter as anger infused steel into my spine. “You make it sound like you’re purely a businessman, but I’ve seen you fight and shoot. You can’t honestly tell me those are purely recreational hobbies—you hurt people.”
“And what about your boss back there? He didn’t have any qualms about hurting you, and you were innocent. At least the people I associate with know what they sign up for—your asshole boss and those men under the bridge are animals out looking to prey on the easiest victim to cross their paths. For each of them, there’s a dozen more you never know about—they’re everywhere. I don’t go looking to hurt people, but I’m not going to let anyone walk all over me. Yes, I can defend myself, because it’s just as necessary today as it was a thousand years ago.”
His words resounded in a place deep inside me.
I didn’t want him to make sense, but he did. It was easier when things were put in terms of right and wrong, good and bad, but life was far too complicated for such blanket characterizations. The vast majority of humanity fell somewhere on the spectrum—not purely good or bad. There was a small percentage of peopl
e who were downright evil, but I’d bet my life Luca wasn’t one of them, but was that enough? Where was the cutoff on the spectrum to delineate allowable versus unacceptable?
I couldn’t meet his eyes as I processed his argument. I was so confused and still reeling from my confrontation with Roger. Was he making sense, or was I just desperate to exonerate him from his wrongdoings?
“You told me your brother was killed,” Luca said, bringing my attention back to him. “Did the police ever find the man responsible?”
I was surprised by his change in subjects, unsure where he was going, but I shook my head slowly.
“He could still be out there, living his life free as a bird. Would prison be adequate punishment, or would you want to see him dead for what he did? That would technically be murder, but wouldn’t it be justifiable?” He stepped closer as he pled his case, seeing the indecision plain on my features.
He’d gone for the jugular by bringing up Marco.
My big brother was a sensitive topic. He’d been protective and loving, even when surrounded by three obnoxious little sisters. We were all devastated when we lost him. If I ever came across his murderer, I’d kill him myself. It would be no less than he deserved—gunning down an innocent child.
Some things were unforgivable.
Where Marco was concerned, my opinions were rigid and harsh. What did that say about me? That I would kill a man, no questions asked? I’ve heard women say they could never pull a trigger, but I always knew I could, if only for that one purpose. Some people were unredeemable, and a man who kills a child is at the top of that list.
“Yes, it would be justifiable.” My eyes slowly found his, and I knew the questions rife in his piercing gaze were mirrored on my face. His questions were doubtless very different than mine, but they were there, nonetheless.
“We live by a code, and we believe in honor and respect—that doesn’t make us monsters. Laws are there to keep people in line when there is no other system of accountability. We have our own system—I can’t go into the details but know that we are men of honor. I have sworn an oath to my family, and I will abide by that promise until the day I die. Those are the principles I live by, but that doesn’t change the man I am. Until you knew about my family, you had no problems with me. Don’t throw this thing between us away because of that.”
Each word he said pulled me further to his side, and I wasn’t sure if he was convincing or manipulating. I needed time away from his persuasive influence. “I hear what you’re saying, but I need to think about it on my own. I think I should probably go.” I rose from the couch, and Luca came to stand before me.
“Is that what you really want?” he asked quietly, his voice losing its demanding fervor.
Yes. No. “I don’t know what I want—that’s part of the problem. You’re a criminal, but I have these feelings … I’m so confused, and I need to sort it out on my own.”
“I know you want to go, but I can’t let you leave, not after what happened.” He held up his hand to stop my protests. “Let me finish. I have some things I need to go handle. I’ll grab you something to change into—you can hang out here, and when I’m done with work, I’ll take you to dinner. That gives you some time to think, and I’ll feel better knowing you’re here safe.”
How could I argue with that?
With a warm hand splayed on my lower back, he directed me to his bedroom where he picked out an undershirt and boxers for me.
“These may be huge on you, but they’ll work. I want you to relax while I’m gone—everything is going to be okay. You don’t have to make any decisions this second.” He placed a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll be back in a few hours; make yourself comfortable.” As he pulled away, his thumb swept across my lips, a soft, intimate gesture that made my chest constrict with conflicted longing.
Not only was his touch soothing, his reassurances were exactly what I needed to hear. How was it the very subject of my turmoil could also be my primary source of comfort? Luca was everything I wanted and the absolute worst thing for me. Logic and emotion warred inside me, and I had no idea which would win the battle.
After listening to the front door close, I went into his large master bathroom to change. The space was the perfect complement to the rest of the apartment—white cabinetry with beautiful grey marble counters and a large white free-standing porcelain tub near the far wall. Behind that, a walk-through shower extended the length of the back wall with a dozen shower heads for two occupants.
His closet door was open, which I took as an invitation to peer inside. One wall was lined with suits, which didn’t surprise me since I’d seen him in a different suit each day we’d been together. As I walked along the row of clothes, I grazed my fingertips across the rich fabrics, and his spicy scent enveloped me in the confined space. My eyes briefly closed as I breathed him in, languishing in the illusion of having him near.
There were several pairs of sneakers, all worn but well cared for—an unwelcome reminder of his training activities. The closet boasted a collection of expensive ties of which Neimen Marcus would be proud—all nearly solid in powerful colors like red, black and royal blue. I wasn’t brave enough to snoop in his drawers, even though I desperately wanted to.
Being left alone to peruse his personal belongings sent an excited tingle through all my nerve endings. I loved being in his space, and that was a dangerous prospect. My logical mind insisted I should walk out the door and never look back, but my body didn’t comply. Despite what I’d said, I wasn’t sure it made any difference if I had space from him or not—he was in my veins, with me always.
My body thrummed with need for him. Separation only made my awareness of him more acute, my mind plagued with thoughts of him, and my body heavy with a sense of loss. When he wasn’t around, I felt empty. My need for him twisted my thoughts, and I rationalized reasons to keep him near me.
I was a junkie.
The realization hit me with the driving force of an arctic wind, and my entire body shivered. All it had taken was one hit—one fateful exchange in an elevator, and I was hooked. Could I break the habit? Did I want to? How could I consider staying with him when he was in the mafia?
The circular arguments and constant inner turmoil were exhausting. I hadn’t even realized how tired I was until I stepped back into his bedroom. Sheer blinds covered the windows, casting a soft glow in the room, making it peaceful and inviting. The bed looked heavenly. It hadn’t been made, but the covers weren’t in disarray either. It was clear Luca slept on the near side where a clock and a glass sat on the nightstand. Leaning over, I sniffed the pillow—it smelled like him. The scent drew me closer as I crawled beneath the covers, surrounding myself in his safety and warmth. I wasn’t sure I’d ever been so comfortable in my entire life, and my worries faded away as my eyes drifted shut.
A caress down the length of my arm roused me from my sleep.
“A man could get used to coming home to a sight like this.” Luca sat next to where I lay in his bed, his eyes soft like warm milk chocolate. “Time to get up. I’m taking you out.”
I glanced up at the clock. “Six! I slept longer than I expected.” I sat up groggily, gently rubbing my eyes so as not to smear my makeup before I remembered all the crying I’d done. I was lucky if my eye makeup wasn’t already spread all over my face.
“It was an eventful morning; you needed the rest.”
I nodded blankly, and he chuckled.
“Get dressed, sleepyhead—although, I get an enormous amount of pleasure seeing you in my clothes.” His voice deepened, and when I met his eyes, his gaze was hooded.
I set my feet on the ground and shook my head. “I’ll get changed, but can we go somewhere casual? I’m not up for formal dining.”
His face split in a wide grin. “I know just the place.”
***
Luca drove us along the Harlem River and over the George Washington Bridge into New Jersey. It was late enough in Spring that the sun still lit the sky, and
I enjoyed watching the city go by as we rode in companionable silence. Rather than satellite radio or his phone, Luca had a local radio station playing, which I found intriguing but didn’t ask about. It felt like we were in a bubble, removed from the expectations and responsibilities of life, and I didn’t want to burst that moment.
We pulled into the parking lot of a hole-in-the-wall place called Hiram’s. The small building had neon signs in each window and a faded wooden hotdog sign next to the name.
“You have a thing for hotdogs, don’t you?” I teased, recalling our hot dog dinner at Coney Island.
“You can’t beat a good hotdog. I grew up eating them, never been able to break the habit.”
“I’ve heard of this place but never been,” I noted as we got out of the car.
“Baby, if you haven’t had Hiram’s, you haven’t really lived,” he teased playfully, making me laugh.
The small restaurant must have been a house originally. The ceilings were low inside, and the far wall boasted a heavily decorated stone fireplace. It only fit about half a dozen small round tables, and there was a counter just inside the door where customers placed their orders.
“What do you want?” asked Luca.
“Just a plain dog.”
“Plain? No chili or sauerkraut? You’re at least going to put mustard on it, right?” He gaped at me incredulously.
“Nope,” I replied firmly. “I’m a plain and dry kind of girl. Take it or leave it.”
Luca leaned in to whisper in my ear. “I happen to know very intimately there is nothing plain or dry about you.”
My cheeks flamed with heat, which must have shown because Luca grinned wickedly at my response.
Forever Lies: A Mafia Romance (The Five Families Book 1) Page 13
