Body of Trust: A Romantic Suspense Novel

by Jeannine Colette

  Body of Trust

  Jeannine Colette

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Also by Jeannine Colette

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2020 by Jeannine Colette

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at www.jeanninecolette.com

  Cover Designer: Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations, www.okaycreations.com

  Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  Proofreader: Julie Deaton, Deaton Author Services, https://jdproofs.wixsite.com/jddeaton

  Cover Image: The Cover Lab, www.thecoverlab.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  For Michelle

  Chapter One

  In the dark, winding hills overlooking the New York Harbor lies the city’s most exclusive club. A former mansion once owned by the Genovese crime family is now a private social club offering a glimpse back to the days when the mob ruled New York.

  It’s a place where wine is sipped by women as business is discussed in hushed tones by men. A restaurant of exclusivity that only members may enter.

  I, Amelia Sorrentino, am one of them.

  The thick iron gates open as I drive up to the valet waiting near the entrance. A familiar Lincoln pulls up behind my Mercedes-Benz. The lights blind me in the rearview as I grab my purse and exit the car.

  “Good evening, Miss Sorrentino,” the valet greets me as my heels hit the cobblestone. “Mr. Sorrentino is in the Oak Bar, finishing up a meeting,” the valet informs me of my father’s whereabouts.

  I step to the side and adjust my hair as the evening breeze rolls off the harbor.

  “Amelia.” Rocco, one of my father’s longtime associates, gets out of the car behind me. His hair is slicked back despite having thinned with age.

  I smile at the familiar face that always seems to arrive at the same time I do.

  “Dinner with the family?”

  I laugh lightly. He knows as well as everyone here where to find me on this day and time. It’s a long-standing Friday night tradition between my parents, sister, and me.

  “Dad’s head would explode if I ever canceled. I think it’s his way of keeping tabs on us.”

  “Then, what do you call Sunday dinner at the house?” he asks, adjusting his silk tie.

  “A weekend accountability check.” I smile with a lift of my eyes.

  Rocco laughs in the deep, husky tone of a middle-aged man. He waves to the valet, not needing a ticket, as they know whose car belongs to whom. “I know you well, Amelia, and a troublemaker you’re not. You never veer off schedule.”

  “You sound like you’re the one keeping tabs on me.”

  Rocco looks behind us as he adjusts his tie again, running his finger along his collar, and then he holds his arm out for me to walk first. “Come, let’s get you inside.”

  The fountain in the center of the circular drive is bubbling in the warm evening as I saunter up the pavers to the stucco entrance of Villa Russo.

  The concierge opens the door as I approach, and I walk into the foyer. Inside, men’s laughter fills the thickly clouded air. This club is one of the only places in the city where you can still smoke a cigar indoors. My father says it’s because they sell tobacco. I know it’s because outsiders aren’t allowed in to see who is breaking the rules and payoffs are given out like candy. Money is exchanged in palms disguised as handshakes. Envelopes in the shape of holiday cards are handed out on occasions we don’t even celebrate.

  “There you are!” Sienna calls from the mahogany bar. Her long black hair flows over her shoulder as she stands up with open arms. I walk over to her with a kiss hello. “You’re late.”

  “I’m precisely on time. I told you I wasn’t clocking out a minute early.” I slide onto a stool.

  “Hasn’t your boss ever heard of early Fridays?”

  “Not everyone gets to live a life of leisure,” I tease as I adjust the bottom of my dress.

  Sienna has a college degree but has yet to use it, as her father, Frank Evangelista, provides her with everything she needs. Her diploma is a hundred-thousand-dollar piece of artwork on the family wall.

  “Speaking of”—she lightly paws at me—“I went to the spa today, getting the world’s most ridiculously relaxing massage, and while I was in the tranquility room, I overheard Anthony Buonno’s mother talking to some other woman about how Anthony broke up with horseface Francine. You know, the one he dumped you for.”

  “Technically, I was the one who dumped him.”

  “Because he was sleeping with that whore!” she adds, and I don’t argue with her. “I can’t believe you were with him for two years. He is such a creep. If he even thinks about calling you, I hope you’re in the right mind to kick him in the balls.”

  “It’d be hard to do that over the phone.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.” While her tone is dramatic, she is justified in her intention.

  Anthony and I were a steady couple for a long time. He was a fixture by my side at family dinners. My father once brazenly called him son, which I’m sure was a hopeful premonition. Then, Anthony cheated on me. My father still called him son, but this time, it was followed by three choice words.

  My mother is another story. While I was heartbroken and confused by Anthony’s infidelity, she was the one who cried herself to sleep. A Sorrentino-Buonno marriage is something she’s been dreaming of for a long time. She’d be thrilled if I took him back.

  “Even if Anthony did want to get back together, cheating is a hard limit for me. Trust and honor are on my list of what makes a great man. The bar has been set high by my dad, and I won’t settle for less. Anyway, none of this matters because I am one hundred percent focused on my future, and that includes my new promotion.”

  “Congratulations on that, by the way. I’m not exactly sure what you do, but it’s something fancy with numbers, so cheers to that!” She raises her wineglass and takes a hefty sip. “However, when you mention your future, you are including a soon-to-be love interest, right?”

  I bite my lip. “Well, I wouldn’t be completely against meeting a nice guy.”

  “Speaking of nice, your boyfriend is working tonight.” Sienna smashes her lips together.

  Her eyes roam to something behind the bar as her eyebrows lift in delight. There’s no need for me to turn around to know who she’s staring at.

  Jesse Grant.

  With dirty-blond hair and blue-green eyes, he’s the opposite of every man who walks into this club. His jaw is masculine, yet his skin l
ooks soft and golden. He’s rugged and clean-cut at the same time. And his smile—oh man, that smile—is dazzling, the kind that crinkles around his eyes.

  I hit her on the thigh for speaking so loudly, and she giggles. Jesse is most definitely not my boyfriend. He’s not even a friend, really. He’s nice though and funny in a reserved way.

  As I sneak another glimpse over my shoulder, he notices me, and his cheeks rise with a twinkle in his eye.

  “You’re blushing,” Sienna observes, and I widen my eyes in an attempt to quiet her. “He’s smiling at you.”

  “His salary is ninety percent tips. He smiles at everyone like that.”

  She shakes her head with a wicked grin. “I wish.”

  My jaw lowers. “I didn’t know you had a thing for Jesse.”

  With a shoulder shimmy, she combs her long tresses. “Oh my God, who wouldn’t? He’s so Leonardo DiCaprio circa early 2000s. Super-hot. But it would be for only, like, a night because he’s … you know.” She trails off, and I have to tilt my head in wonder at where she’s going with this, so she leans forward and whispers, “Not Italian.”

  I let out an exasperated laugh. “Okay. I thought you were going to say it was because he’s a bartender.”

  “Oh, yes. For sure, that too. My father would kill me—and I mean, literally kill me—if I came home with a white-bread bartender.”

  I’d argue with her, but she’s right. While my uncle Frankie wouldn’t murder his child, he would disown her if she brought home anyone who wasn’t of the heritage and economic standing of his approval. In short, Sienna needs a rich Italian boy.

  I glance at Jesse as he laughs at something someone at the bar said. It’s a great laugh. The kind that makes you think what you just said was the funniest thing in the world. Sienna seems to appreciate that laugh as well, but she won’t act on it. Not with her father’s requirements. Plus, she likes the finer things in life, and a boyfriend with a tip-based income wouldn’t suffice.

  I’m the complete opposite, as I plan to make my own path. I don’t need a man with money to buy me things or provide a certain lifestyle. That’s what the women in this family desire. All I want is a good man. Someone who values family, works hard, and makes me laugh.

  “Moscow mule.” Jesse startles me as he appears on the other side of the bar top, sliding a copper cup over to me.

  My heart races as I smile at the sentiment. “You read my mind.” I lift the glass in cheers and take a sip.

  “Well, you’re the only one here who drinks those. I ordered more of the organic ginger beer you like. Don’t tell my manager though. It’s pricier than the crap they have in the back.” He winks.

  “I appreciate it.”

  Sienna shows her bottom teeth with how awkwardly she’s smiling. Like she has something she’s dying to say. “So, Jesse, Amelia and I were talking about where to go tonight.”

  I lift my head. “We were?”

  “Yes,” she says adamantly and continues, “we were thinking of hitting up Club Elektra. It’s in an abandoned warehouse in Williamsburg. You should come.”

  I cringe at the thought. Clubs are not my cup of tea. Neither is excessive drinking, pills, strobe lights, or the sweaty, unwanted hands of men who are seeking a partner on the dance floor.

  Jesse narrows his eyes, as if he’s trying to read my reaction. “I’m not a club kind of guy. Plus, there’s a no-fraternization policy here. Staff and members can’t hang out.”

  “That’s a shame,” Sienna says with a puppy-dog face.

  “Sorry, ladies. Give me a minute.” Jesse’s attention is drawn to the back of the room, where Uncle Frankie is holding up a hand, asking for more drinks for him and the men he’s with. Jesse knows to drop everything and take care of him.

  Uncle Frankie is demanding in that respect. He commands a sort of loyalty from everyone around him, including my father, who is standing beside him. The two aren’t brothers but are so close that they consider each other family, and therefore, they have bestowed titles of familial distinction onto the other. Come to think of it, as I look around the room, I can count at least ten uncles here who aren’t related to me by blood.

  Uncle Frankie and my father are deep in conversation. They’re close talkers, and they use their hands in a dramatic fashion, even when what they’re discussing is as simple as the weather. With their finely threaded suits and combed-back hair, they look like they came right out of the movie Goodfellas. An outsider would say they’re the epitome of Italian Mafioso, picturing airport heists, cocaine distribution, and Joe Pesci killing another man for mentioning he once shined shoes as a kid.

  But that’s only in the movies. While money does slide under the table for personal favors, it’s nothing like the mob of the past. What we have here is one big Italian family. A little unconventional, but they’re the only family I’ve ever known.

  “All right, I’m out of here.” Sienna swallows the rest of her drink.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, surprised.

  “I have a date. Call me after dinner, and we’ll hook up.” She lifts her clutch off the bar and then gives me two air kisses, one on each cheek. “Later, girl. Oh, and don’t tell my dad I have a date. Tell him I’m having cake at a friend’s house for her birthday. If he asks who, just say Jessica. I know, like, seven Jessicas.” She puts her glass down and then waves to Jesse, who has reappeared, as she bounces out of the restaurant.

  Like a girl in the aftermath of a tornado, I have to collect myself.

  “She’s a whirlwind, huh?” Jesse asks as he makes drinks.

  “The Tasmanian devil is more like it,” I say with a laugh.

  “She’ll be hard to keep up with at the club tonight.” He smirks, his gaze roaming quickly around the room.

  “Oh, no, I won’t be going to any club. The idea of being in a sweat box with a few hundred people who are too high to know where they are is my idea of hell.”

  His smirk deepens. “Good to know. I was worried that cringe you made was at the thought of me actually joining you.”

  “I would have loved it if you came,” I say way too easily and am mortified. “Not love. I would have just had more fun if you came. But not too much because I hate clubs.”

  “That’s because you haven’t been to a club with the right person.”

  He turns and serves a couple on the other side of the square-shaped bar, chatting with them for a minute.

  I take a moment to check myself. Mostly my nervousness, which is completely out of character. I’m not the nervous type. And I definitely don’t fumble over my words. It’s his eyes. They’re like turquoise gems of hypnosis.

  “There’s my pride and joy!” a deep baritone bellows. My father, Raphael Sorrentino, looks handsome in his suit as he walks toward me. The man might work in sanitation, but he’s dressed to the nines every day.

  I hop off the stool and give him a kiss hello. “Hi, Daddy. Mom and Gia are on their way. Gia’s dance class ran long.”

  “Maronna mia, how can those two be late for everything and you’re always here on time?”

  “Must take after my old man.”

  He places a hand on my upper back and beams proudly. “That’s my girl. Jesse!” My father gets the bartender’s attention. “Did you know my Amelia is now a senior auditor at DeLuca & Associates?”

  “Just a regular auditor, up from my junior position. There’s no senior in the title,” I clarify to Jesse. “Please don’t make a fuss,” I beg my father.

  He waves his arm around the room. “Drinks for everyone!”

  “Dad, it’s okay—”

  “Can’t a man celebrate his oldest daughter’s success?” He pinches his fingers on both hands together and holds them up as he explains, “I didn’t go to college like you. I didn’t even graduate high school, so forgive me if I’m basking in the excitement of my daughter doing so well in life.” He calls over a few of my uncles—Vic, Joey, and Enzo. “Grab a glass. Except for you, Joey, you cheap bastard.” He laughs
, and everyone joins in, including Uncle Joey, who grabs a glass anyway.

  “To Amelia. Smarter than her old man. More beautiful than her mother—though no one here had better tell Joanne I said so.” More laughs ensue, and then my father gets serious. “This one here is going to do great things for the Sorrentino name. I couldn’t be prouder. Salute!”

  “Salute!” The room erupts in cheers, and everyone drinks, including me.

  My father tugs me further into his side, and I’m given kisses by my uncles.

  When the fanfare has subsided, I slither back onto my stool.

  “Not a fan of the attention?” Jesse asks.

  “No,” I answer emphatically. “Big difference between me and my sister, Gia. She’s the performer. I’m the nerd.”

  His gaze goes to the back of the room, where men are talking, and then comes back to me. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Nerds are cool. Look at Dr. Deborah Birx during the coronavirus or Karen Uhlenbeck. She won the Abel for mathematics, which is like the Nobel Prize. Those women are badass.”

  “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

  I smooth out my dress. “I much prefer to sit in the corner with my copper mug and make quiet conversation with a friend.”

  His dimples appear. “I’m glad to oblige.”

  My smile is bashful because I was actually talking about Sienna, but it’s nice to know he considers himself my friend. It’s sweet, as is the way he always seems to hear what I have to say even though his attention is given to the room.

  Jesse knows who is where and what is needed at all times. I wish I had his ability to be in two conversations at once.