“What do you want me to do?” I whisper.
He places a hand on my shoulder. “It is very easy, principessa. I want you to send a message to him on our behalf.”
“Exactly whose behalf?” I shake my head. “I still don’t even know who you are.”
He releases his hand from my shoulder and scrubs his chin before walking toward Gio again. “Who I am is not important to you. But it will be very important to the Marcone family, and specifically to Tommy. You see, I had plans for him, for his family. Big plans, ones that would make them a fortune. He distrusted me. He challenged me. And then he disrespected me.” The corners of his lips curl upward into a menacing smirk. “And now, I need to teach him a lesson, too. Nobody sends me a message and lives to gloat about it. And if you want to save your family, you will go to him at his new restaurant that is about to open in Palermo. He is hosting a VIP event there tonight. All you have to do is get inside, find the guest list for opening night, and add a reservation for four people under the name Castello.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all. I don’t need anything else from you. After that, you can walk away knowing he will suffer the consequences of his actions.”
“What are you going to do to him on opening night?”
“You seem very interested in what we have planned. Nervous, almost. I thought you would be anxious to get your revenge.” Mustache raises an eyebrow. “I think it’s better that you keep your distance. Just know all rights will be wronged. And that will be my final message to him and his family.”
Doubt creeps into my heart. Whatever he did shouldn’t affect his family. I remember he has a brother and a sister in Monaco with little kids. Would they be on the guest list, too? A lump forms in my throat. I can have my revenge. I can finally get closure for what happened, for what he did to me. All I need to do is agree to this man’s terms. “Tell me what I get in return besides the safety of my family.”
“You get your life back,” he says. “Money to take care of your mother, money to finish school. You will be able to live the life you want and deserve, Gemma.”
I expel an unsteady breath. “Why are you having me do this? If you want to send a message, why not just kill him? That would give you the attention you want.”
“Too simple. And not nearly grand enough. I want to cut him off at the knees,” he growls. “I want him to see his entire existence go up in smoke right before he does.”
My shoulders quake as I try to control my breathing. “So this message…exactly who is sending it?”
He looks at me, his dark eyes almost black in the dim light. “Juan Salazar, on behalf of the Guerra Cartel.” His jaw tightens as he inches toward me once again. “Me.”
Chapter Twelve
Gemma
A few hours later, I grit my teeth, my fingers itching to yank off the blonde wig suffocating my scalp.
But I know I can’t. I have to suffer for just a little while longer, just until I see him.
And do the job I came here to do, of course.
I smooth down the sides of my bob and adjust the glasses perched on my nose, trying hard to look every bit the part of a local reporter covering the VIP event at Tommy’s very new and very exclusive restaurant in Palermo, Il Gioiello. I look around at the courtyard where the event is being held. Tiny strings of white lights are hung around the perimeter, casting a soft glow over the enclosure. The wait staff passes around silver metal trays containing samples of delectable bites from the menu, lounge music setting a very tranquil vibe for the invitation-only soiree.
But I feel anything but calm right now. Rage bubbles in my veins the longer that I mingle and grab bullshit comments from the entitled guests for my ‘readers’.
Everyone from A-list celebrities to social media influencers and famous food bloggers congregate at tables decorated with tall crystal vases of white and black calla lilies, my favorite flower.
I narrow my eyes at the décor as I wander around the space.
Come to think of it, the entire color scheme is black and white.
My heart thumps hard in my chest, angry tears stinging my eyes.
The fucking irony.
The happiest night of my life, my Sweet Eighteen party, was draped in black and white…until it became soaked in red, a color which has clouded my vision ever since.
It was the night that turned into a living nightmare…one that only I can end now that my brother’s life is practically hanging by a thread and my mother and aunt are being stalked by a cartel leader.
I excuse myself once I get a glowing review from some B-list actress who should really be on the D-level but isn’t because she has huge boobs and a gorgeous face. She can’t act for shit, but nobody cares because she’s a hot piece of ass.
She has everything because she knows how to work the system and fuck as many people as she needs to stay on top.
Just like Tommy Marcone.
I duck behind a large white column, out of sight from the partygoers. I take a few deep breaths, berating myself for showing up here in the first place. Did I really think I could get away with this? With being here and seeing him again? A chill slips down my spine as Salazar’s ultimatum echoes in my mind.
He shredded my heart.
He killed Papa.
He ruined us!
I have to do this. I have to make things right.
Salazar wouldn’t tell me what his opening night plans include, and I don’t need to know. Just like Tommy didn’t need to know how I was doing after recovering from a gunshot wound that shattered my insides; how I was trying to pick up the pieces of my life after he very publicly moved on with his.
With a throbbing pulse, I peer around a large column just in time to see a cherry-red Ferrari Testarosa screech to a halt in front of the restaurant. A lump forms in my throat as Tommy climbs out of the driver’s seat. He walks around to the passenger’s side and opens the door, holding out his hand for a tall brunette with an insanely tight and toned body that makes me want to kick, scream, and cry for all of the hours I waste at the gym on results that don’t even come close. She snuggles up to him, wearing some tighter-than-mummy-wrap dress which I’d inflate if I so much as looked at food, much less ate any of it.
Tommy snakes an arm around her waist and flashes her a smile…the same smile that would make my heart stutter years back.
An icy cold sensation winds its way through my insides as the happy couple passes right by me and joins the party fashionably late. My skin prickles and every nerve sizzles with each step they take. Fury consumes every inch of my body, heating me from the inside out.
I’ve waited a long time for this day, to come face to face with the man who stole everything from me.
Guess what, Tommy? I’m back. And this time, I’ll be the one to take…
Every fucking thing I want.
Every fucking thing I’m owed!
I’ve lost the last two years, but I’ll be damned if I lose another second.
Short, sharp gasps slice at my lungs as Tommy slithers through the crowd like the snake he is, his pet model up his ass every step of the way.
Two years ago, he killed me, crushing my family and my dreams, destroying every sliver of happiness and every hope for a bright and shiny future.
Our future.
Salazar’s ultimatum once again rings between my ears like a clanging cymbal, and I clench my fists, ready to face my biggest demon.
I know what I agreed to do.
But there’s really only one way for justice to be served.
I need to destroy him, too.
And I want Tommy to know it was because of me that he loses everything good in his life.
I narrow my eyes as he guides his date toward the back of the courtyard where his family is seated. They exchange smiles and hugs and laughter and my chest tightens.
It should be me with him.
It was always supposed to be me!
But life dealt me a very different h
and, and now instead of exchanging pleasantries with his family members, I’m seeking revenge in the form of sabotage.
Speaking of which, I need to make my way into the restaurant before I spontaneously combust out here. Rage bubbles dangerously close to the surface, and I take a few deep breaths before pasting a tight smile on my face and walking toward the entrance.
Dusk has fallen and the lighting casts just enough of a glow over the chic and sophisticated décor. I pause right outside the doorway, only long enough to see Tommy hug his sister Gianna. I recognize her from one of the photos in his house from years back.
I bite down on my lower lip as a mini-me version of her leaps into Tommy’s arms.
That must be Gianna’s daughter.
His niece.
She could be his daughter, they look so much alike. Gorgeous dark hair, bright smile, dimples.
The absolute spitting image of her beloved uncle.
An all-too-familiar fluttering sensation returns to my gut, taking me by surprise. It had been latent for so long, I didn’t think I’d ever feel it again, but here it is, all because I allowed myself to get sucked into his happy story.
Am I really prepared to crush all of this?
All of them?
I force my eyes away from the quaint little reunion and turn back toward my objective for the evening. Gio, Mama, Tia. They are the three reasons why I am here.
The only ones.
My heels click on the cobblestone path toward the door, and with so many guests mingling around, tipsy on prosecco, nobody notices. The door to the restaurant is open wide, I assume so that everyone has restroom access.
Lucky for me.
Now all I need to do is find his office.
Salazar gave me detailed instructions about the layout of the restaurant, courtesy of his thugs who’d paid plenty of visits to get the lay of the land, just in case. Go in through the side entrance off the courtyard, Tommy’s office is the last one on the right side of the narrow hallway.
That’s where you will find the guest list, Gemma.
Salazar’s thick Spanish accent reverberates between my ears, the memory of his thick, deep voice making my skin crawl as I duck down the hallway. According to Salazar, the restrooms are on the other side of the restaurant, opposite Tommy’s office.
I tiptoe down the hallway, and each click of my heels on the polished floor echoes in the empty space. I slide my hand in my pocket and palm the key Salazar gave to me, another spoil of the war between him and the cartel.
I almost rolled my eyes when Salazar dropped it into my hand with a knowing smile.
“It helps to have loyal people who know when to watch and when to take action,” he said. “The reservation list is in the top drawer. Add the name and get out.”
Sure, great. No problem there!
My heart is about to explode out of my chest as I fumble with the key, shoving it into the lock and twisting the knob to the left. The door creaks open, and I hurry to shut the door behind me. The windows are covered, thankfully, so nobody can see me nosing around in the owner’s lair. I quickly round the desk, open the drawer, and rifle through some papers until one faded pink sheet of paper catches my eye. I furrow my brow and pull out the wrinkled piece. My eyes widen as they fly over the words scrawled on it. I clutch my heart.
It's a page from the journal I’d left for Tommy the morning of my birthday.
He’s kept it all this time.
A lump forms in the back of my throat, tears springing to my eyes.
No, no, no!
It doesn’t matter! I have to do this!
I put the page back in the pile and keep flipping pages, ignoring the tears dripping onto my hand until my fingers find the reservation list.
I take a deep breath and hastily scrawl the name, number of people, and time onto the bottom of the list, as instructed, and shove it back into the drawer. Sweat drizzles down the back of my neck and I jump up from the chair after the list is safely back in the drawer.
I can barely think, the blood rushes so powerfully between my temples. I carefully twist the doorknob once again and pop my head into the hallway.
Empty.
Thank God.
I pull the door closed behind me and just as I was about to re-lock the door, I hear the opening and closing of what sounds like a refrigerator and a lot of nearby muttering. I clap a hand over my mouth to silence the gasp before it escapes and forget the lock.
Time to get the hell out of here.
I tiptoe back down the hallway, passing the kitchen with my eyes glued on the floor when it hits me like a cement block to the gut.
The cookies.
My cookies.
I gulp down the delicious-smelling air as my body is drawn to the baking haven that is suddenly alive with activity. My feet stop right in the doorway of the brightly lit kitchen as if they know they’ve found exactly what it is they seek.
Looks like I completed my covert act just in time.
Especially since Tommy himself is the one muttering and slamming things around the kitchen.
My jaw drops as he bends over to grab a tray out of the oven, my eyes hungrily drinking in his amazing ass and the steaming tray of delectable chocolate chip cookies in his hand. I am rooted to the spot. I know I should look away and run as fast as I can from here, but my mind and my body are at odds right now, and moving isn’t an option.
He slides in two more trays and slams the door to the oven closed with his knee before turning to place the tray onto the stainless-steel counter. He grabs a box of chunky salt crystals and drizzles them onto a nearby tray that’s already cooled.
I have to swallow a whimper when I see that because I can almost taste the chocolatey goodness melt in my mouth.
Some things are just too perfect to ever forget.
He looks up, startled, his dark eyes boring into me, making my insides simmer like the chocolate heating on the stovetop.
Okay, maybe some of the whimper slipped out.
“You lost or something? The party is out there,” he says in a curt voice, nodding toward the courtyard.
“No, I, ah, got a little lost coming from the bathroom.” Shit! I have zero ability to think on my feet! The bathroom isn’t even near here!
He points down the hall. “You know the door to the courtyard is right across from the bathroom.”
I force a smile. “Yes, I, ah, saw it, but then I, um, I got caught up in the delicious smell and had to check out the epicenter of the restaurant.”
He doesn’t speak for a second. Our gazes tussle, and his brow furrows. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
A quivering smile tugs at my lips, latent desire coursing through me as he studies me from a few feet away. I smooth the front of my black dress and let out a nervous chuckle. “I don’t think we run in the same circles. I’m, ah, a writer.”
He nods and steps closer, folding his arms over his chest. “And what do you write?”
“Well, um, I actually am covering your restaurant opening for my magazine. Not my magazine,” I correct myself, averting my eyes so I can think straight without his gaze making my brain cells stutter. “The one I work for.”
“Which one would that be?”
Normal questions considering he’s just caught me skulking around his restaurant unsupervised. But I’m tongue-tied in my answers because who the hell would have thought I’d actually be within a couple of feet from him, much less chatting with him in his domain?
“Dolcesalato,” I rasp, uttering the first one that comes to mind. Suddenly, I’m back at his house, glancing at back issues of the famous Italian magazine for pastry and baking professionals.
A flicker of confusion in his gaze makes my throat tighten. “They told me they’d try to send someone to the opening, but nobody mentioned anything about tonight.”
I wave my hand in the air. “Well, I just happened to be available, so I said I’d cover.” Holy shit, that was close. I don’t even want to think about what he�
�d do to me if one of my ‘colleagues’ showed up here.
Disaster averted.
Kind of.
He quietly rakes his eyes over me before nodding toward the courtyard. “My publicist is outside. She usually handles editorial coverage.” He smirks. “She gets pissed off when I do this kind of stuff unsupervised.”
“Does she have a reason not to trust you?”
He wipes his hands on a towel and leans back against the counter. “Well, there was the time I threw a chair at a critic at one of my other restaurants because he said my gnocchi resembled saggy ball sacks.”
A peal of laughter escapes my mouth. “What did he say after you threw the chair?”
Tommy shrugs. “That he was gonna sue me, but that’s not the kind of thing that scares me. Telling me my food looks like old ass genetalia? That’s cause for death and dismemberment.” He winks at me. “Don’t quote me on that, though.”
“I can see why your publicist needs to handle you.”
“It took a lot of convincing to get her to work with me. I had to bribe her with a lot of cannoli cream.”
I chuckle despite myself, forgetting my reason for being here in the first place. “Because you’re such a loose cannon?”
“Is that what the press is saying about me?” He rolls his eyes. “Eh, so I get a little defensive from time to time. I only blow when people try to screw me over. Like Gialetti, that ‘famous’ food blogger who came into my last restaurant looking to sabotage me because I said he wouldn’t know a good branzino from an eel if it shot up his ass and out his mouth.”
“You had lines out the door for months after that,” I say, knowing only because I’d been stalking him, not reporting on his success.
“And that’s probably the only reason she signed me. I pay her a lotta fucking coin to keep my image polished up nice and shiny.” A teasing smile lifts his lips. “What’s your name? If any of this shit gets leaked to the media, I need to know who to target.”
Name. I don’t have a fake name! Jesus, I am the worst at this spying and sabotaging thing. “Oh, uh, it’s Alessandra. Alessandra Giaccone.” I don’t know where the hell that came from, but it makes me sound legit, and he seems to be satisfied with my bullshit identity.
Taken: A Dark Italian Mafia Romance (Men of Mayhem Book 3) Page 13
