Owned by the mafia boss

MICHAEL

Carmela gaped at me like I’d shot her dog. White light paled Carmela’s golden skin as we stopped under the awning. The glow faded from her smile.

“What do you mean, tear it down?”

“Boston doesn’t need another Italian restaurant. I’ve done some market research in the area, and guess what’s in high demand? Weed shops.”

“What?” Her voice was like a thunderclap.

“I’m turning this place into a marijuana dispensary.” I savored the devastation on her face. “Cash only. Perfect for money laundering.”

“So, you’re getting rid of my father’s clean business to build a pot store that the FBI will raid.” Carmela’s eyes radiated with unrestrained fury. “That is the dumbest idea ever.”

“I’m thinking of calling it Starbuds.”

“Why would you get into that business? There’s so much regulation.”

“We’ll self-regulate. I’ll bribe city officials to glance the other way.” I palmed her shoulder and wheeled her toward the building. “I’ll paint it gray with a green trim. I’ll gut the kitchen. Donate the furniture to homeless shelters.”

“You’re not destroying my fucking restaurant.”

“I own the title. I can do anything I want.”

Before she opened her mouth, the hostess took our coats and showed us to a table.

Brick surrounded the dining room. Espresso-brown padded booths were shoved against the wall, next to rustic wooden tables. Cast-iron lamps hung over them, the white glow bouncing off the patent leather. Sheer black curtains draped over windows. It was the same aesthetic as my house.

A jazz quartet played music on a tiny stage. It was sonorous, boring shit. The space was packed with young couples. It was gorgeous. Ignacio had invested a fortune in remodeling.

I seized the wine list as we sat, scowling. “These prices are a racket.”

“Look around, Michael. People love coming here.” Carmela leaned over the table. “I love it here.”

“Then I suggest you order everything because I’m shutting it down.”

“Why would you do that?”

Because you’re a fucking liar. “I’m expanding into new business opportunities.”

“Do it on one of your properties!”

“There you go again,” I teased, reading the short menu. “Honey, we’re married. What’s yours is mine.”

“So you won’t mind if I ruin your home?”

“Have at it.”

“I don’t understand.” Her voice trembled, the sound stabbing me. “Why are you doing this?”

“This restaurant is nothing to me, but it’s something to you. I’ll close it down. I don’t give a damn.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

A lot.

“Nothing. I like seeing you hot and bothered.” I faced the grimacing waiter. “We’ll have it all.”

“Sir, we don’t make smaller portions-”

“You know who I am. Bring me the whole goddamn menu, or you’re fired.”

The man paled. “Right.”

Carmela set the glass down, fingers pinching the stem as though she wished it was my neck. “You touch a brick, and I swear to God, Michael.”

“You’ll put salt in my coffee? Key my car? Destroy my sex toys?” I enjoyed watching her squirm. “They can be replaced.”

“I can think of a few things on your body you’d miss.”

“You don’t have it in you.” I leaned forward, patting her hand. “Plus, I’d truss you up before you got a knife anywhere near my balls.”

“You better sleep with one eye open.”

“I’ll tie you to the bed frame. Problem solved.”

The waiter approached with our appetizers-bruschetta, grilled octopus, and burrata. Carmela beamed at the server, which caused him to linger until I shot him a pointed glare. She dove into the bruschetta and piled on cheese, her face suffused with greed as she ate.

She moaned. “So good.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Michael, try it.”

I did.

I sank my teeth into the ciabatta glazed with basil. The sharp, nutty flavor yanked me to the Mediterranean, where I had a fantastic bowl of pesto. Nothing in the States had ever compared. All I saw were the turquoise waters and white umbrellas of Portofino. The vision faded behind Carmela, who watched me with a knowing grin.

“It tastes just like Italy, doesn’t it?”

I tried not to enjoy it. “It’s not bad.”

“The secret’s in the pine nuts. Most places import them from China. Cheaper, but the flavor profile’s not the same. You have to go to the source. The Mediterranean.”

I thrust the half-eaten appetizer away, hating that she’d gotten to me through food, of all things. “Portofino.”Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

“See?” Carmela seized on that, glowing. “This isn’t just another Italian restaurant, Michael. You have no idea how hard I pushed for those nuts. They cost a fortune, but they’re worth it. You can’t eat them without your taste buds exploding.”

“What are you, the head chef?”

“I managed this place for a while. I worked in a lot of Dad’s businesses.” Carmela picked up her fork and scrubbed at a watermark. “I’d come here, work the lunch and dinner shifts, and attend meetings with his builders.”

“Builders?”

“Yeah, Dad wanted a brewery and tasting room. It was an enormous project-lots of permits. Dealing with construction was a nightmare. I had to be on them for every minor thing.”

“What’s in a brewery besides four walls and concrete?”

“Bureaucracy. It took forever.”

A smile ticked over my cheek. A scrappy woman existed underneath all that beauty. I was drawn to her because of her tits and ass. I liked curves, and she had plenty. I never thought she’d done something with her life besides spend her dad’s paper.

Now I knew better.

She wasn’t a crushing wallflower or a high-maintenance brat. She was a hustler. A girl who toiled twelve hours a day just to keep busy. She sounded like me. This new side of her pitted my stomach with dread.

I needed to destroy this woman before she killed me.

I beckoned her. “Come.”

Irritation flicked across her gaze. “What do you want?”

Could she do anything without arguing?

“I’m giving you a chance to save your daddy’s restaurant.”

She slid off the chair, her big eyes widening with hope that I’d crush.

“Since you’re a renaissance woman, it should be easy for you to entertain this crowd. Follow me.”

Her cheeks pinked as I wove through the tables, making a beeline for the stage. I unfolded a hundred-dollar bill and approached the man singing in the microphone.

I waved money in his face.

“We don’t do song requests-”

“Get off. Let my wife sing.” I tucked the cash in his hand. When he raised his brow, I shoved in several more bills. “Fuck off.”

He stepped aside, the music grinding to a halt. The patrons didn’t glance our way.

Carmela gaped at me. “Michael, what are you doing?”

“You are tonight’s entertainment.” I gestured at the hipsters neck-deep in their Bolognese and wine. “Get this whole room to clap, and I won’t bulldoze this place.”

“Fine.”

Fine?

Carmela smiled like I’d handed her a trophy, and faced the guy behind the keyboard. “Can you play ‘Valerie’ in E-flat?”

By the time I returned to my seat, Carmela had already wiped herself of emotion. She seemed calm-in her element. She adjusted the microphone stand as though she’d done it thousands of times before.

The band picked up with a jazzy, upbeat tempo. Once people locked eyes on the magnetic woman on stage, nobody looked away. Carmela belted the lyrics. I didn’t recognize it, but voices joined in the chorus.

She was perfect. She never stumbled over a lyric. She sounded great, and before the tune ended, half the place shouted the chorus. People clapped when she finished-even the fucking barman. The guitarist palmed her shoulder, mouthing good job. She replaced the microphone, beaming like she’d taken a hit of ecstasy. Heads followed my smoking-hot brunette to our table, where the jealous stares of men raked my back.

Carmela bounced with a liveliness I never saw before. The torch-like intensity of her confidence blinded me. “I win. You lose.”

I didn’t care.

I was awestruck. “You were amazing.”

Carmela sank into her chair, her cheeks flushing.

“Where the hell did you learn to perform?” I dragged my seat so that we sat beside each other. “How did you do that?”

“Everybody likes ‘Valerie.’ It’s a popular record.” Carmela shrugged, picking at the fried calamari. “I’ve had a lot of practice. I used to sing karaoke.”

“You seemed really happy up there.”

“I was. Singing is my passion. If I had to do it over again, I would’ve joined a band.”

“Why can’t you?”

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“You made a room of strangers ecstatic. They’re still watching you. Maybe you belong on stage, Carmela.”

Carmela looked how she did outside. The bruschetta crumbled in her fingers. She wiped them on her napkin, wide-eyed.

“What do you mean?”

“You could do gigs at my club. I throw black-tie events every month. Interested?”

“Oh my God, yes. Yes, I’d love to.”

I turned to the food, but she grabbed my wrist.

Her eyes blazing, she pressed her mouth into mine. She kissed me in a way she never had before. An electric current passed through me, her aggression stirring my cock, awakening feelings that should’ve stayed dormant.

We parted. She crushed her lips into my cheek until I halfheartedly pushed her away.

“All right, settle down.”

“I can’t help it. It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

I toasted her. “To your new career.”

She melted. “Thank you.”

“No skin off my back.”

“I owe you. I wouldn’t have put myself out there if it weren’t for you.”

“Are you kidding? I thought you’d fall on your face.”

She sipped her wine. “Joke’s on you.”

I couldn’t stay mad at her. “I got my ass handed to me.”

“I like a man who admits defeat.”

“Yeah, well. I admire a woman who proves me wrong.”

Carmela’s cheeks went pink. “I never know where I stand with you.”

I dabbed her finger in the pesto sauce and licked it off. “Let’s go home. I’ll show you.”

CARMELA WOULDN’T LEAVE my head.

I imagined her tits filling my hands, her ruby-red lips milking my cock, how I woke up with her thighs splayed over me, and how she’d tasted mild and sweet. Her mouth and pussy-the way I’d gone back and forth. She’d loved it so much I’d done it again this morning.

I’d also taken a picture of Carmela, fast asleep in my sheets. I looked at it as often as a teenage boy with a crush.

Giving her a gig at Sanctum wasn’t an act of love. I was placating the wife. Feeding her a fantasy. I didn’t even mind being upstaged at my challenge. I respected her for turning the tables on me without throwing a fit. She had a lot more guts than I gave her credit for, and I liked her as a role model for Matteo. He needed a mom who didn’t throw tantrums. Yeah, she’d fucking lied, but that was a week into our new marriage, and she was protecting Mia. I could forgive that.

During the post-orgasmic bliss of last night and the haze between waking, I was at peace. That’s how I stayed until I arrived at Sanctum.

Julian wanted to be anywhere but here.

His face was pinched with fatigue, his normally clean-shaven jaw glistening with stubble, and I had to talk to him about his wrinkled shirt. An employee of Sanctum couldn’t look like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“Is there a reason you can’t pick up an iron?”

His mouth twisted. “My kid was sick, and the nanny was late. She had a car accident, so I didn’t have time. Is that all right with you?”

“Your eyes are bloodshot.”

“From working nights.” Julian raked his hair and sighed. “Can’t complain about the scenery, though.”

I’d never explained that I met his sister here. He had no idea she was a hooker. Serena told her clueless family that she was an actuary, which was hilarious because the only numbers she knew were the grams of heroin to get high.

I was courting disaster by having Julian at Sanctum. Someone would bring up Serena, and the truth would wreck him.

“I did it for years. Suck it up and don’t get hustled by the girls.” I glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall. “I need you to do me a favor.”

Julian sagged into the chair and released a gigantic sigh. His attitude was ungrateful, considering I’d paid for the clothes on his fucking back.

“Perhaps you need another reminder of why you work for me.”

Julian’s lips thinned before he pushed out a barely audible no. “You don’t have to be such an asshole.”

Julian’s short-lived defiance flared out like a dud. That was the way he was-an easily cowed loser who folded at the slightest pressure. His entire family was full of weak character.

“My wife will perform at our black-tie events from now on. Give her anything she needs. Turns out, she’s a phenomenal singer.” A faint glow of pride warmed my chest. “She can do whatever she wants, so long as the vibe is good, and people are signing up for memberships.”

“Your wife is working here?”

“I warned her about this place.” That didn’t mean I trusted the horndogs from hitting on Carmela. “Keep an eye on her.”

“Okay.”

“There’s something else.” I slid a large mug shot of Carmela’s ex across the table. “Be on the lookout for this man.”

“Who is he?”

“Biker scum. He goes by Crash.” I tapped the photo, dragging his attention to me. “This is important. You see him, you call me. Immediately. If he attempts to leave, stall him. Give him everything. Comp his drinks and girls. Drop to your knees and suck his cock. Don’t let him leave. Got it?”

“Michael, I’m not a gangster. I’ve no interest in being involved. You should use one of your soldiers-”

“Man the fuck up. I’m not asking you to kill him. Just make him stay. ”

I doubted Crash would show up here, but I had to prepare for any possibility.

“All right.”

“If Carmela is here, get her somewhere safe. She can’t run into this guy. Understand?”

“What’s this about?”

“The less you know, the better.” Julian opened his mouth, but I waved him off like a Sanctum girl. “And change your fucking shirt. I have extras in my closet.”

Julian mumbled something indistinct as he shuffled from the room. My gaze fell on Nick Smith’s dead-eyed mug shot. I’d put a hefty price on his head. It was only a matter of time before someone gave him up.

Since Carmela told me the whole story, I’d been consumed with vengeance. The gossip surrounding Carmela and Alessio’s breakup never mentioned a biker or an eight-month captivity. Alessio had kept every sickening detail on the down-low, discouraging any mention of Carmela.

He’d glossed over the incident so thoroughly I’d pushed it from my mind. She claimed he’d done it to spare her humiliation, but that was bullshit. Alessio was a selfish dick. He didn’t want to look bad.

Why hadn’t he killed Crash?

Why the fuck didn’t he fight harder for Carmela?

I needed Alessio back.

I had a lot of questions.