I did the only thing I could think of. I turned to my advisor, and now he was both my consiglieri and my underboss. The only all-in-one consiglieri/underboss of his kind. That little fact gave him an ego the size of a Texas debutante’s teased hair. Coupled with our lifelong friendship, his ego meant he never held back with me.
Like now.
“You went to see her.” He popped an ice cube in his mouth, dipping his fingers into his Dalmore 62 like a fucking Neanderthal. “First thing you did in the city, too.” He shook his head. “Not a good look, man.”
I couldn’t stomach thinking of Ren. She looked tired. Like she hadn’t slept at all in the past month. Maybe that was my fault. Maybe we weren’t good for one another. I cut the thought off before I could consider stopping my pursuits. When I was with Ren, everything felt better and more real than anything I’d ever touched. If I lost that again, that bereft feeling would return and sicken me.
I leveled Cris with a cut-that-shit-out stare as I took up more space on the hotel couch than I needed. “That’s not why I called you to my suite.”
He must have read the look on my face, because he replaced his carefree demeanor with a hard expression. “What happened?”
“They moved up the date for the roundtable discussion.”
He shifted in the lounger next to me. “Okay… what’s the—” He swore. “Oh. They didn’t tell you, and you found out through your girl. Motherfuckers! What are you going to do?”
I raised a brow. “That’s why you’re here.” I made a go-ahead gesture. “Advise me, consiglieri.”
“First things first.” He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and rubbed his hands together. “Drop that peaceful, kumbaya bullshit. It’s doing none of us any favors.” I disagreed but let him continue. “We need more respect, to renegotiate our borders, and some cross-territory distribution benefits. This is our chance to gain at least one of these things. Giving up the chance for Vincent Romano, someone you barely even knew, is doing the syndicate no favors.”
“I’ll take your words under advisement.”
“It’s what everyone wants.”
“Duly noted.”
“You’re not gonna do anything I asked, are you?”
I sighed and ran a hand across my face. Cris was right. When I’d passed on negotiations, I hadn’t been thinking about the De Luca syndicate. I’d been thinking of Ren. But I had responsibilities here, and they were, first and foremost, the De Luca family.
I shot Cris a look. “I’ll negotiate for a cross-territory distribution route, and if I can, a border renegotiation.”
“Thank fuck.”
I rolled my eyes. “I regret promoting you on a daily basis.”
“Good thing I’m your only friend.” He downed the rest of his drink like it was Two Buck Chuck and not from a six-figure bottle. “And as your friend, I feel compelled to tell you that this thing you have with the Vitali girl isn’t good for anyone. If you end up together, you put us higher on the radar of the Vitali family, which isn’t actually a good thing. If you separate, especially if it’s an ugly separation, you put us higher on the radar of the Vitali family, in a really bad way. Either way, we’re on the shit side of the Vitali family’s radar. Not good for the syndicate, Damian. Think of all you’ve already sacrificed.”
The worst part was how right he was.
“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
He held both hands up. “Fine. Just think of the syndicate. It’s literally your only job.”
“I’ll ignore the tone because you’re right. You’re my only friend.” I cut off his laugh, the bastard. “I need to be the first for negotiations, and—”
“Your girl can do that for you,” he finished.
I pulled out my phone and shot a text to her.
Damian: I need a favor.
Three dots popped on the screen and stayed there for a solid five minutes before my phone buzzed.
Renata: Sure.
Damian: I need to go first in the negotiations today.
Renata: Oh, is that all?
Damian: Is that sarcasm?
Renata: …
Damian: That’s not all.
Renata: What else?
Damian: I need you to admit that we’re happening. When the meeting’s done, we’re going to talk. We’ll lay everything out. No more lies. No more miscommunication. No more fear.
Renata: I’m not scared.
Damian: That’s what you got from that?
She didn’t respond, and I could picture her muttering what I used to hear her say to herself when she thought she was alone, “Don’t be weak. You’re a Vitali. Vitalis don’t feel fear.” I’d never learned what she was so afraid of. Squeezing the truth out of Ren was like trying to squeeze the last of the shampoo out of the bottle. It was damned near impossible, and I’d be lucky to get a drop.
“What are you afraid of?”
My question must have taken Cris by surprise, because he was more flustered than I’d seen him in a while. I’d expected a half-assed answer, but instead, he stared me dead in the eye and said, “I’m afraid that something will happen to the De Luca family, and the whole entire town of Devils Ridge and all the other families and cities that depend on De Luca income will get hurt. I don’t need to tell you that these are real lives at stake. Men, women, and children whose lives depend on the decisions we make each day.”
His fears mirrored mine. I knew I’d asked for the De Luca syndicate, but the responsibilities could be crippling. The only reason I’d taken the job was because Angelo hadn’t deserved it and no one else could do it. I wanted the De Luca name to thrive, so everyone who depended on it could thrive. Truly.
Cris held nothing back as he continued. “This meeting can do a lot for our syndicate. You’re my best friend, which is the only reason I’m telling you this. I’m the only person who can say this without repercussions, and I don’t take that lightly. When you go into the meeting in an hour, we need you to have your head on straight. No distractions. You know how many lives depend on you. You’ve never been like this with any other woman.”
He was right.
Fuck, he was so right.
He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s so different about this girl that always gets you like this.”
The difference was, I didn’t love other women.
I loved Renata Vitali.
Reality is easy. It’s the deception that’s the hard work.
Lauryn Hill
I didn’t know how Damian had spent the last two hours, but he was here now, and no one but me seemed happy about it. Actually, I wasn’t sure I was even happy about it. There was a word for people like me.
Commitment-phobe.
Every relationship I’d ever been around had ended in failure. Papà always cheated on Maman. Maman still loved a dead man she’d never really had a real relationship with. Rumors floated around about suspicious circumstances after Damian’s mom’s death. (I still had no clue how he could even consider a relationship given the fact that so many thought his dad had killed his mom.) My relationship with Damian ended on my lie, and I’d blamed it on his lie.
Relationships didn’t work, and I was comfortable admitting that. After ten years of trying to get over Damian, I knew getting back into a relationship with him wouldn’t end well. Didn’t mean I couldn’t still care for him or enjoy what he could do for me physically.
I’d just gotten off the phone with Maman, who reminded me yet again to drop my walls, only this time, I found myself actually considering it despite my commitment phobia. The heavy glossed walnut of the long table rubbed at my elbows as I waited for people to get over Damian being here.
When things settled, I cleared my throat, opened the book, and began the proceedings. “We reconvene here today for a second round of peace negotiations in respect for Vincent Romano’s death. If any syndicate opposes, you may do so now.”
I started again after a long bit of silence. “The second round
table proceeding exists as an opportunity for renegotiations and a reminder to respect Vincent Romano in his passing. In a moment, I will open up the discussion, starting with the… De Luca family.”
A moment of outrage spread across the table. I cleared my throat and cut a glare across to every leader in the room. My face said, “bite me,” and theirs said, “I’d love to.” Still, I stared them down, wondering how I couldn’t wrangle up an ounce of fear when taking on some of the most powerful men in this country but felt so much anxiety at the idea of having a physical relationship with Damian, which I knew could lead to more.
The transcriber had stilled, along with the rest of the room. They were outraged by the favoritism, and they were right to be. But that didn’t mean I’d take their shit.
I turned to Damian, and he held nothing back in his gaze. “What would the De Luca family like to request?”
He stared at me—really stared at me. A look of indecision and regret crossed his hardened face before it relaxed, and he said, “The De Luca family declines to put forth an agenda in respect for Vincent Romano’s passing.”
Everyone here would have to pass on negotiations or risk being outclassed by the De Luca syndicate. Marco Camerino’s pissed off expression didn’t lessen. Rafaello Rossi looked uneasy. The Romano family looked pleased, because historically, the bereaved syndicate always came out on the losing end, and at least they’d avoid that now. Ranieri Andretti seemed indifferent, but he held the bulk of the guilt for Vince’s death in the first place. So, his feelings here were last on my list of priorities.
And Damian?
He’d given up his leverage again, even though we both knew his syndicate needed these negotiations.
He kept choosing me, and it was time I started choosing him.
The room cleared until only Damian and I remained. He closed the door when everyone left.
“What’s that look you’re giving me?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know whether to be in awe of you or utterly appalled. Your syndicate needs you to represent them. You can’t keep putting them second.”
“I can’t help it.”
“I know.”
And I did. He put me first. Always had.
“Do you, Ren?” He took a step closer to where I stood, my bottom resting partially on the table. “Because I keep making these gestures, and you keep pushing me away, but we both know you want me. Don’t even deny it.” I didn’t dare. “What do I have to do to get through to you?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but the fear seized me. “I’m supposed to be strong, but whenever I think of being with you again, I freeze, and this irrational fear takes over. It makes no sense. You didn’t break my heart. I broke my own heart by leaving you. I don’t know why I’m like this. What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I ever make this work?”
He had to understand me, had to understand the feelings I couldn’t articulate. We were both made of the same components. Broken hearts. Broken childhoods. Broken parents who broke us, too. If anyone in this world could understand me, it would be him.
“You’re scared. I get that. But if you can take a leap for anyone, let it be me.”
Of course, he was right. I remembered how it felt a month ago to be in the ballroom, listening to people tell stories of Vincent, knowing how much I’d missed out on. I didn’t want to miss out on Damian anymore.
I didn’t answer for a bit. “Does it have to be a leap?”
He held back a smile, but I could see it in his eyes. “It can be a hop.”
“I’m good at hopping.”
Skeptics are never deceived.
Proverb
Dad called halfway through dinner. I sat at the table with the rest of the syndicate leaders. Ren was on the other side of Asher’s restaurant, because she’d already showed favoritism in the meeting this morning and didn’t want to overplay her hand at dinner.
When Dad called, I answered the phone and dipped into the hallway that led to the bathroom.
Dad didn’t even wait for me to greet him before he spoke. “You’re representing the De Luca name, and you’re fucking up. I told you that you’re no good for this. You’re a fucking embarrassment.”
“What do you want, old man?” I didn’t have time for this.
“Look, money’s tight—”
I barked out a laugh. “I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait! Hear me out.”
I did, because what he’d been reduced to amused me. He’d given me scars on my back from his belt, and I’d taken away the empire that gave him the power to do that to me. It felt nice to rub it in his face a bit.
He heaved out words as quickly as he could, clearly afraid I’d hang up on him. “You wired me half of what I usually get this month.”
“Your allowance has been reduced and redistributed to people who deserve it more. The Humane Society. ASPCA. The Human Rights Campaign, ACLU, Southern Poverty Law Center, and about a dozen women’s health clinics.”
To be clear, just about everyone on this planet deserved money more than my dad did, but I liked to give to causes he hated in particular. Probably the one joy I never denied myself.
“Bull fucking shit! That’s my money! You’ve already got me in a retirement home with people whose greatest life accomplishments are their fucking grandchildren. I’m Angelo De Luca!”
He was such a damned headache. That was what he was. Every once in a while, he’d run his money dry, and I’d get a belligerent phone call, all of which ended the same—me hanging up on him.
“Is there an actual point to this phone call or is it merely to waste my time?”
“That girl of yours. Vitali.” His words slurred every now and then, his fake dentures probably slipping out a bit in his drunken rambling. “You’ll lose the syndicate if you choose her, and there goes my allowance. Don’t screw up.”
The fact that he knew Renata was here unnerved me. I knew he received intel from older soldiers, and I didn’t go after them because they were related to people who served me well, but it still bugged me how informed he was.
My fingers tightened on my phone. “This is none of your business.”
“It’s my business when you run my money.”
“I don’t run your money. I run the De Luca syndicate’s money, which is no longer yours.”
“Drop the Vitali girl. She’s dead weight.”
“No.”
“How does she have you so pussy whipped?”
“It’s called love. You should try it sometime, Angelo. Maybe it’ll make you less of an asshole.”
His crazed laughter met my ear. I knew it had been a while since I’d heard it, because it actually chilled me.
“Love.” He laughed again. “Love!” His Texas accent deepened as his laughter unhinged him. “Ain’t no such thing as love! Love is me killing your Mamma before she could kill me.” He snorted again. “Love. There ain’t no such thing.”
I sat through dinner that evening, relatively unscathed. The two Camerino soldiers across from me discussed the trip to Italy they’d taken, while the woman beside me—I think her name was Marquessa—scoffed.
She turned to me. “Well, I had dinner with the pope last time I visited the Mediterranean.”
I nodded and smiled politely, keeping my irritation to myself. “That’s nice.”
“It was.” She sighed and patted her updo. If I had to guess, I’d say she was in her forties, but talented plastic surgery had her looking thirty. “I had to cut the meeting short to meet with the Italian president. He’s a busy man, you see, but he’ll always make time for me.”
I wondered if she knew that he was my godfather. I kept that to myself as I nodded. “How great of him.”
One of the Camerino soldiers’ wife smiled at me. “You’re from Italy, right?”
“Yes, though it’s been a while since I’ve been back to my home country.”
“I don’t even hear an accent!”
“I went to boarding school in t
he States and dropped it pretty quickly.”
Marquessa huffed. “Boarding school in the States? I sent my children to England, where they could be properly educated. You can’t trust teachers in America these days. None of them know how to do their jobs properly.”
I clenched my fists beneath the table, wondering if Marquessa would have even bitten her tongue if she knew I was a public-school teacher. In the syndicate hierarchy, Marquessa wasn’t anyone. She was just the highest-ranking member at this table—because I was technically out of the mafia—and on a power trip.
The Camerino wife frowned. “My high school teacher helped me with my college applications, sent in my letter of rec, and helped me fundraise to pay for the applications. I ended up at Degory and graduated summa cum laude.”
Degory rivaled the East Coast Ivy League schools, and still, Marquessa scoffed. “I went to Oxford. My children did, too. On their own merit, mind you. There’s no nepotistic legacy in England like there is in America.”
Did this woman realize she was American?
I was two spoonfuls into my lobster when Marquessa leaned forward, patted my hand, and asked, “Why are you here again, dear?”
I looked around to see if anyone had heard her. A few heads turned our way, but they didn’t say anything. I’d opted for a table further away from the main table, where all the syndicate leaders sat. I didn’t recognize anyone here.
A few soldiers and that wife of a Camerino caporegime, maybe. Chances were, they knew I was a Vitali, but the gravity of the connection didn’t register because I’d been out of this world for a decade. Judging from her earlier words, the caporegime’s wife knew for certain.
Dark Romance Collection: A Sexy, Dark Bundle Page 15