Honor (Made Book 1)

by Melissa Ellen

  “What are you doing?” I asked, slowing to a stop.

  He glanced at me over his shoulder, then set the ring back on the bedside table, where I’d left it before my shower. “Nothing.”

  “Mario?”

  “I have to go.”

  “What do you mean? I thought we were ordering room service.”

  “I’m sorry. I got a call. I need to work. You should eat before you go, though. The room and food are already covered.”

  “Work,” I said indignantly, ignoring everything else he said. “Is this for Eric or my father?”

  He grabbed at the back of his neck. “Lena—”

  “Forget it. Just go.” I crossed my arms.

  There was a charged silence as we held each other’s stares. I could hear the faint squeaking of a room service cart in the hall. He stepped toward me, kissing my cheek before walking out the door. I slumped onto the edge of the bed, picking up the ring. Instead of sliding it back onto my finger, I stood and tossed it into my purse before getting dressed.

  I swirled the straw clockwise in my nearly empty vodka tonic, absentmindedly staring as the ice clinked against the glass and a flirty couple murmured to each other a few seats away from me. I’d lost my appetite after Mario left. Instead of food, I opted for alcohol in the hotel bar.

  A pleasant cologne invaded my bubble of solitude. A man clothed in dark gray slacks and a black dress shirt took the seat to my right, resting his exposed forearms on the edge of the black marble bar. I shifted away from him, sliding my glass a few inches to the left, giving him a dismissive shoulder.

  The bartender approached promptly, setting a beverage napkin in front of him. “What can I get for you?”

  “A water and two shots of your Redbreast 21.” His voice was as smooth and expensive as the whiskey he ordered.

  I glanced over at him, my curiosity piqued, and found him to be as enticing as his cologne and voice. The bartender nodded and walked off before I had a chance to shift my eyes away.

  Angling his head, the man’s eyebrow arched with his crooked grin as he appraised me. It was adorable, but it didn’t make my heart skip the way Mario’s did.

  “Two shots,” I spoke first, hoping to defuse any awkwardness caused by my blatant perusal. “You must be extremely thirsty.”

  “Or meeting someone,” he countered smoothly.

  “True. Are you?”

  “Undecided.” His grin slanted a little more. “What about you?”

  “Am I thirsty?”

  “Are you meeting someone?”

  “No.”

  “Well, he’s a fool for standing you up.”

  “What makes you think I was stood up?” I straightened my spine, narrowing my eyes. “And by a man no less?”

  “You’re right. I might’ve been a little presumptuous in my assessment of your sullen appearance.” He offered me a bemused smile this time.

  “Now you’re insulting my appearance. Do I look that terrible?”

  “Tough crowd.” He laughed, his attention temporarily drawn to the bartender setting the drinks in front of him. He thanked him then turned back to me. “And no. Not at all. You’re a beautiful woman by most men’s standards.”

  “But not yours?”

  “I didn’t say that. I think it’s in both of our best interests that I’m not attracted to you in that manner.” He glanced at the tan line on my ring finger. The damn thing was a beacon on my skin.

  “Yes. I guess you’re right.” I raised my glass toward my lips. “And for the record, the feeling is mutual.” I took a drink, finishing off the last of the watered-down vodka.

  “Thank God for that,” he muttered under his breath, taking a sip of his water.

  I shifted in my seat once again, this time fully facing him and crossing my legs as I assessed him thoroughly for the first time. The man was young, but not much younger than me, and undoubtedly handsome. He likely had no problem with bedding women, with his dark hair and broody, blue eyes. They were captivating, slightly cunning, but not nearly as menacing as my father’s or Lorenzo’s. There was a darkness that surrounded him, yet it seemed its only purpose was to hide a vulnerability from the world.

  His face was elongated more than most of the Italian men I was accustomed to being around, but yet, more rugged, and harsh. The man was an oxymoron.

  My eyes traveled to the Celtic tattoo peeking out of the rolled cuffs of his shirt. “Are you Irish?”

  Those blue eyes met mine. “Why do you ask?”

  I shrugged, turning back toward the bar. “Irish whiskey, Celtic tattoo, the slightest hint of a Southie accent.”

  “Now, who’s being presumptuous? You spend much time in Boston?”

  The tiniest smile tilted my lips as I watched the bartender make another martini for the flirty couple. “No. But I’ve had dinner with some associates of my father’s that were from there. And you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Tell you what…” He focused his intrusive stare on my profile. “I’ll answer yours if you answer mine.”

  My brow knitted as I gave his proposal some thought. “This feels like a trap.”

  “You’re right to be suspicious. It’s an instinct you should trust, especially when in the presence of a stranger.”

  “Should I call security?” I shifted my eyes back to him, tilting my head.

  Another throaty laugh escaped his lips. “Trust me. If I had any intentions of harming you, you’d need more than hotel security to protect you.”

  “That doesn’t reassure me.”

  “It wasn’t meant to.”

  “Okay. Fine,” I conceded, purely out of curiosity. “Ask your question.”

  “Why are you here alone?”

  “I wasn’t alone, initially. But my…companion had to leave unexpectedly for work.”

  “Ah…I see. And this companion, will they be returning anytime soon?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Your true intentions.”

  This earned me another smile. “My only intention is to offer you this other shot. My inquiry is purely to ensure nobody will come walking through that door to pick a fight out of misunderstanding,” he explained as he gestured toward the bar entrance with his thumb.

  “Worried you’ll get your ass kicked?”

  “Not at all. I’m a gentleman, but I’m not one to back down from a fight. And I’ve yet to lose one.”

  “I see. A cocky gentleman.”

  “Confident. It’s only cocky if you can’t back it up.” He slid the whiskey the few inches to me. “Do me the honor?”

  I picked up the glass, raising and tapping it against his. The liquid had a smooth elegance as it slid down my throat, a taste I enjoyed more than expected.

  He set down his empty shot glass then stood, tossing a few hundred-dollar bills onto the bar top. “Thank you for the pleasant conversation. Maybe someday we can do it again.”

  “What? Wait… You haven’t answered my question.”

  “I’m half,” he said, mildly. Then, with every bit as much confidence as before, he strode out of the bar.

  9

  Mario

  “FUCK!” I slammed my fist against the service corridor wall, restraining just enough to keep from punching a hole straight through. I hated not being able to tell Lena everything. We’d always shared our secrets, since we were kids. I knew it wouldn’t be long until she’d get fed up with my elusiveness.

  There was movement in my peripheral. I met a hotel staff member’s surprised face with my harsh stare. He ducked his head and turned the other way, scurrying off in the opposite direction.

  I was ready for our lives to start, for things to simplify. As much grief as I gave her, Lena wasn’t the only one needing to hear our future on repeat tonight. It was something I played in my mind daily. Anything to get through the shit I knew would come my way soon. If I couldn’t spend my time drowning in her emerald pools, I’d spend it thinking about the life I’d have wit
h her. The reason I was doing this.

  After a few calming breaths, I exited through the rear service entrance of the hotel, took five steps, and slipped into the backseat of Agent Maxwell’s unmarked car. The sedan began to roll forward, turning out of the alley and onto the busy street, merging with the traffic before Rhodes finally spoke from the front passenger seat.

  “You own a tux?”

  “I can get my hands on one if needed. Why? You taking me on a fancy date, Agent Rhodes?”

  She ignored me, which surprisingly, made me grin. “There’s an exclusive charity event in a couple weeks. Moretti attends every year along with other high-profile socialites, politicians, and entrepreneurs. Specifically, our victim’s partner, Alex Prescott. We need eyes and ears at the party to know who he may be rubbing shoulders with and if there is any interaction between Moretti and Prescott.”

  “Moretti hasn’t requested my presence. And I highly doubt he will. I’m low-level at this point, merely an associate, not a made man. If he takes anyone, it will be Lorenzo.”

  “Then figure a way to get an invitation. The Blackwoods were invited. I’m sure they could use a security detail. Use those connections you were bragging about. That’s why we enlisted your help after all,” she said smugly, somehow managing to form a smile on her otherwise rigid exterior.

  If I hadn’t been so amused by her little jab, I might’ve been more annoyed that she wanted me to put the Blackwoods in the same room as Moretti. But she was right, if he took Lorenzo, that meant Lena would very well be there. Another thought I wasn’t too fond of. “Sure thing, Gracie Hart.”

  A half-snort half-chuckle erupted from Agent Maxwell. Agent Rhodes’ smile turned sour. She swiveled her head to glare at him as he took a left off Fifth Avenue.

  “What?” He shrugged a shoulder. “It’s funny ’cause Gracie—”

  “I know who she is,” Rhodes snapped. “I just didn’t realize you were such a chick flick buff.”

  “I’ll watch anything with Sandra Bullock. Especially when there are a bunch of beauty queens involved.”

  I chuckled in the back, meeting Maxwell’s smiling eyes in the rearview mirror.

  Agent Rhodes turned her focus back to the Moretti case. “Do you have anything for us yet?”

  The woman needed to lighten up and develop a sense of humor. With the shit jobs like ours involved, it was the only way to stay sane and not dwell on all the bad in the world.

  “Not enough to go on. There’s a guy named Tommy holed up in a house in Greenville.”

  “Got an address?”

  “Yeah. But doubt he’s still there. Looked temporary. He was hiding out, trying to run from Moretti.”

  “How did they find him?” she asked.

  “Drugs. He’s a crackhead.”

  “He owes them money?”

  My phone buzzed softly in my pocket. I pulled it out. “Maybe…but didn’t seem like it,” I responded, glancing down at the name of the incoming caller before pressing decline. “Sounded like he has something else they want. There was a laptop. It was the only personal item he seemed to have on him.”

  Rhodes exchanged a quick glance with Maxwell before continuing her interrogation. “You get a last name?”

  “Nope. He’s white, looked to be mid-twenties, brown hair, longer—just above his shoulder—hazel eyes, average build, if not a little thin, and no tattoos or scars that I could see.”

  “Great. So, we got basically shit to go on,” Maxwell scoffed from the driver’s seat, stopping at a red light.

  I shrugged, watching a busker playing music on the street corner, the melody barely audible from inside the car.

  “Who were you with?” Rhodes asked.

  “Does it really matter?” I replied.

  “It does if something illegal went down. And I’m going to go out on a limb and guess it was your uncle, based on your reluctance.” Tugging at her seatbelt, she twisted in her seat, meeting my eyes straight on. “We aren’t going to have a problem with you withholding information from us to protect your uncle, are we?”

  Rolling my shoulders back and cracking my neck, I reached for the door handle and flicked the lock. “He chose his side.”

  “As long as you remember which one you’re on.”

  I didn’t bother responding to her warning. I opened the door as the light turned green and got out. Striding toward the corner, I reached for my wallet, grabbed a few bills, and tossed them into the musician’s guitar case before blending in with the other pedestrians on the sidewalk as Maxwell drove away.

  Holding the black forty-five in my gloved hand, I checked the magazine, making sure it was fully loaded. I’d been graduated from a knife to a gun. Manny had picked me up three blocks from where I parted ways with agents Maxwell and Rhodes, taking me to the Moretti arms dealer.

  “You should’ve went with the nine-millimeter.”

  I smirked. “I’m a better shot than you. I don’t need as many bullets.” I clicked the mag back in place, then attached the silencer. “Besides this is an FNX-45.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning it puts your nine-millimeter to shame.”

  He scoffed as he eyed the piece from the driver’s seat. “Let me see it.” He held out his hand.

  I passed it to him and he lifted it, aiming at the windshield toward the Hudson. It seemed Uncle Manny had a ritual.

  “Hmph,” he grunted.

  I repressed the triumphant smile on my face. The man had two facial expressions: stoic and enraged. The only time I’d seen him show more than that was earlier tonight, when he took me to select a gun. He almost seemed proud, like I was finally completing a Leoni rite of passage. In his eyes, I likely was.

  His phone vibrated with a new unknown caller. He handed me back the gun and answered without a word, in true Manny fashion. I watched him, trying to learn his tells. It was a harder task than normal. The man had mastered the art of impassiveness. Maybe if we’d been closer when I was growing up, I’d already have them discovered.

  After my father was arrested, for obvious reasons, Ma didn’t want us around him or pretty much any of the Leoni men. Manny was his younger brother and always considered a loose cannon.

  “Mad Dog” Manny.

  He’d earn the nickname when he was fifteen and flipped out on a guy for simply bumping into him in the lunchroom, causing Manny to spill his food tray. It was an accident that earned the kid a trip to the hospital when Manny beat the shit out of him in an alley after school. You never knew what would set him off. Too scared to talk, the kid never said a word to his parents about who did it.

  After a few minutes of listening and silent nodding, Manny hung up the phone, turned over the ignition, and drove us to our next job. I didn’t bother asking questions this time.

  A black BMW rolled to a stop behind us, their headlights quickly dying. Seconds later, the car doors opened. Luca and Lorenzo exited. The chill of the late-night air hit my adrenaline-laced skin as I stepped out of Manny’s car.

  Tucking my gun at my waist, I nodded their direction. Luca returned the gesture while Lorenzo eyed me with about as much interest as a kid in history class.

  We fell in formation, Lorenzo taking the lead to the abandoned warehouse ten yards away. With nothing but the sound of gravel crunching under our feet, I scanned the area. It was truly one of the few places in New York where one could be alone, making it the best location for a meeting that might end badly. Zero cars, zero noise, zero witnesses.

  Don’t hesitate to kill. Manny had told me those words the moment we arrived. They played on repeat in my head. Every single step fed my adrenaline addiction. I’d always known I was wired a little differently. Lately, I started to believe maybe all the Leoni men were. Flight had never been an option I could stomach. My only instinct was fight. Always.

  Lorenzo opened an old emergency exit door, barely hanging on its hinges. One by one, we walked inside, the distinctive smell of mildew and rust lingered in the air. The sound of dripp
ing water in the distance harmonized with the click-clack of our soles against the busted-up cement slab.

  Four large figures loomed ahead of us, stiffly standing side by side, revealed by the dim glow from the shattered skylights. Lorenzo stopped a few yards away, with the rest of us following suit.

  “Where’s Moretti?” one of the men in the middle of the rigid line asked, taking a step forward.

  “Busy,” Lorenzo clipped.

  “We asked him to meet us in person.”

  Lorenzo widened his arms at his sides. “And he responded by sending me. Now, what’s this all about? I assume we’re all here, so you can explain why you suddenly stopped upholding your end of the deal. There was no shipment when our men arrived this afternoon to transport.”

  The talkative one glanced over his shoulder at his buddies before returning his stare to Lorenzo. “The deal’s off,” he declared, puffing his chest slightly more.

  My eyes zeroed in on the guy at his left, a hand twitching near his waist, the moonlight filtering in, hitting him perfectly to illuminate a bead of sweat starting to form at his brow.

  “That’s a bold statement, ending an alliance that has been standing for nearly two decades.” Lorenzo casually tugged at the cuffs of his jacket, seemingly unconcerned as he flicked a piece of non-existent lint from his sleeve. “But unsurprising.” His eyes met the man’s again. “You Irish always get greedy, try to take what doesn’t belong to you.”

  Twitchy’s hand moved again, this time slowly to the holstered gun inside his jacket.

  “And you Italians always think you own everything. But the water has always been ours.”

  The corner of Lorenzo’s lip turned up. “Where is this coming from? I have a hard time believing your boss had a sudden change of heart.”

  “Management has changed.”

  “Interesting…” Lorenzo rubbed his fingers over his chin for a few silent beats before suddenly reaching into his jacket, pulling out his gun. The move created a chain reaction, every man arming themselves, but not before Lorenzo fired a shot, putting a bullet in the guy’s head.