“I'm going out to visit with my girlfriends,” I said, as calmly as I was able. “If that's still allowed.”
Marching out the front door, I took the steps two at a time and hopped into the backseat of one of my father's SUVs. If I left with a driver and a guard, they'd probably let me out of my cage long enough to take a walk on a leash.
With a scoff, I slammed the door behind me and gave the driver directions to Edlyn's house.
My friend Edlyn lived in a small three bedroom ranch house with her nine month old baby and husband, Adam. They'd married young—high school sweethearts—and had already been living together in this house when I'd met them in college. This place was like a second home to me; I felt safe here.
“Please don't get out of the car,” I said and then paused to give my bodyguard a look when he reached for the door anyway. “Juliano,” I warned as I raised my eyebrows. He was a third or fourth cousin—I could never remember—that I'd grown up with. “Don't make me tell your pretty new wife about that time you stuck a pumpkin spider up your nose.”
I climbed out before he could respond and made my way up the winding stone path to the front door. Adam's car was gone, but I knew Edlyn would be here with the baby. Since I wasn't supposed to have a phone, I hadn't bothered to text or call, but I did have a key.
“Lyn!” I called when I slipped inside and kicked off my heels.
I set my purse down on the sofa table just inside the front door and raised my brows at the various candles spread around the living room.
Crap, maybe Adam's car is in the shop and I'm interrupting something here?
I bit my lower lip and checked the backyard through the sliding doors, the kitchen, and then made my way down the hallway. The baby was in his crib, but awake, and he smiled at me when I peeked my head in.
“Hey, passerotto,” I said, moving inside and hefting him into my arms. “Dov'è la tua mamma?” Where's your mom?
Gad gurgled in response and smiled at me again, bouncing around as I carried him out and started checking rooms down the length of the hallway.
“Lyn!” I yelled, feeling my heart start to flutter in my chest. As a mafia daughter, there was no possibility too far-fetched to ignore. And always the chance—however slim—that Edlyn and her family had been targeted because of me. “Edlyn!”
I heard laughter and burst into one of the spare bedrooms, the one where Edlyn always did her crafts.
But instead of crafting at the table in the corner, she was on the daybed.
Naked.
With Bo thrusting between her thighs.
“Oh my God,” I gasped, grabbing hold of my rosary as the two scrambled to separate. “What the … what the fuck is this?”
“Adelasia,” Edlyn said, sitting back against the wall and not even bothering to hide her tits. Her lips were swollen, eyes wide, long red hair cascading over one shoulder. “Oh God …”
Bo didn't say a damn word, just stood there with his pants hanging around his ass and his dick half-hard and poking into the air like a sword.
At that moment, I felt like I had more than enough rage to chop it right off.
The weirdest part about the whole moment though, was that I felt more betrayed by Lyn than by Bo.
“I'm going to give you Gad,” I said quietly, “and then I'm going to leave.”
“Adelasia,” Bo started, fixing his pants and coming toward me. It was in that moment that I saw, with the bright kiss of sunlight across his face, that he looked a lot more like Gad than Adam did.
Fuck. My. Life.
“Take your son,” I said quietly, swallowing down my rage.
Bo and Edlyn exchanged a look.
“I'm not going to tell Adam,” I told them, breathing so hard I felt like a bull in the ring. “I wouldn't want him to feel what I'm feeling right now. But maybe you should—before he goes any longer without realizing the truth about his son.”
I handed Gad over to Bo, turned on my heel and got the fuck out of there.
Two of the coziest places in the world—my loft and Lyn's house—had just disappeared from my heart in clouds of smoke and fire.
For the first time in a long time, I felt lost.
And a person with no direction … is a dangerous person indeed.
One of the best parts of staying in my father's house was the wine cellar.
He had a collection worth millions and the frivolity to generously drink and offer bottles worth tens of thousands of dollars. I selected a 2008 Masseto Toscana Merlot, popped the cork, and retreated to my room to nurse a broken heart.
I shouldn't have been surprised about Bo …
But I was.
Fuck, I was more surprised about Lyn though.
“The world is a cruel place,” I said, looking up at my ceiling and taking a chance by having Takia on video chat on my phone next to me.
“It's not cruel,” she said, mixing a batch of cookies while she stared at me through the tiny rectangle of phone screen. “Just chaotic. I mean, when there's a group of people who all love and care for each other, things happen.”
“Please don't, Kia,” I said as I swigged the wine straight from the bottle. “Just don't.”
“I know this is rough, but I don't think you and Bo were meant to be anyway. Remember when you asked if you could tie him up? Or if he'd tie you up? And he flipped all the way out.”
I rolled away from the phone with a groan and swigged my adult grape juice.
Kia didn't understand.
I knew Bo was … different from me. That was why I'd liked him. He kept the darkness inside of me in check. Now … I felt unfettered and wicked. The wine wasn't helping. The wine wasn't fucking helping.
That's when I knew I was in serious trouble.
“Takia, I'm …” I paused and turned back to look at the phone. She'd stopped stirring the cookie batter and was now staring at me, her honey-brown eyes worried and pinched at the edges. She still didn't know where I was right now. I couldn't very well tell her that my dad was not only alive, but the largest crime boss on the East Coast.
Fortunately for me, Takia was the kind of friend that didn't ask. She knew when someone had secrets they didn't want to share.
“I feel like I'm broken, Kia. Bo … was like the tape that held together a broken window. Without him, I shatter.”
“Exactly. Tape. That's about how interesting that man was. Listen, Adelasia, you don't need a man to hold yourself together. You can do that all on your own, honey.”
I licked the sweet tanginess of wine off my lips and wished I could spill it all, my whole story from start to finish. If I did, maybe she'd understand a little better. Takia was right: I didn't need a man to hold me together—I just needed something. Anything.
I felt darkness sweep up and wrap a hard, unyielding hand around my heart.
I wanted to be bad.
Fuck, I reveled in it.
“Takia, I'm gonna go,” I said and she gave me a knowing smile.
“I'll be right here, baking up a storm if you need me.”
“Thanks, babe,” I said, blowing a kiss at the screen before I ended the call.
And then for a while there, I just leaned back into the pillows and nursed the dregs of wine in the bottom of my bottle.
Three husbands.
The families wanted me to have three. fucking. husbands.
Hmm.
I sat up, put the empty bottle on my nightstand, and pulled on some fresh clothes.
I might be trapped here for the time being, but I wasn't going to just sit around and stare at the bars of my prison cell. I was going to start digging through the back wall …
My father needed the traitor; I wanted out.
There was a way to get out of this mess.
I just needed to find it.
“Vincent,” I said, when I found him downstairs with a gaggle of men that were first, second, third and fourth cousins. The Costellos added a whole new meaning to 'keeping it in the family'.
; He paused his conversation briefly to glance back at me.
“I'd like to speak with Marcell Moran,” I said, and then before he could continue, “and Lucky Moretti, and Caj Bellincioni, please.”
“Just a moment,” he told the men, shooing them away with a dismissive swipe of his hand. “Come on, Lazy, let's take a walk together.”
I nodded, and with the wine flowing like liquid courage through my veins, I followed him outside and into the meticulously manicured grounds of the Costello Manor. The entire thirty acre parcel that belonged to the estate was styled after the flora my father had grown up around in Italy—olive trees, maritime pines, cork oaks, sage, and juniper. Strawberry trees (which were actually more similar to fig trees than actual strawberry plants) dotted the edges of the pathway, the round shapes of red and yellow berries dangling in enticing little clusters.
“You understand that this whole …” Vincent paused for a moment and rubbed at the silver hair dotting his chin and cheeks. “Accordo is a tad … unconventional.”
No shit, I thought, but managed to maintain my composure.
“No one is more aware of that than I am, Vinny,” I said, trying to appeal to his more affectionate side—if he even had one, that is. There were times as a kid that I thought Vincent Gotti was the nicest man in the whole world. But then I'd grown up and seen him for who he really was—a man who arranged the assassinations of his enemies, of innocent witnesses, and sometimes … even his own friends. “But if the families want this to work, clearly the four of us should be able to sit in a room together? Have a glass of wine or some coffee?”
Vincent sighed and adjusted the gray fedora on his head, pausing at the split in the path. One way led down to my father's personal vineyard, and the other led to the native plant garden my mother had started before she'd died. Walking through it, it was hard to imagine she was gone. It looked just as good as it had when she'd been alive, putting love and tenderness into each tiny shoot, each broken branch, each fallen blossom.
“I suppose I could work something out,” he said, turning to look me up and down. If he noticed my wine-reddened cheeks, he didn't say anything. “But it would have to be on neutral ground …”
“Costello Winery,” I said, even though that wasn't exactly neutral ground. My father's winery produced some of the finest chardonnay in the state—it was my mother's favorite.
“Neutral, topolina mia,” he said, patting one of my cheeks with a ringed hand. “Perhaps the Four Seasons—”
“Costello Winery,” I repeated, folding my arms across my chest. “I'm the linchpin here. As far as I'm concerned, I am the neutral ground.”
Vincent sighed and took a step back, giving me another calculating once-over.
“You are quite the little spitfire, aren't you?” he asked me, shaking his head with a small laugh. Vincent pulled a metal case of cigars from his pocket and lit one up while I watched. The thick scent of tobacco engulfed me, making me feel like a kid again, a little girl in a dress singing in Italian for a room full of mobsters.
I never knew then that I was among murderers and career criminals.
But I didn't miss those days.
No, it was better to be miserable and in the know than it was to be ignorant.
“I'll arrange it,” he said, giving my holey jeans and long-sleeved top a critical look. “Have Vera help you get dressed and I'll have the car brought around.”
Vincent turned and left me alone on the path to contemplate this decision.
Meeting with three powerful, independent men who'd grown up learning to hate each other … It was either the best decision I'd ever made or one I'd certainly come to regret.
“Dammi la forza, Mamma,” I whispered in Italian. Give me strength. I plucked a berry from one of the strawberry trees and popped it in my mouth, crushing it between white-white teeth.
Three wicked mafia bosses.
And me.
It was a challenge I knew I could handle.
Or maybe it was just the wine talking.
A sapphire blue Talbot Runhof gown was my companion for the evening, just one long drape of navy satin that clung to my body and showed off my curves. A deep V highlighted the olive skin of my back, and a slit climbed straight up to mid-thigh, flashing the seamed black tights I was wearing underneath.
As much as it disturbed me to see my father dating a woman younger than I was, I had to give it to the girl—she knew how to highlight a woman's best attributes. Her makeup skills were Hollywood level, and as a stylist, she'd be sought after by every modeling agency in the country.
I only hoped for her sake, she got away from the Costello family nightmare sooner rather than later.
I swept down the stairs and into the backseat of the waiting car, a sleek black Maserati Quattroporte GTS, my father's personal favorite.
Before we pulled out of the driveway, Vincent leaned in and flashed me a sharp smile.
“May I see your purse, little Lazy?”
Inwardly, I gave a huge sigh of frustration, but on the outside, I maintained my composure and passed it over without complaint. This time, instead of going through my things, he simply dropped a small revolver inside, planted a kiss on my cheek and patted my knee.
“Enjoy your evening,” he said, and then disappeared out the door, closing it carefully behind him.
As we left the estate, I examined the gun, checked the chamber, and tried to figure out why he'd be giving this to me now. Was it a test? A precaution? A warning? It was impossible to tell at this point; I dropped the gun back into my purse.
I'd just have to wait and see.
When we reached the halfway point between my father's house and the winery, I slid my phone carefully from the tampon box and checked for messages. Really, the last thing in the world I wanted to do right now was hear from either Edlyn or Bo, but my curiosity was eating me alive.
We need to talk, Adelasia. There are things we have to discuss—you're on the lease, remember?
Typical Bo, short and to the point. He knew there was no apologizing or explaining, so instead he was going the logical route, the practical route.
Well, fuck him.
Pursing my lips, I scrolled back through my other messages—from my boss, from my clients, and nothing at all from Lyn.
Fuck, I need another glass of wine.
I turned the phone off, shoved it back into the box of OBs, and closed my purse.
Time for business.
My personal life had somehow gone to shit even without the families' help.
“Miss Costello,” the driver said when we finally pulled up to the large brick building and idled next to the curb. Waiting outside my door, the tall, dark and handsome shadow of Marcell Moran stood. Even just the limned outline of the man was dignified, classic, breathtaking.
I felt my pulse begin to pound, quickened with lust and fine wine.
This was certainly going to be an interesting evening.
“Unlock the doors, please,” I told the driver.
Marcell opened the door with a fluid, dangerous sort of grace, giving me a sultry smile that spoke of carnal secrets he shouldn't know. It was a scary smile because although the logical, rational part of me said no, the desperate darkness inside of me said now. Yes.
I wanted him to fuck me against the rough brick wall of the winery, take my mind away from the image of Bo's guilty face, and Gad's cute little smile, so like my boyfriend of two years that the idea of parentage was undeniable.
“Buonasera, Miss Costello,” he said, the fluid notes of his vowels like a balm against my suddenly heated skin. I rose from the car, avoiding the hand Marcell offered me with a mysterious half-smile on my face.
“Excuse my manners,” I said as I skirted around him and headed for the side door of the building. The winery was closed, but strands of Edison bulbs clung to the front and cast the sidewalk in a warm, welcoming glow. I knew, however, that the side door would be unlocked and that inside, there'd be wine and cheese, grapes a
nd crostata waiting for us. “I've been around careless company for far too long.”
Marcell smiled at me, a wicked slash of lips that twisted my insides into knots.
I stood aside and allowed him to open the winery door for me.
“Perhaps you're simply repelled by the idea of a vampire's touch?”
I fought the smile straining to trace its way across my lips.
“Perhaps.”
Moving through the storeroom that was connected to the employee entrance, I headed for the retail portion of the store, a large room with a vaulted ceiling and natural brick walls, various handcrafted stained glass lamps, and bottles of wine for sale.
In the center of it, a small table was set with candles and food, Lucky Moretti and Caj Bellincioni already seated around it. Seeing the two men sitting so close gave me the chills.
“Mr. Bellincioni,” I greeted with a slight nod, ignoring the way his beautiful green eyes swept my curves with a dangerous amount of appreciation. “Mr. Moretti.”
My childhood friend leaned back in his chair, his dark blonde hair swept back, his hazel eyes open and interested, twinkling with curiosity.
“Is this your response to that little secret I shared?” Lucky asked, but I ignored him, tucking the satin of my dress against my thighs and taking a seat. Before any of the men could take charge, I grabbed a bottle of chardonnay and used a Costello Winery branded opener to pop the cork.
Pouring four even glasses, I set the empty bottle aside.
“This is simply a discussion,” I said, still wondering how to work my way through this. Seduction. That was the weapon my father wanted me to use. But I had other options to try first. “I want to understand how the families have become so desperate, they're willing to trade decades old rivalries on a chance.”
“Politics are complicated,” Caj said, his voice liquid sex in my ear. He was leaning close, too close. The warm, sweet scent of jasmine overwhelmed me as I flicked a quick glance his way and then slowly lifted the wine to my lips. “Business is even more complicated.”
Closing my eyes, I let the tart taste of grapes slide over my tongue and down my throat.
Lure (Mafia Queen Book 1) Page 6