by Krista Lakes
I don't know what I could have to do with him. Especially with her asking me to prove my love to my family.
My family doesn't put out assassination hits. At least, not regularly and never on someone like Dante Russo.
“What do you want me to do?” The photo shakes a little in my fingers. I don't want to take out a rival. However, I can't think of another reason why my aunt would be handing me a Russo Family photograph.
“I want you to marry him.”
That is not what I was expecting. I nearly drop the photo. “What?”
“The Russos want to join our family to theirs.” My aunt stands from her desk and starts walking around her office. “We have the money. They have the prestige. Imagine what doors this will open.”
“But you want me to marry him,” I repeat. I look down at the photo and can't decide how I feel about this. It's definitely better than having to kill him.
“You of course have a choice,” my aunt assures me. “You can always say no.”
I don't even bother to roll my eyes. Of course I have the choice to hurt the family and go against their wishes. I have the choice to let down the only people I have ever trusted. I also have the choice to walk around naked in Times Square in the middle of winter.
None of those are really choices.
“Marrying him helps the family?” I ask, picking up the picture and trying to imagine a life with this person. There are arranged marriages all the time. It would certainly make my dating life easier.
Aunt Sophia nods. “Combining the Savio and Russo Families will make us the dominate force on the East Coast. We have the money. They have the connections. Together, we'll be unstoppable. No more dock skirmishes. No more fights. Just more business.”
I like the idea. It certainly would be good for the family. With the Russo name backing us, a lot of new money making opportunities open up.
I look at the photo. I could do worse than this man with serious dark eyes. As long as he's kind to me and mine, I can make it work. There are worse marriages out there. I've had my taste of love and it has left me bitter.
I throw caution to the winds. This is my chance to shine for my family.
“Okay. I'll do it.”
Aunt Sophia's eyebrows raise. “Really?” She didn't expect me to agree so easily.
“It helps the family,” I say, setting down the photo. “I know that you've made sure he's a decent match.”
Aunt Sophia nods. “He is. He's mafia, but everyone says he'll treat you right.”
That meant that he was dangerous, but not to me. He was my kind of dangerous. Mob dangerous.
“I'll take care of everything.” Aunt Sophia takes the photo and places it back in her desk. “You'll meet him in a couple of days. He still has to agree to you.”
I grin at her. “Come on, everybody wants me.”
My aunt cracks a smile. “There's turkey in the fridge for you.” She motions with her head to the small refrigerator in the corner of her office and my smile widens.
“Thanks, Aunt Sophia,” I say, standing up.
She offers me her cheek and I give her a kiss. For a moment, the stern boss look fades and for a moment she is my aunt. Those moments are rare these days.
“Go get out of here before your uncle hears you were at the warehouse again,” she scolds me, but her voice is kind.
I flash her a grin and grab a Tupperware container full of her delicious turkey before heading out of her office. Ethan is waiting for me.
“See, she did want to give me turkey,” I tell him, holding up the container.
He rolls his eyes and walks ahead of me toward the car. I smile at his back and try not to think of what I just agreed to do.
Chapter 3
My apartment is in the outskirts of New York City. It's close enough to have all the comforts of the city, but far enough away that the traffic is only mostly horrendous. Ethan drives like a cabbie and gets me home in record time.
I live on the fifth floor of an older building. I love this place. It's nicer than anything me and my mom ever had. I lived with my aunt and uncle in the 'burbs, but I never felt at home there. I like the feel and the noise of the city. I like knowing there are always people around me. It makes me feel safe.
I sink into my couch, closing my eyes. I can only ever relax when I'm here by myself, so naturally, I never have guests over. My place is a mess, but what's truly important is that it is mine. I can be myself here and I don't have to be the boss's daughter. There are no expectations.
I open my eyes and look over at the upright piano in the corner of the room. It's my pride and joy. My mother had played professionally. She'd met many famous people, including Senator Norwood, because of her talent with the keys. She was amazing. I remember her giving lessons to neighbor kids and their parent's always being so proud to have been taught by a great pianist. I'm nowhere near that good, but playing it now is my connection to her.
It's just an old upright piano, but I saved and bought it for myself. I keep all my sheet music on a small bookshelf next to it, along with Nan's Bible, just like my mom did. The piano and book make this place really feel like home for me.
I think about playing, but I'm not in the mood. I need an outside distraction. I grab my cell phone out of my purse and hold down the “2” button.
“Hello?” a sleepy sounding voice answers from the other end.
“Sara, it's me! Want to go to the piano bar?”
I hear a big yawn. “Can't. I've got an all-day photo-shoot tomorrow. I'm off the next day, though.”
“Come on, you big baby. I'll make sure you get your beauty sleep.”
“Last time you said that we ended up staying out all night. I could barely keep my eyes open the next day. Besides, the piano bar is more your thing than mine anyway.”
“But Sara-”
“I'm hanging up now. Have a great night.” I hear the line go dead.
I sigh and look over at the piano. I've got a day off tomorrow, and I can sleep until noon. I'm going to have a good time tonight.
The piano bar is crowded, but then every bar is crowded in New York. Live music, well dressed people, expensive drinks, this place has it all. I love that it's fancy here. I feel high class. I grab a seat at the bar as soon as I get inside, letting the music wash over me.
The piano is at the other side of the room, but I can already tell it isn't the usual guy at the piano tonight. Whereas the regular guy typically plays some contemporary hits but mostly “Golden Oldies” from the 60s and 70s, this guy is playing nothing but classical music. I close my eyes and listen to a piece I don't recognize, but I can tell he's pouring his entire soul into it. Either this song means something to him or he's a piano prodigy.
When the music stops and the people around me begin to clap, I clap as well, not bothering to open my eyes yet. When I do, I look at the piano player and find I'm looking into dark and serious eyes. They're attached to a handsome face on top of a tall, muscular frame. He must have noticed me as well, even though I'm dressed to blend in with a conservative dark red, sheath dress with sleeves. He stands up and starts making his way toward me. It takes me several moments, but as he gets closer and closer, I recognize that face.
The photo that Aunt Sophia showed me.
The man who doesn't know we're engaged.
And he's walking right toward me.
I almost get up and rush out the door, but instinct takes over. I smile as he approaches me.
“Did you like it?” he asks.
“Like what?” I ask back, feeling playful.
“My piano playing.”
I laugh. “Do girls often swoon over your piano playing?”
He shrugs. “It's usually a good start. Bartender.” A bartender is right there, quicker than I am ever able to get a drink. “Two of whatever she's having.”
“You sure you can afford it?” I ask, looking over his clothing. He's wearing ratty jeans and a well worn t-shirt. This is the kind of place that requi
res a tie. He is not dressed to be here.
His wry smile never leaves his face. “Maybe I own the place,” he says, completely deadpan. I laugh, but then remember what Aunt Sophia told me. Heir to the Russo family. It's entirely possible that he does own this place. He looks at me and realizes he's said too much.
“Oh really. How can that be possible when I own this place?” I ask, saving the conversation.
He relaxes, then spreads his hands out in front of him in a shrug. “You caught me. I actually just work for the competition.”
“Oooh, a spy,” I say.
The bartender finishes our drinks and hands them to the young man, never asking for a tab or accepting any cash.
“If I give you this drink, will you promise not to turn me in?” He looks at me with big brown eyes, and I feel like I can't possibly say no.
“Well, I guess I can let it slide. But, if the real owner comes in here, I'll have to let him know,” I say.
“Well, cheers to spies,” he says, raising his glass. I tip mine to his, then drink. He takes a sip, then asks, “What's your name?”
“I'm not telling you, James Bond,” I reply.
I like him already, but he doesn't know about me. He doesn't know that we aren't supposed to meet for a few more days. I don't want to ruin things. I won't let Aunt Sophia and the family down. I need to play this carefully.
He shrugs. “If I can guess your age, will you tell me your name?”
I shrug back. “By all means.”
He takes a step back, looking at me up and down while his hand rests on his chin. His eyes linger in all the right places, staring at my hips, my curves, my breasts. Finally, his gaze goes to my eyes. “Twenty,” he says. “They should probably card you.”
“Not even close, Bond,” I say truthfully.
He shrugs. “I'm not sure I believe you. Let me see your driver's license.”
My jaw drops. “I am not showing you my driver's license. You probably just want to see my name.”
“Well, either that or your height and weight, but I'll settle for either.”
My jaw drops again and I lightly slap his chest. It's a flirty thing to do, and I can't believe I did it. I'm not supposed to be flirting with him yet. “I don't drive anyway, I take taxis everywhere.”
“Walking around without a driver's license?” the man asks. “The cops could have a field day with you.” He takes another look up and down my body, as if he'd like to have a field day with me right now.
I lift my drink in the air. “I guess you're not the only rebel tonight,” I say. He cheers me and takes another drink. I have to think of a name to tell him, so I think of the first Bond girl that pops into my head. “Vesper.”
He pauses, then shrugs. “Vesper, huh? Alright, sounds like a fun name for tonight. It matches James Bond.”
Again he looks at me with those dark eyes. There are secrets in those eyes. A hint of danger and a whole lot of sexiness. I like the way he looks at me. I like the way my body heats under his gaze.
“Alright, Bond. Tell me, what brings you here to New York?”
“Maybe I've got a hot date,” he says.
I bet you do, I think to myself. You just don't know it yet.
“Really? Are you meeting her here at the bar?” I ask, mocking a look around.
“I think I just met her,” he replies.
That one takes me off guard. If only he knew. I just smile and clink glasses with him again, finishing my drink off. “So, are you going to get back on that piano and play some more?”
“That depends. Will you lay on top of it in that red dress?”
“You know, I'm not just some piece of eye candy. I can probably play better than you can,” I lie.
His eyebrows shoot up. I can't tell if he's impressed or if he doesn't believe me. “Then let's go play a duet.”
I nod my head, but as soon as I move to stand up from the bar stool, the little voice in the back of my head pipes up. This is a bad idea, it says. He doesn't know who you are. He doesn't know your family. This can end so bad. You are in rival families right now.
“On second thought, Bond, I'll just sit here and enjoy listening to you play,” I say.
His broad shoulders slump for a moment, but his smile returns just as quickly. “Suit yourself. This next one's for you.”
He goes back to the piano, cracks his knuckles, and sits down to play. At first I don't recognize the piece. It was something that the usual piano player might play, something that you'd hear on an Oldies station. After a moment, I recognize the chorus. It's the Mission Impossible theme.
After he's done, he gets another round of applause, then walks back over to me. He has a big grin on his face, but I don't really return it. “Aw, come on. You can't be that young that you don't recognize this song.”
“I recognized it, but I don't get it,” I said.
I frown for a moment and then it dawns on me. I can't believe I didn't get the joke. “It's a spy song.”
He chuckles and that grin is back. I know that I should leave. If he doesn't recognize me, then he doesn't know about the engagement yet. Or he's playing with me.
Either way, I should escape while it's still a good option.
“Well, Vesper, are you ready to play a song with me? I think there's still one or two Bond movie songs we can play,” he says.
He's very charming. I'm tempted, but as I stand up, I remember why I didn't play with him a moment ago. “I can't. I have a busy day of work tomorrow, and I need to go home,” I lie. I turn to walk toward the door.
“Wait,” he says, and grabs my elbow. I look at him and for a moment I see a dark desire in his eyes. This is a man who is used to getting what he wants. He's used to power. “What are you doing after work tomorrow?”
I look at his strong body up and down, and I feel compelled to answer. “Nothing.”
He smiles and lets go of my arm. “Good. How would you like to hang out with me?”
No! the little voice in my head screams. “Okay,” my real voice says, betraying me.
His smile is as broad as I've ever seen a man smile. “Great. Do you live nearby?”
“Near enough,” I say. No way I'm going to tell a rival mob member where I live. We aren't married yet.
“I'll meet you here. Six o'clock sound good?”
“Six o'clock sounds fine.”
“I'll see you then, Vesper.” He smiles, then turns on his heel and heads back to the piano. As he starts to play, he looks right at me, then plays what might as well be a victory fanfare. I laugh, then walk out the door.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, I think to myself. I shouldn't be making this into a bigger thing than it is. Yet his sexy charm has won me over, has made it so I can't even think straight. I can't help but think how nice it might be to date him with family approval.
Chapter 4
For a few moments when I wake up the next day, I consider not showing up to Bond's date at all. It would make things easier for me now, but harder in a couple days when I show up for our family sponsored “date”. Or maybe he'll understand completely.
I should never have let him buy me a drink last night.
No. I really enjoyed his company, and I want to see him again. I don't care that we're rivals, or whether things will be weird when we officially meet. For once in my life, all I care about is the now.
And right now, I'm starving. I call up Sara. I know she's probably getting ready for her photo shoot, but who doesn't want to get some breakfast? She sounds sleepy when she answers, but agrees to meet me.
I throw on a pair of sweat pants and a tank top, put a light jacket over top, and go down to our favorite diner. It's just one building over from my apartment and it's where we like to talk about everything and nothing. I order us a couple cups of coffee before she arrives.
In a few minutes, a gorgeous blonde walks in. All eyes are on her in those tight jeans and a tighter sweater, perfectly framing her generous hips and breasts. Even compared to me, she is
a knockout.
She seems oblivious as she walks to the booth I'm sitting in, though I know she's anything but unaware. She makes a lot of money by flaunting those curves. She's a model and I know she'll make it big any day now.
“Hey there,” she calls to me. I stand up and she gives me a hug.
“Good to see you,” I say. We sit down. “Who's your client today?”
She rolls her eyes. “Another car dealership that wants a pretty blonde sitting on an expensive car for an ad. At least it's easy work.”
I nod. Sara knows about my mob connections. She's a friend of the family, so to speak. She's gotten a couple of gigs because she knows the right people, but I try to keep her out of the darker parts of my life.
I want to talk to her about Bond, but I can't tell her exactly what's happening. Until things are certain and I have a ring on my finger, I can't really tell anyone about this. At least not all of it.
“So, you'll never believe this. I met a guy last night at the piano bar.”
Sara's eyes light up. “Cara, you little minx! Tell me all about him.”
The other patrons look over, but then look back at their newspapers and coffee. I grin at her and make a Shh sign. “What do you want to know?”
“Was he rich?”
Of course that would be the first question Sara would ask. “Yes, I think he was rich.”
“Was he tall, dark, and handsome?”
I thought back to meeting Bond. He was at least six feet tall, definitely a good looking man, and those eyes were dark enough to steal my soul. I nod my head. “There's just one thing.”
“There's always a catch.”
“He's not a good dresser.”
Sara laughs. “Deal breaker. You can have him. I won't steal him away from you.”
I wanted to tell her more. I wanted to get an opinion of what I should do, but I don't want to put Sara at risk with information she shouldn't have.