by Sunniva Dee
“Oh, nothing, except it made shit even worse for my poor heart.”
Stunned silence.
I don’t care. After all, her reaction can only influence how long it’ll take me to win her. The way she made my brain and my body explode at the same time last night was fucking unprecedented, and that means something. There’s no way I’ll let her walk away.
“We need to go inside.” I grab the car key. Toss it. Catch it. Toss it. Catch it.
“I know…” Her voice is sweet when she trails off. “Tell me about this meeting?”
“You want to help?”
“I can. I’m smart, remember?”
I turn to her. A small, pretty smile pushes the corners of her lips up. I cross my arms. Scan her features one perfect line at a time. “I don’t know you,” I say.
“So you don’t trust me.”
I steady my back against my car door for the full view of her. “Do you realize how delicate my situation is?”
“As in being at the eye of a mafia war, being the son of Il Lince, and having personally killed three people in the last thirty-six hours?” Her expression darkens. “And you still don’t trust me?”
I chuckle silently. Use two fingers to massage my forehead before I reply. “You got me. The situation I’m here for is different, and there’s nothing illegal about it. What I’m trying to do with this meeting is to jack up a cross-promo to become more realistic.”
Her eyebrows lower. “Okay, I need a little more than that.”
“But you’re a nun wannabe.” I suppress my smile. “Maybe you can’t take the moral implications.”
“Uh-huh. Considering your company, I’m pretty sure I understand what you’re trying to do.”
I feel my smile fading as I focus on Tatiana. Her gaze doesn’t waver while she waits for me to explain. And so I do.
I tell her about Clown Irruption’s music. The four bigger-than-life, sensual talents driving the band. The two wives who are willing to back up their husbands even if it means being unconventional. The vampire bass player and his pull toward his opposite. Lastly, I tell her about Troy.
She understands when I explain that I don’t know the details. She’s interested. Deep in the details, she asks me to repeat, word for word, what Troy told me at Lucid and what I read from his gestures.
“Did he say how long ago it happened?” she asks, pushing hair away from her eyes.
“It wasn’t hard to find out. Aishe left to work for the Thalias about a year ago.”
“She left abruptly?”
“Yeah, even I can’t get the details on that, and I’m pretty good at it.” I smile.
Her smile matches mine. And then, miraculously, her eyes soften and she kisses me.
I groan. “You’ve been rough around the edges today.”
“I’ve just been me.”
I tug her face to me and hold her there. Drawing her lip between mine, I suck on it, spar with her, devour her. I need my fill of her mouth. Fuck, I can never get enough of her mouth. I pull back, breathing heavily. “So you want to help me? She’s in there now, you know.”
“Yeah. What’s your goal?”
“I want Aishe Xodyar to be Troy’s counterpart in the video.”
Tatiana takes two seconds to consider it before she shakes her head. “That’ll never happen.”
Aishe’s Facebook profile is private, but I found a few photos of her from Clown Irruption concerts. If it weren’t for the big dark eyes, I wouldn’t have recognized the girl waiting for us inside. She looks nothing like the fiery, longhaired, wild goddess in those images.
This woman looks more mature. She’s elegant in an understated way, with hair reaching her shoulders in a single, even color. It’s styled neatly against her head, with no crazy feathers in sight anywhere. A single pink pearl is the only adornment to her person. With careful makeup around her eyes, not overdone, but not too little either, this is a female who doesn’t want to stand out.
When she first turns toward us, her gaze scans Tatiana before settling on me.
“Aishe Xodyar?” I begin, voice warm but unimposing. I reach for her hand, and she takes it politely. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“A pleasure.”
I introduce Tatiana as well, not going into her role with me. I order us coffees. Aishe’s all set, she says, her latte already on the way. I offer her something to eat, but she declines. Her face remains calm and inscrutable while she waits for us to settle in.
“I must say it was a surprise to get your phone call,” she begins. “I’m not sure how I can help you, though, since I haven’t worked with Clown Irruption in a while.”
Depending on the situation, it can be good when your potential partner wants to jump into the meat of things right away. With Aishe, I’m not sure it’s the best option, but she’s setting the pace, so I’ll be following.
“Yes, it’s pretty exciting, actually. Troy and the guys are starting out on a business venture with my company. What I proposed to them and they agreed to could set them apart and give them the promo boost of the ages.”
She crosses her arms loosely, like she knows it makes her appear insecure.
“And to be sure I understand correctly: you proposed and they agreed to working on a… visual project with porn stars?”
I blow out an entertained puff. “Correct, but what makes this different to anything you’ve ever heard of is that the focus isn’t on porn.”
A furrow alters her brow before she relaxes it. “I’m not sure I understand. What else could the focus be when it’s under the supervision of an adult entertainment company?”
“As I’m sure you know, Clown Irruption has grown to become bona fide rock stars since you were with them. They have fans all over the world, vying for their latest sound. And that’s what we’re giving them, sound in the form of a music video.”
“But Clown Irruption always works with the same people on their videos. Why change that now?” Her arms tighten over her chest. She doesn’t care whether I realize she feels uncomfortable or not anymore. Aishe is worried, and I don’t blame her; there’s something about not knowing where the future takes you.
“Love,” my ice queen murmurs, making Aishe and me turn toward her. “Isaias’ scriptwriters are incredible. One of them came straight from Disney a few months ago. She’s as big a believer in true love as Isaias is, and that’s how Lucid comes into the picture.”
Part of my job is to have a poker face, but it’s hard to keep my eyes from bugging at Tatiana right now. That was free interpretation, playing with what she knows, which is not only my thirty-second summary of the cross-promo on the way to the entrance. This woman has been studying Lucid Entertainment. If she’s dug deep enough to find my scriptwriter’s background, it makes me wonder what else she knows.
“Interesting. A porn studio promoting true love. Is that what you get from your stars?” Aishe chuckles. Face polite, she still hides her disgust well.
“No, my actors are paid to do a job. In Clown Irruption’s case, we’ll be using as few performers as possible, going with the real deal. Zoe will be starring with Emil.”
Aishe’s eyes flash dark before she pulls herself together again.
“And Nadia will star with Bo.”
“Are you joking?”
I laugh softly, taking the brunt off how entertaining her response is to me. “No, Aishe, I’m not joking.”
“Really. You want me to believe that Nadia will be making a porn video with her husband, to be seen all over the world?”
Oh, she’s losing her cool air. This is good.
In my peripheral, Tatiana leans forward, creamy elbows sliding on the countertop while she steals Aishe’s attention. “Actually, they will be making love. The video is meant to show the couples coming together after months apart, and the main thing is to catch the pl
easure in their love for each other. This won’t be about carnal lust per se. Done right, this video could be used as a theater commercial all over the U.S., in time for ticket sales to open for their world tour. Heck, we’re wanting it on during primetime on NBC and CBS.”
Hmm, I hadn’t considered the theaters. And primetime on the biggest TV channels in America? This woman needs to work for me.
“Well, that’s definitely different.” Aishe lets go of her focus on Tatiana. I can almost hear her brain working—she has so many questions. What the hell do I want from her, right? This is what I love about my job: to surprise and manipulate. Win, always win. I leave her to think while she lets the steamed milk of her latte touch her lips without drinking it.
“So this video you’re making, will it be of Bo and Emil and their wives?”
“Among others, yes.” I inhale a breath and take a sip of my Americano. It’s bitter as hell, but that’s okay. I’m only drinking to be social. The little things are what make people feel comfortable, and she’s out of her element right now.
“The rest of the band too?”
“Yep. As far as I understand, Elias doesn’t have a girlfriend, so we will go with his type, an Iman-looking model.”
“Yeah, makes sense.” She breathes a quick laugh.
I wait for her to ask about Troy. When she doesn’t, I volunteer. “Troy doesn’t seem to have a type, though. He’s all over the place with his one-nighters, short, tall, thin, chubby, long and short hair.” I bite my lip, taking a break until she can’t help lifting her stare to me.
“He hasn’t had a steady girlfriend since the band got together. There’s one thing though, one woman, who’s always brought up when it comes to him. I don’t know the details, but when I brushed the subject with him a little while ago, he was candid about the single woman in his life he can’t forget.”
“His mother?” Aishe is trying to make light of it, but there’s concern in her eyes.
“Probably her too, hopefully in a different way.” I give a small smile. “No, it’s their old merch girl. She took off abruptly a year ago to work for a different band. I don’t believe she’s a merch girl either, anymore. Think she works as a wardrobe assistant.” I tap my chin in thought, narrowing my eyes playfully. “Sound familiar?”
“I can’t believe this,” she mutters to herself. “He mentioned me?”
“Yes, and others mention you too, no details shared. Which makes me curious.” I open my hands to her. “Not that I’d pry for secrets that aren’t willingly given. That’s not my job.”
She opens her mouth. Thinks better of it and closes it again.
Tatiana has already showed her warm side with Rain, and now she’s doing it again; perfectly shaped lips pull slowly upward, her grey-grey eyes glittering with tender humor when she murmurs, “It’s common knowledge that you’ve dated Emil, but from what little Troy shared with Isaias, there’s more to your past with Clown Irruption, and whatever that was has Troy unable to forget you.”
Air sieves out between Tatiana’s lips, a voiceless rendition of laughter. “That’s a pretty big deal, I’d say, to make someone like Troy never forget you.”
For a second, I think we’ve gone too far, but then Aishe laughs. “Troy is pretty special.”
“Can I ask you something personal?” I say.
“Sure.” I don’t miss how she doesn’t add “anything.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?” I know she doesn’t. I wouldn’t have contacted her if she did.
“No.”
“Let me cut straight to the chase, then. I will be doing everything in my power to make this video blow people’s minds. I want the viewers’ jaws to drop, and I want them to tear up. After a few minutes with Clown Irruption and their women, I want people to walk away with the knowledge that true love exists, and that this talented band has it all the way and one hundred percent.
“Obviously, Bo and Emil have us halfway there. But what I’ll be proposing to you next could catapult this video to legendary status.”
Aishe starts to shake her head. Incredulous, it’s a slow back and forth at first, but then she speeds up until her mouth pulls into a stern, thin line of denial. “Whatever it is you’re about to say, it’s a no.”
“In my experience, everything can be negotiated. Whether it’s in six-digit checks, or in other, more personally rewarding ways.”
“I’m sorry, but you’re wasting your time, Mr. Nascimbeni. It was nice of you to come out here, but I have to go now. I need to get ready for tonight’s concert.”
“Right. Do you not want the best for Clown Irruption? For Troy?”
“Of course I do. And they’re doing quite well without my assistance, I believe.”
“You’re right, but with your help, they can do even better. As far as six-digit paychecks go, not everyone needs them. Quality of life can’t be measured in dollars and you’re probably doing just fine, but can you say the same about your family?”
According to my intel, Aishe’s Gypsy family is big and complicated. Most of them remain in Europe, and many of them live under the yoke of the fading value of old campers and the repairs needed to keep them running.
“Not sure about you,” I add, “but I come from a large family, and there’s always someone who needs financial support. I’m honestly as excited as they are when I can afford to help them out.”
I hike my shoulders up, making light of things as I sip more bitter coffee. “No harm in hearing me out, right? The filming doesn’t start until Tuesday, so you have time to mull it over.”
Good timing, I guess. At least I’m on my feet, about to shake Aishe’s hand when Bully enters the coffeehouse. He’s unbelievably large in this tiny establishment, bulky shoulders, arms, bulky features. He’s the henchman in all mafia movies, the one bringing messages and carrying out orders. But he’s also that real person on the corner of Sepulveda and Sunset, smoking and just minding his own business. Stereotype and just a human. Funny how that is.
“Boss, got something to tell you.” He tries to keep it low, but with the rumble in his throat, it’s not so easy.
“I’ll be right there.” I turn to Aishe again, getting ready for some last pleasantries. I want to let her know, in a roundabout, everyday manner, that I’ll be in touch if she isn’t. But Bully clears his throat behind me, and it’s anything but subtle.
“Aishe?” I nod and send Tatiana a look, hoping she understands what I need of her: stay behind. Make sure Aishe knows I won’t give up without a yes. It’s a lot to ask from someone you just realized can complement you in negotiations.
“Business calls.” I jut my head sideways toward Bully. “I hope to see you again soon.”
Aishe unleashes a rare smile. “It was nice to meet you.”
I slam the door, bells dangling against the glass behind me. “What was so important it couldn’t wait?” I ask.
“Sir, we can’t take Topanga Canyon back.”
“Okay. Why not?” I tip my head to stare him down. The man easily surpasses my six-foot-three.
“Because Il Lince’s men got into a shootout three quarters up.”
“After the pass?”
“Yes, sir. It wasn’t Santa Colombini. Rocco believes it was Mobespierre Sanguine themselves.”
“Fuck. My father wasn’t there, was he?”
“No, but we had five casualties and two in need of being stitched up.”
I don’t want to know who’s dead. I’ve probably shared Thanksgiving meals with them. “Famiglia?” I ask anyway, because that I can’t avoid.
“No. Not Nascimbenis.”
“Thank the fucking Lord.” I stuff my hands in my pockets, walking toward the cars. “Wait. Rocco told you?” During business meetings, I turn my phone off, so it’s not a surprise that Bully knows about the shootout before I do, but from Gabriela’s PA?
“Yeah.” Bully’s thick neck swells with an uncomfortable swallow.
“Spit it out. What’s up with my cousin?”
He takes too long to inhale.
“Bully. What’s going on?”
“Maybe you want to call Rocco yourself? Better, right?”
“Is she safe?”
“He doesn’t know. She took off.”
Fu-u-uck!
Why is it that no one listens to me lately? I turn my phone on, ignore the seven missed calls and four messages since none are from Gabriela. I call her first, hit her voice mail, and hang up. Fifteen seconds into my freakout, I have Rocco on the phone.
“What. The. Fuck?” I shout, raking a hand through my hair. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
“Sir, it’s not my call. Your cousin wanted to—”
“—get fucking killed and you let her take off?”
“No, it wasn’t like that. She went to sleep early.”
“And you just sat there with my father’s cronies, getting loaded while she snuck out?” My lungs hurt from the effort, and I jump from the small hand pressing between my shoulder blades.
I jerk around. Stare right into crystal-bright greys. They’re replete with compassion, and I feel my face crumple under it. I turn back toward the car, slamming a heavy palm onto its roof. “Rocco. Listen. I gave you one job: keep Gabriela safe.”
“You only assigned me as her PA, sir.” From his pitch, he realizes how stupid that sounds.
“You’re the PA of a fucking mafia princess! Did I forget to blow up the small print in your contract?”
“Isaias,” Tatiana says, and I whirl around staring into her sweet, sweet face. “Think forward.”
What?
I cover the phone with my hand. “You don’t understand. He let my cousin go. My blood, my sister. She left, and she could be in the hands of the Mobespierre Sanguine by now! I—” I cover my mouth, trying to calm down. Tatiana doesn’t back away. Unafraid of my violence, she lets her hands move, rolling down my stomach one ridge at a time in a soothing path.
“Rocco. I give you three hours. If you don’t find out where my cousin is in that time, I’ll be there for you, and your three little kids will be fatherless. Consider that a promise.”