Bene (The Guzzi Legacy Book 5)

by Bethany-Kris

Gian would have been fine.

  But then his ma got in on it.

  Bene wasn’t doing that shit.

  At all.

  “What friend?” the man asked.

  Jesus Christ.

  The man wasn’t going to let it go.

  Not that it made a difference. Bene wasn’t concerned with letting Vanna’s name slip in this interview. She wasn’t connected to the mob, and certainly not to his family. Hell, the woman hadn’t even really known about his connections, right? She asked a bit, hinted that maybe she knew what the rumors were, but that was it.

  It wouldn’t hurt.

  “Vanna Falco.”

  The second her name came out of his lips, the detective’s writing—whatever he was scratching to the pad of paper in front of him—stilled all at once. He continued staring at Bene, though, and while he caught the hesitation in his hand, he also saw something in his eyes.

  Was that … recognition?

  Bene held the man’s stare.

  Keefs swallowed hard. “Hmm.”

  “Do you know her?”

  The man shook his head, but Bene didn’t miss the way his gaze narrowed a bit before he looked down and said, “Can’t say that I do.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Tells.

  Everybody had them.

  Including this cop.

  “Absolutely sure,” the detective replied. “I just find it interesting you were there, that’s all.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t ask the questions here, young man.”

  Bene scowled. “I heard what the RCMP were saying at the mansion, you know? About the maple syrup farms, and how they believe it’s being used to launder money for my father and his associates. See, the thing is … our name isn’t even attached to those farms. Not on paper … you look, see if you can find something, it’s all third party companies who own those yeah? My knowledge of these farms are not an admission of guilt, put that on the record, thanks, and you won’t find shit in those farms, but here’s the thing, Keefs.”

  The detective arched a brow. “What about it?”

  “Only family knows anything about us and those farms.”

  Or famiglia.

  Or anyone who might have gotten inside his father’s office.

  Things were falling together.

  Bene didn’t like it.

  It started with the way the detective seemed to recognize Vanna’s name. And then he had to think about other things, too. Like the fact she just showed up one day in his life, and while things like that were certainly possible, he didn’t believe in coincidences when he started adding up other facts. Her place was empty. She left him high and dry.

  That woman was not who he thought she was.

  “Did you have a rat talk?” Bene asked.

  The detective laughed. “Again, you don’t ask the ques—”

  “Then, we’re done here.”

  He looked to his lawyer.

  Keefs huffed. “I’m not done with this interview.”

  Bene still didn’t grace the man with his attention. He simply kept his attention on his lawyer, and let the man do whatever talking for him that he needed to do to get him out of this goddamn room and interrogation. Nothing had been found on him when he was arrested, and the arrest was only because he threatened a cop that got handsy with his mother. He knew for a fact they searched his penthouse in the city because they showed him the warrant, and so far, nothing came out of that, or they surely would have let him know.

  They couldn’t keep holding him.

  That much was true.

  Every Guzzi knew how this game with law enforcement was played. It wasn’t their first rodeo, and it wouldn’t be the last, either.

  And that game?

  It was all about waiting.

  “To appease the bastards,” his lawyer said as they exited the building, “I set up another interview with them next week. Only this time, it’ll happen in my offices, and they’ll be required to send their questions to me three days before the interview, so we can go over it and make sure your answers are appropriate.”

  Bene nodded, listening to what the man said, but more interested in the person standing on the steps of the police station. Marcus looked ready to throw a goddamn fit in his crumpled suit—but hey, at least he was standing on the steps and not inside in a jail cell.

  “Later, okay?” he told his lawyer.

  The man nodded. “I’ll call the others. Get everything together.”

  “Grazie.”

  Once the lawyer left his side, Bene headed for his oldest brother. Marcus glared at the building with a scowl that could rival the devil’s. Before he even said a word, Marcus muttered, “They’re holding dad—it’s all fucking sketchy, and I am pretty sure the charges they’ve got on him are bogus bullshit meant to keep him in a cell until they can work something out on the money laundering and whatever else.”

  “You’re off, though.”

  “Because they couldn’t hold me.” Marcus’s gaze swung his way. “A lot like you, it seems.”

  “Yeah, well …”

  The two quieted.

  Where was everyone else?

  “Anyone called about Ma?”

  “Corrado is flying in—the rest of them, too. She’s staying in their penthouse in the city for now, but I imagine she’ll head back to the mansion once more of us come home.”

  “Chris?”

  Marcus sighed. “His lawyer is finishing up inside, and he’ll be out soon, too. It was only dad, and a few other men from the family that they’re holding. It’s all about Gian, though, not them. They’re hoping the longer they hold a few made men, the better the chance they’ll start talking. Which is exactly why—”

  “We’re out here.”

  His brother shrugged. “They’ll never turn a Guzzi son on their father. Ever.”

  Wasn’t that the fucking truth?

  They’d die first.

  Bene shifted on his feet, his next words playing at the tip of his tongue. He had to say them, spit it out because all his suspicions seemed more real by the second, and this was bad. For all of them, so his feelings—that shit he felt for the woman he thought Vanna was—couldn’t factor into this at all.

  That hurt in his heart?

  The way his soul twisted?

  It was love.

  Fighting to live.

  He choked it out when he said, “I need to find out who she really is.”

  Marcus turned to Bene, brow raised. “Who?”

  “Vanna Falco. I’m not sure she’s who I thought she was.”

  His brother just stared.

  Bene explained everything.

  “I knew that dress would look good on you.”

  Mario’s compliment bounced off Vanna as she continued working at the stove. Stirring the melting chocolate to ready it for a glaze on a cake she made earlier, her work was far more interesting than anything he had to say. Especially now that she could no longer attend classes at the college. Everything was different, now.

  And this home didn’t feel like hers.

  Even if he said it was.

  “Did you hear me?”

  His footsteps approached from behind.

  Vanna sighed, still refusing to turn away from the stove. She didn’t want to listen to him at all, but she was. She had to, otherwise his moods could shift faster than she blinked, and if she wasn’t ready for the next swing, it might not end well for her. Mario always had a bit of a temper, but it seemed his fuse became far shorter with her.

  She walked a fine line living with him.

  Every single day.

  “I am—I also have to continuously stir this chocolate because stopping at all will make it burn at the bottom, and the glaze won’t be nearly as good, Mario.”

  “You can’t talk and stir at the same time?”

  Vanna’s gaze narrowed on the swirling chocolate under her whisk. Not that he ever cared about her cooking unless he was eating it, but it
was clear the man just didn’t appreciate or understand what went in to cooking a dish like this.

  “Do you want cake later, or not?” she asked.

  Mario sighed, coming to stand directly behind her. So fucking close, in fact, that she could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. As if that wasn’t uncomfortable enough, his fingers drifted over the column of her neck, and he leaned in closer. He always did that. Invaded her personal space whether he was wanted, or not.

  Then, he pressed a kiss to the side of her throat.

  Vanna would vomit.

  Soon.

  If he didn’t stop …

  “Easy,” he murmured at her stiffness. “Imagine how good we could be together, if you would just let it happen.”

  His hand skimmed up the side of her body, tracing her curves with his fingertips, but not appreciating them. No, his touch didn’t want to enjoy having her, but rather … to own her. That was why she felt nothing when he touched her. She would rather take a short dive off a high cliff than be living in this man’s home, sleeping in the bed across the hall from his, and playing pretend house until their wedding.

  Except this was her life, now.

  Hell.

  And it would be her life long after she married this bastard, too. That much became painfully clear over the couple of weeks she’d been forced to be here living with Mario. He controlled everything from the clothes that she could wear to how she spent her days, and far more with no end in sight.

  He tried to be nice—sometimes. He tried to make her think he cared—when he wanted to make an effort. Then, he went back to the asshole. The same person he always was.

  Vanna wasn’t stupid.

  He only did that shit when he was trying to get something out of her. And for the last several days, he kept wanting the same thing. For her to fuck him, or at the very least, give him something physical. He seemed to be convinced that if the two of them jumped into bed together, it would change the fact that she was only there with him because she had no other options.

  If she left, he would chase her.

  If he caught her, he would kill her.

  If she tried to get help … that wouldn’t end well, either.

  And unfortunately, she didn’t even have the money to run. What little money remained in the trust fund her father left for her after his death was practically gone. She’d used it to live on from the time she was eighteen and put her through college—bought her penthouse that was now on the market, and likely wouldn’t sell until after she married Mario, who would then take the money from the sale.

  She had nothing.

  At his fucking mercy.

  The bastard knew it, too.

  “Come on, Vanna,” he said lowly in her ear. “It could be so good.”

  “No, it’ll be you fucking a dry hole, and me wishing it was over before it even begins.”

  Okay.

  So, maybe she should have kept those thoughts in her head. Thing was, she had been tired of this game a long time ago, and now that she had clearly lost here, she no longer cared what happened when she opened her mouth and told the truth.

  Mario’s hand connected with her hip, his fingers digging in painfully and taking her breath away. Her hand on the whisk stilled as she dragged in a quick breath. “Why?”

  Vanna swallowed hard. “What?”

  “Why will you fuck anything else with a dick, but you won’t even look at me?”

  She didn’t fuck anything with a dick.

  A whole total of three sexual partners.

  Bene being one of three.

  Mario’s real problem was that he wasn’t one of them.

  “I—”

  “Once we’re married, I’ll no longer give you the option of coming to me willingly. I hope you understand that, Vanna.”

  “So you keep saying.”

  His hand left her hip and found the back of her neck instead. He grabbed hard enough to leave bruises behind, she was sure.

  “Knock off the fucking attitude,” he snapped. “Because I don’t mind showing you what that attitude gets you in this house, you rude little bi—”

  His threat—the same one of many that he simply recycled with Vanna—was cut off by the sound of a door opening and slamming shut before footsteps echoed in the entry hallway leading to the moderate sized kitchen. All at once, with the chance someone might see him being physical with her in an abusive manner, he let her go and stepped back.

  Vanna breathed a sigh of relief.

  And also scowled.

  She’d burned the bottom of the chocolate.

  Perfect.

  Well, he could eat his disgusting glazed cake.

  She didn’t give a fuck.

  “Mario, man,” came a familiar voice as the footsteps came closer.

  Mario swung away from Vanna, and she removed the pot from the burner. Shutting the stove off, she turned with the hot pot to take it to the kitchen island and begin the process of straining the chocolate as Mario’s sidekick—demeaning? Yes, but also true—Jase came into the kitchen with a grin that annoyed Vanna instantly.

  His next words only made it worse.

  “Got some news you’re gonna like, man.”

  Mario rounded the kitchen island, picking up a pear from the fruit basket as he passed. “And what is that?”

  “Got word a certain boss was arrested at his house today.”

  “You serious?”

  Vanna glanced up from her work, knowing better and that she should mind her own damn business, but she had never been very good at those things. Thankfully, neither man seemed to notice her interest in their conversation.

  “Yeah, Guzzi,” Jase said, “guess a couple of his boys were taken in, too, and a lot of the family’s men.”

  It took every ounce of willpower Vanna had not to react to that statement. She knew better, anyway, because if Mario saw it, she would pay for the mistake later. Hadn’t she already pushed his buttons enough for the day?

  She thought so.

  Better not to play with fire.

  “How long until they’re out?”

  “Hard to say—some of them are already released. Not the boss, though.”

  Mario whistled low, turning around slightly to eye Vanna, and give her a look that screamed for her to keep quiet, and say nothing. “Sounds like something that might be good for our business. When the Guzzis are away, other families can play.”

  “Want me to call the boss, and—”

  “Nah,” Mario said, turning around again and taking a bite from his pear, saying as he chewed, “I’ll call my father and let him know. See what he wants to do—there’s a racket the Guzzis have on the east side with a distribution company that he’s been trying to find a way into for a while now, and with them in an uproar, the company might be willing to switch to our side of things to keep the cash flow coming in for it.”

  Yeah.

  She bet he was enjoying this.

  Snakes never missed an opportunity to creep in.

  “And we should celebrate this turn of events in the city,” Mario added after a moment, taking another bite of that pear, “because business should always be celebrated.”

  The only time Vanna could leave Mario’s home now was when he wanted to show her off. It could be a dinner at his parents’ home with the rest of the clan, or taking her to a party at someone else’s house, but it all came down to the same thing.

  Showing off his beautiful thing.

  His thing he won.

  Vanna didn’t get a choice either way, but she had learned quickly enough that the better her behavior on these little trips out, the easier Mario was to deal with when they returned to his home. His home because it still wasn’t hers. She didn’t care—it would never be hers.

  Tonight, he’d brought her to a restaurant opening. A business that he’d apparently decided to invest in, and because he wanted to show off his growing status to the people that would eventually determine his fate after his father stepped dow
n as the boss of the Camorra clan, the majority of his people were there to celebrate, too.

  Vanna hugged a drink at the bar, trying her best to stay civil as each new person who had yet to see her ring, although they all knew of the engagement, came around to get a peek, and congratulate her once again. Thing was, no one seemed surprised about the marriage, even if it had been announced a month ago, but more like … this had been inevitable to them.

  Perhaps, that bothered her the most.

  She’d lived in delusions.

  The other thing no one noticed?

  How all her smiles were fake and forced. The way she angled her body away from Mario when he stood at her side. And that despite her efforts to join conversations because that was polite and expected of her, she had little interest in these people or their life.

  She’d always thought of it as her clan, too.

  Even if that came with pain.

  She no longer thought of them as hers at all.

  “What are you doing over here again?” Mario asked as he came to stand next to her at the bar.

  Vanna tipped up her glass for him to see. “Getting another drink.”

  Bullshit.

  She’d been nursing this glass for fifteen minutes.

  He didn’t call her out on the lie.

  “Well, my mother wants you to show her the things the designer picked out for the wedding. Indulge her for me, would you? It’ll keep her happy, and then Senior will get off my fucking ass, maybe.”

  Ah.

  She often wondered if Mario dealt with the same shit from his father that he put her through on a regular basis. Senior expected his son to behave exactly right—no excuses. The next potential boss for the clan, he didn’t dare step out of line now, or risk facing the wrath of his father which was never pleasant for the man on the receiving end. It even stretched as far as Vanna because God knew if Senior found out the truth about her involvement with another man, he’d blame Mario before he came for her, too.

  As for his mother …

  Vanna fought not to roll her eyes.

  That fucking sham again?

  She didn’t pick anything for the wedding—the designer did it all. She couldn’t even be bothered to choose a goddamn color scheme, and now he wanted her to pretend like she was having the time of her life planning this wedding just to keep his mother happy?