by D J Parker
“After you.” Alec pulled my chair out.
“Thank you,” I said, as he claimed the seat beside me.
I looked over at Kimberly. She lifted her camera up and snapped a few shots before moving to the round table across from us. The men, dressed tastefully well, were also a bit off-putting as their astute eyes and solid facial expressions were unreadable. Their energy seemed rather subdued, almost like they were in a snow globe that barricaded themselves from the ebullient crowd. As Kimberly lifted her camera, a tall and solidly-built man with reddish-brown, curly hair came to her side. He rested his hand on her lower back and leaned into her ear. A few seconds later, Kimberly dropped her camera, allowing it to dangle. Kimberly made her way around the table, shaking each man’s hand. As I followed the circle of introductions, a pair of familiar blue eyes brought me to a standstill.
Nicolai.
Over the past couple of months, I’d seen more of him in my dreams. Sometimes he’d come to my dreams wearing nothing but unbuttoned trousers. And then the dream would end abruptly before we even got started.
“Excuse me.”
“Reign!” Carter called out to me, freeing me from the blue trap.
“I’m sorry.” I exhaled a shaky breath as I returned my attention back to the people at my table. “Did you—”
An illuminating cobalt blue liquid in a stemmed cocktail glass was placed in front of me. I cut my eyes away from the drink to look up at the waitress. “I didn’t order—”
“Compliments from Nicolai.” The petite brunette looked quietly around the table. “He hopes you and your party enjoy this grand opening at his expense.”
The waitress sat a torn napkin beside the drink. Black ink was scribbled on it. I stared closely at the words written on the napkin before looking over at Nicolai.
The intensity of his stare branded my skin with a heat that made my mouth dry. I smiled, looked away from him, and returned my attention to the waitress.
“What kind of drink is that?” Carter asked.
“It’s one of our signature drinks,” the waitress responded. “We call this Predator.”
“Mmm, predator… And I guess you’re the prey,” Carter mumbled under her breath.
Ignoring her comment, I forced a smile and said, “Please thank Nicolai for the drink and his generous offer. But, we will pay for our own meals tonight.” I paused long enough to look him over once more. “Please send over three bottles of your top-shelf whiskey.” I glanced over at the beautiful women sitting delicately pristine beside each man. “And for the women accompanying them, send them your best champagne.”
“Very well,” the waitress responded in a shaky tone as she took my credit card.
I could feel all eyes on me. But no eyes taunted me more than the pair that floated from the table across from ours. And, like before, Nicolai caught a hold of my own depths, hypnotizing me to only look at him as everybody else faded into a blur. It was only then that I was able to take in the ruggedly handsome canvas that rested on broad shoulders. He looked different, somehow more handsome, if that was even possible. A platinum black suit, white shirt, and a black bow tie covered his massive chest. His edgy pompadour haircut made his brownish-black hair enhance his blue eyes. I dropped down to his lightly glazed stubble beard.
This should be interesting, I thought, anticipation building as I watched the waitress lean into his ear. He continued to watch me even after the waitress walked away. If he was bothered by what I’d said, I couldn't tell.
He remained lax, unmoved by my brassiness. He just continued to stare, commanding me to drown deeper into his blue eyes. And I did just that until a familiar voice pulled me away.
“Good evening. My name is Leah Trackwell,” Kimberly said, angling her camera like a true photographer in love with the craft.
Carter kicked me lightly under the table. Did she notice how different our best friend Kimberly looked too? Her shoulder-length hair that she usually brushed back into a low ponytail was now covered with brown and blonde waist-length goddess locks. Her navy pantsuit she’d wear even on her day off had been replaced with a black turtleneck tucked into an artsy graffiti-printed skirt. Her flawless cinnamon-toasted brown skin was lightly made up with black eyeliner and lipstick. There was something else different about her. She had no southern accent. She sounded like a true New Yorker instead of a Mississippian.
“I’m with The Village Noise,” she continued, scanning the rest of the table. “We’re doing a feature on the grand opening of Candy Rock City. Do you mind if I take a picture of you all?”
“Um, no we don’t mind.” Carter looked around the table to see if anyone objected to being photographed.
No one was.
“Great!” Kimberly’s lips curled into a perky smile. She lifted her camera up to her face. “On 3. 1...2...3…”
Nicolai
“Does it look like we can't afford our drinks?” Angelo Salmieri’s hooded brown eyes circled the table in search of support.
He got none.
As usual, the five men sitting around the table next to their Friday night-dates avoided eye contact. There were rumors about Angelo, the youngest of us. He had no real talent other than to run his mouth. He had a habit of causing a scene wherever he went.
I was here to see if that rumor was true.
“Relax, Angelo,” I warned in Italian. “Enjoy your whiskey and the beautiful woman sitting next to you.”
As the only heir to assume Don Carmine’s position as head of the Salmieri family, Angelo was beginning to attend social events like this as part of some impromptu training. It was Don Carmine’s dying wish that his grandson become more like the men around this table and less like a spoiled brat who got a hard on from his last name. I couldn’t blame the kid, though. His father, Carlos Salmieri, had been a legend when he was alive and respected like a saint in death. Angelo had been five years old when his father was gunned down. It was the first time in forty years that the five families had banned together for war against the Bratva, the Russian mafia.
Though just a teen, I’d kept up with the news from Palermo. It was part of my early trainings.
For years afterwards, Angelo’s mother shielded him from his grandfather, “big bad” Carmine Salmieri. Up until a year ago, Angelo was an average kid from the rural outskirts of upstate New York. Chickens and horses were his friends and collecting frogs and lizards was how he spent his pastime. But when a journalist by the name of Laura Beacon did a full spread of the top ten mob hits since the 1970’s, she dug deep into the archives and may have sucked a few people off in the process to get her hands on those pictures. And so began her search for the long lost son of the legendary Carlos Salmieri.
“I just wanna know.” Angelo’s shoulders rose as he responded in English. “It’s an insult.”
“And you’re insulting the women at this table by causing a scene,” I cautioned, daring him to respond.
As Angelo ran his hand over his jaw, I knew he had ceded. I returned my gaze to Cindy, our waitress. “This should be enough to cover their bill. Whatever is left is yours.”
“Thank you, Nicolai,” she said, taking the bills from my hand.
As the conversations picked up again, my eyes drifted over to the table across from me. Curiosity was the only reason I continued to watch her. I was drawn to her silhouette like a siren ringing sailors in with its sultry voice at sea. Only, this woman drew me in without speaking.
My body knew she was here long before I could visually confirm. And when I did confirm, my inner beast howled and scraped against my insides, begging for freedom. It was strange how, two months later, she still knew how to set my body ablaze by just being in the same room as me.
“Is everything okay?” Soft lips grazed against my ear.
I turned to face the sultry voice masked over a Besonhurst accent. Big hazel eyes with green swirling in the depths, met my glare. Angela Buonanno, the pretty brunette on Battista’s phone and my date tonight, spent a g
ood portion of the night grazing her pink tinted lips against my ear, whispering mostly nothing. The smell of her purfume, though pleasant, was too girly for my taste. Much like her perfume of choice, her forwardness had taken away from her beauty.
Shoving her probing question to the back of my mind, I offered her a quick nod. While everyone else carried on with bullshit conversations, I continued to observe Reign. Her fingers anxiously crawled along the back of her neck as she spoke to the man beside her.
I leaned forward to draw a cigar from the cabinet selection placed at the center of the table. I rolled the cigar between my fingers as I scanned the men at the table. It should’ve been Andriano sitting here to the right of me as Battista sat to my left. Instead, men I couldn’t trust surrounded me. And despite the fact that some were family by blood, I still couldn’t trust them with my life. Vincenzo had proved loyalty had no DNA.
Pushing thoughts of Vincenzo to the furthest part of my brain, I took a long look around Caito’s establishment. He finally did it. Caito had always said he’d break away from the Pistone family. Investing his earnings into his own business, Caito had done what many men could not. He had bought his freedom.
“I hear Michael Scappa is writing an autobiography,” Vinny said, a few minutes after the women excused themselves to go to the bathroom. “You still think we should let him enjoy retirement?”
I knew the question was directed to me. Vinny wasn’t saying anything I didn’t already know. I caught wind of the former Manhattan district attorney’s book deal a month ago. In my father’s time, Michael Scappa would’ve gotten killed the day after he retired. But, the laws had changed since then and if I wanted my family to step out of the shadows and meld into the legitimate world, we had to slow down on the killing. So, instead of taking Scappa out, I made him sign an NDA. He was not even allowed to create alias names for the five families who paid him handsomely and ensured his reelection each term. I could have just told Vinny I’d handled it, but I didn’t. Instead, I grabbed my glass of whiskey.
“Good for Scappa.” I lifted my glass. “May he’ll be a bestseller.”
Vinny leaned into the table, locking eyes with me. “Aren’t you the least bit concerned about what he’s putting in this book? You got a lot more to lose than all of us.”
I took a sip of my drink and studied Vinny for a moment. When I didn’t respond, he quickly said, “I meant no disrespect. All I’m saying is we need to start weighing our options.”
“Noted,” I said, lighting my cigar.
For the next half hour, the men around me feasted, laughed at the same recycled stories, and drank. All the while, I watched her. She would occasionally look in my direction and often turn her attention back to the man beside her. I followed her every move, studying her like an apprentice. When she stood and excused herself from the table, it was my cue to move too.
She stopped in front of the elevator.
I leaned into Battista. “I gotta take care of something. Meet me at Caito’s office in twenty.”
I slid my chair back and buttoned my suit jacket.
“Leo,” I called out to my younger cousin. “Take Angela home.”
“Home?” Angela pouted. “Why?”
“I got an appointment I can't miss.” I pressed my lips against her cheek, kissing her. “It was a pleasure, though.”
I looked into her hazel eyes, trying to figure out why I’d even entertained Battista’s wild idea of taking Stacy’s twin sister, Angela, out tonight. Yeah, she was pretty. But compared to the brown beauty, she lacked confidence.
“Leo, make sure Angela enjoys herself,” I said, dismissing the slanted, brown eyes staring up at him.
Now that Angela was a thing of the past, there was just one more thing I had to do before I could discuss business.
Get her!
“I see it’s in our blood to stop at nothing to get what we want,” Battista said in Italian, before tucking the cigar between his lips. I followed his eyes, stopping at where the beauty stood in front of the elevator doors.
I looked back at Battista. “You don’t miss anything.”
“It’s the only way to stay alive.”
I crossed the room, leaving the laughter and recycled stories behind me. As the elevator doors were about to close, I slid my hand between the space, parting them again. Her lips peeled away from each other.
“Caught us right in time, sir,” an older man dressed in a red and gold uniform said as I stepped onto the elevator. “Which floor?”
I glanced over my shoulder to see the panel. The button marked “Rooftop” glowed. I returned my eyes to her and said, “To the roof.”
Holy shit!
Her leaf-shaped, brown eyes drew me in, daring me to get lost in her darkness. And for a moment, I did. It was like déjà vu all over again, only this time, I wasn’t sending her back to her husband seamless. Though I’d made every effort to stay as far away from Reign as humanely possible, everything in me wanted her. Bad.
“So, he’s not my type huh?” she asked, referring to what I had scribbled on the napkin earlier. “What do you know about my type?”
“I know that it’s me.” I took a step forward, closing the space between us. “I see you’re not wearing your ring.”
“Always observant, aren’t you?” She tilted her head back, leveling her eyes.
“I pay attention to everything. One can learn when and how to strike just by relying on his eyes.”
“Rooftop.” The lift attendant cleared his throat. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“After you,” I said, extending my arm like an arrow.
The blend of amber, spice, and a subtle intrinsic aroma flooded my airways as she brushed past me. Tantalizing. Sexy. Alpha. A combination of the tree was the best way to describe her scent. I remained rooted in place, completely spellbound by the goddess’ swaying hips. She passed small groups of people sprinkled around the rooftop. And like me, they noticed her. Was I crazy for finding her quiet command of everyone’s attention, sexy?
“What a view,” she commented, as I stood by her side. “New York has never looked so alive, so beautiful.”
“I know,” I said, keeping my eyes on her.
The view of the city was nothing spectacular to look at. It was no different than those generic portraits of a pitch-black sky lit up by building lights. Yet, everything looked better when she was looking at it. I watched her look out into the city like it was hers to claim. And for a moment, I wondered if she knew how much I wanted to claim her.
“And so is the woman you came here with.” She slowly turned to face me.
“Indeed, she’s very beautiful.”
“So, why are you up here with me instead of down there with her?”
“Because like always, you have my attention.”
“It's that simple, huh? To come with one woman and have intentions of leaving with another?”
“It's simple when there’re no expectations.” I stared into her dark pools longer than I should have. I forced myself to look away as an uncomfortable knot maimed my chest.
“I see.” She nodded her head. Whatever haunted her gaze before had vanished. Her lips dipped into a sly smile. “Would I be wrong to presume you’re anti-relationship?”
“You’d be right.”
“So, what’s your phobia with relationships?”
I exhaled. This was a common question. And though I usually had an answer ready, my words came out differently to her. “I can’t give women what they truly long for. I don’t think it's fair for them to pour their hopes into something that’ll never be.”
“This is assuming all women want the same thing,” she said, turning her back to the city. “We’re not all built the same way, you know.”
“I know now,” I said. “So, the happily-ever-after is not for you.”
“I suppose it was never for me.” She shook her head and chuckled. “It's a story designed to shape the minds of little girls. Then when we grow up and b
ecome women, we realize Prince Charming is two inches long, pink, and vibrates.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Please excuse that last part.”
“I’d rather not,” I said, smiling inwardly at those large charming brown eyes. “I prefer you raw and uncut. Tell me more about Mr. Charming. I figured you’d like more than just two inches.”
“It’s Prince Charming,” she corrected. “And it never disappoints as long as you have a lifetime supply of batteries. I don’t have to worry about commitments, lies, or betrayals. It’s the one relationship that keeps on giving.”
“Is that what you want? Commitment, truth, loyalty?”
“Yeah, once upon a time,” she said, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “But these days, I rather have no strings attached. I’d want something that has an expiration date.”
“So a fling?”
“Maybe.” She cocked her head to the side. “So, if you can’t offer a relationship, what do you offer?”
“Some days she’ll have the man of her dreams. She’ll get a man who’d tell her to pack only a passport. But then, there’ll be weeks—sometimes months—when she won’t see me or hear from me. Then there are times when we both agree that our arrangement has run its course.”
“Is that what you have with the woman downstairs?” She raised an eyebrow. “Is it an arrangement?”
“No,” I responded. “She was a favor for a favor.”
“I guess you won’t be getting that favor.”
“I got something better instead.”
The silence seemed to be unavoidable, but it was welcomed. Most women would've looked away by now. But she wasn't like most women. She continued to look at me without fear of my intense stare.
“Could you see yourself in my kind of arrangement?”
My eyes dropped down to her slightly parted lips. There’s no way I’m letting you get away. Not tonight. I had plans for her. Yes, I planned to steal each moan that escaped her lips and tug them until they could no longer tremble and it hurt to even whisper.