Father and son stop right outside the hallway before joining the party, when I realize there’s a third person with them.
My heart stops once and my stomach drops. “Wilder, is that Giovanni Coppola?”
“The one and only. This is his birthday party.” Wilder tosses back the rest of his bourbon and slams his glass down. He walks away and mumbles, “Welcome to the family.”
I don’t fuck with actors, politicians, or the mafia.
Giovanni Coppola is the mafia.
Head of the Coppola crime family, Giovanni has his hands in everything that happens from Grand Haven to the Canadian border. To conduct business in his area, a tax must be paid at the beginning of the month like clockwork. Unless you’re Inez Ricci. She’s an exemption to the rule, but she’s never told me why.
I never cared to ask because I. Don’t. Fuck. With. The. Mafia.
The room suddenly looks very different once I realize I’m drinking bourbon at Gio Coppola’s birthday party, likely surrounded by drug runners, extortionists, and killers. Taxing business owners for the right to work is at the end of the long list of what the Coppola family is involved with. Cartels, gangs, public officials don’t make moves without the Coppola’s say so.
What the fuck does a family of private equity lawyers have in common with the mob?
Wilder approaches the trio and shakes hands with Giovanni, before patting his brother on the shoulder and whispering to him privately. Talent’s dark gray eyes immediately find mine. If I weren’t utterly shocked, I’d leave. But I can’t get my legs to work.
“Take my hand,” Talent says after he’s crossed the room to retrieve me.
“What’s going on?” I ask in a hesitant tone.
His pewter stare doesn’t shake, and he says, “Lydia, it’s not what you think.”
“Are you in the mafia?” I whisper harshly, careful to keep my voice down. I don’t see how he can be and kept it a secret.
Talent drops his head back and sighs. “No, I’m not in the mafia. I told you my work gets me involved with some shit. This is the shit.”
“I don’t know … Talent, I don’t—”
He steps forward and captures my face in his hands, forcing me to look up at him as he stands above me. “Do you trust me?”
My answer is absolute and without hesitation. “Yes.”
He sighs in relief and pulls me to my feet. “Good, because my dad wants to meet you.”
David Ridge looks like Al Pacino.
We’re already in a room full of gangsters. All that’s missing is the mountain of cocaine and the machine gun to complete this Scarface remake. Thankfully, we’re across the room from Giovanni Coppola and his family. Maybe I won’t have to worry about witnessing a gunfight.
Talent and I arrive at the table where Wilder and his dad are seated, talking and laughing between each other like we’re not in the same room with some of the most dangerous people in the country. I reach deep and compose myself, deciding that if I’m going to trust Talent, I need to trust him all the way. He wouldn’t have brought me here if I were in danger. I only wish he’d have warned me.
David Ridge smiles and scoots his chair back to stand and shake my hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Lydia. Talent only has wonderful things to say.”
“It’s also very nice to meet you, sir.”
He waves me off teasingly and says, “None of that. Call me David.”
“Or Dad,” Wilder suggests from his seat with a mischievous smile. His eyes are glassy and hooded, and that probably has everything to do with the entire bottle of bourbon sitting half-full between him and his father.
“Very funny, you fucking idiot,” Talent says as he pulls my chair out.
“What, Wilder?” I ask in mock confusion. “You want me to call you Dad?”
The table of Ridges erupts into laughter and their banter shows no signs of ending after that. It’s nothing personal. They’re three men without a woman’s influence, getting drunk on expensive liquor. David slides a glass with a finger of whisky in front of me and encourages me to drink up.
“It’s the only way we get through this shit,” he says with the slightest hint of an Italian accent long-forgotten. His head full of salt and pepper curls reminds me so much of Talent, my heart automatically makes a little room for him. “We’d all rather be at home in front of our televisions. But duty calls.”
We spend the next couple of hours drinking too much, filling our stomachs with the delicious food, and laughing more than I have in as long as I can remember. We’re only four people at a table for six, and no one else joins us with the exception of the occasional person who comes around to shake hands with David and his sons.
David does a great job of including me in the conversation without asking about my family or my job, which leads me to believe that he knows exactly where I come from and what I do. Why they’re so accepting of me in light of knowing I’m a seasoned escort is beyond me. Instead, he asks me about my favorite things, if I want to travel, and how his son is treating me.
Talent’s green jacket is on the back of his chair, and his tie is loose like it always is when he’s had too much to drink. He’s scooted my chair directly next to his, so that the entire side of my body is pressed against his, and he rests his arm over my shoulders.
“He’s a gentleman,” I answer, filled with liquid courage and unafraid to wear my heart on my sleeve. Talent deserves nothing less than complete honesty. “He’s more than I ever imagined for myself.”
“That’s my boy.” David lifts his glass to his younger son and nods. Alcohol has changed him from gangster movie Al Pacino to rom-com Al Pacino, and I like it. “Your mother would be proud of you, Talent.”
“Come on,” Talent says with a slight chuckle. He pushes his chair back and takes my hand to help me from my seat. “This is the part where everyone’s had too much to drink and starts getting sentimental. Let’s dance before they embarrass me and I start to cry.”
David Ridge slides his hand across Wilder’s upper back and claps his shoulder, holding up a glass of whisky in his other hand. It swishes around and spills over his fingers. “Your mother was a great woman. A good judge of character. She’d like this one, Talent.”
Wilder clinks glasses with his father as Talent and I walk away from the table. He guides me to the dance floor where the rest of the party has congregated. Purple, blue, and green lights twinkle from projectors above our heads, casting shadows across our faces and warming our skin with their glow. A low pitch, slow tempo blues ballad with a gritty female vocalist belts a song from the sound system, bringing couples closer together and dismissing everyone else back to their seats.
A bead of sweat drips down my lower back under my dress, and warmth radiates under Talent’s shirt, intensifying his natural vanilla and spice scent. I slide one hand across the back of his neck, and he holds my other hand in his as we move with the rhythm of the music. The mesmerizing pulse of the acoustic guitar, piano, and the occasional drumbeat puts us under a spell, and we may as well be the only two people on the dance floor.
Talent spins me around before pulling me back in, pressing his mouth against mine once I’m back in his arms. His lips taste like oak and rye, and it’s strong enough on his tongue to get drunk from. My dress sashays at my feet as we sway back and forth, light on the dancing and heavy on the touching, kissing, wanting.
“Thank you for bringing me tonight,” I say.
“I knew it was risky,” he replies. Talent’s hands rest on my lower back. “I wanted to show you that my family isn’t as perfect as we’re made out to be. We have our own secrets.”
“I’d say.” I laugh.
“Maybe now you’ll understand why I don’t care about your past. I wasn’t lying when I said I deal with people who do worse.”
“Are you going to explain to me how you’re involved with the Coppola family?”
“Yes.” Talent kisses my forehead and playfully adds, “but then I’ll have t
o kill you.”
Spinning around a second time, the bottom half of my gown sails midair before twisting around my body once I return to Talent. Time slows while we dance under a kaleidoscope of colors, engulfed in heat and lust and possibility. We’re slow kisses and slower touches, unable to break eye contact or change tempo when the song ends.
“Can we stay like this forever?” I ask, laying my cheek against his heartbeat to absorb the steady thud.
“No,” Talent answers. “I have so much more planned for us, baby.”
Two months ago, a future beyond Hush wasn’t tangible. I’d outsmarted the sentence Cricket bestowed upon me when she died, assuming I succeeded by doing everything on my own terms and demanding certain treatment. The last ten years of my life were spent outrunning her legacy, but realistically, I fulfilled it.
Talent changed that.
One chance encounter flipped my world upside down, and a future I don’t recognize becomes in focus the deeper in love I fall with him and myself. Who am I if not Cricket Montgomery’s daughter or Inez Ricci’s prized escort? What will I look like once I step from their shadows? Can I live a normal life after the trauma I’ve experienced?
Too afraid of the answers before, I now welcome the unfamiliar.
Appreciating value in a life outside the one I was born into is worth more than money. Falling in love with a man who looks at me like I can do no wrong gives me a solid foundation to jump from, but it’s up to me to figure out the rest. What I know so far is I like blended vanilla coffee with caramel drizzle, I’m a dog person, and I don’t want to be alone anymore. There’s so much beauty in my city, in the people who’ve inched their way into my life, and in the possibility of crafting a future for myself that doesn’t involve selling my body.
“Let’s go home,” I say.
“You’re reading my mind,” Talent says. He dips me like they do in old romance movies and kisses my throat.
Leaning my head back, I wish I could stretch out this perfect moment in time so it never ends. The feeling of being in love is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, and I’d like to explore it more thoroughly. In bed. Only, the frozen lake finally cracks, and I break through the ice, plunge into the frigid waters before I can grab on to anything, and I drown.
That didn’t take long, I think to myself fleetingly as my veins run cold.
Talent doesn’t see Phillip and Naomi right away because Talent never takes his eyes off of me. I clutch his shirt and gasp his name, pulling myself upright from the dip. He knows right away something is wrong and follows my line of sight.
“Fuck,” he says, acting as a wall of protection between them and me.
Back at our table, David and Wilder are already on their feet. David refastens his suit jacket with a deadly expression, and Wilder rolls up the sleeves of his shirt.
“Lydia,” Talent says, standing in front of me. Suddenly sober, his eyes are piercing and begging. “Remember that you trust me, okay. Remember that.”
The rhythm of my heartbeat isn’t overcome by the pulse from the music vibrating through my entire body. The light show is suddenly a nuisance, only made worse when a fog machine releases cool mist over the dance floor, clouding my vision. Fiery rage defrosts my frozen veins, and I told Talent I’m not a damsel in distress who needs saving. I have something to fight for, and I won’t stand back and wait for the battle to come to me.
Shaking free from Talent’s grip, I push through the fog and head directly toward Naomi. I told her if she fucked with me again, I’d break her fingers. Judging by the smug look on her face as I approach, she didn’t take my warning to heart. Her mistake.
Two steps behind me, Talent calls out my name, and in my peripheral vision, I loosely see David and Wilder making their way toward us.
“Cara, nice to see you here,” Naomi says in a cooing tone once I’m close enough to hear. When she realizes I’m not in the mood for conversation, the smile on her face falls and she takes a step back.
Simultaneously, I grab Naomi by her throat and knock the drink from her hands, capturing her fingers and bending them back until I feel them crack. She cries out, and Phillip comes to her aid, circling his arms around my waist to pull me off. I don’t have a second to fight back, because like I weigh nothing at all, Talent takes me from Phillip and passes me off to his dad in waiting.
“Stay calm,” David Ridge warns me in a reassuring voice. “They’ll get what’s coming to them.”
Talent shrugs out of his jacket and drops it to the floor, gearing up for a fight with Phillip Vogel. Wilder stands at his flank, hands fisted. But when you’re in a room with the Coppola crime family, guns are drawn and anyone without a weapon stands down.
Unless you’re Talent Ridge.
Talent’s gray eyes turn black, and he shoves past the men with the guns. What sobers me isn’t Talent’s courage to push past a few gunmen, but the fact that they let him. His fist collides with Phillip’s face, whose nose explodes in a bloody mess. Amid the commotion, Naomi manages to get away.
“I just want to talk.” Phillip holds his hand out not to be hit again.
“It’s too late for that,” Wilder says, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
Talent motions to hit Phillip again, but Giovanni comes forward and says, “That’s enough.”
He pats Talent’s chest lightly and comes to stand between him and Phillip Vogel protectively. Phillip is small under his stare, and he winces like the look alone is painful.
“My dad has tried to get in touch with you,” Phillip says. Blood runs over his lips. “We can fix this. It was a stupid mistake.”
“Can someone get this man a napkin? He’s bleeding all over the floor,” Giovanni smiles and says. “I think it’s best if we continue this conversation in another room. It’s my birthday party, by the way.”
Talent picks up his jacket from the floor and immediately comes for me. In a grave voice, he says, “Let’s go.”
“Is that her?” Phillip asks before we have a chance to walk away. My blood turns to concrete when I realize he’s referring to me. “Come on, Talent. How long have we been friends? Don’t let the fucking whore get between us.”
This time Wilder jumps to my defense, but Giovanni’s men move in and take Phillip by his arms, shoving him forward. Any trace of amusement sinks from Giovanni’s face, leaving his expression calculating and cold.
He tugs his shirt straight, and as he walks past us, he says, “It’s time to end this.”
David and Wilder follow Giovanni and his men right away, like it’s completely normal to shadow a crime boss—like they belong. I don’t understand what’s going on and my composure slips farther and farther out of reach the harder I try to put the pieces together.
“Look at me.” Talent takes my face in his hands. Like a magnetic force, my attention is pulled away from his retreating family to him. His eyes are solid black and severe. “I love you, okay. I fucking love you, and I need you to be strong. Everything is fine. Everything is going to be fine.”
“This doesn’t feel like you’re not in the mafia, Talent,” I say like a punch to the stomach.
He shakes his head. “It’s complicated. I promise to explain once we leave.”
“Let’s leave now.”
“We can’t,” he says grimly. “We have to go with them. Don’t leave my side. Don’t say a word. I’ll get us out of here as quickly as I can.”
In a meeting room just outside the grand ballroom, Giovanni Coppola sits at the head of a long wooden table in a black leather seat. David and Wilder sit at the table directly to his left, and the men with guns sit at his right. Phillip Vogel is on his knees in the corner with his hands tied behind his back. The music from the party is nothing more than a low hum, and the air conditioner is too cold in here.
“Take a seat, Talent,” Giovanni says, motioning toward the chairs beside David and Wilder. Talent sits closest to his brother, putting me as far away from Giovanni and the guns as pos
sible.
“Does she need to be here?” Talent asks. His voice is even, unafraid—like he too belongs.
Giovanni considers me, and for the first time tonight I get a good look at him. In an age of instant news, social media, and big brother type surveillance, crime families no longer flaunt their wealth with fancy cars, fur coats, and stacks of cash. They don’t plant bombs in the cars of their enemies, kidnap for ransom, or brandish their power publicly like they once did. The mob has integrated themselves into the community to keep a low profile and conduct business under the radar.
Everyone in the Bay Area knows the Coppola family. They shop at the same grocery stores as the elite do, eat at the same restaurants, and their kids are enrolled in the same private schools.
This doesn’t make their families less dangerous.
Which is why I don’t fuck with them.
“She should stay,” he answers like an afterthought. “Something tells me your girl doesn’t realize the role she plays in this.”
Talent’s jaw clenches, and he sits up in his chair. Anger and frustration radiate off him in waves, showing me a side of Talent I’ve never seen. He’s treacherous. “Did you know he was going to show up tonight?”
Giovanni smiles and says, “We expected him.”
Talent scoffs and shakes his head. “Have you known where he was this entire time?”
Wilder rests his hand on top of Talent’s as if to say, watch your mouth.
Giovanni pivots to confront Talent. In the blink of an eye, the man who’s dripped charisma cuts it off like a faucet, embodying the very description of a deadly Mafioso. “You know the answer to that as well as I do, Talent. He managed to outrun us, until today when an acquaintance spotted him. If he didn’t show up on his own tonight, we planned to bring him in ourselves.”
Tramp (Hush Book 1) Page 28