“Bodyguards? Don’t you mean hired guns?” Bette replied in a snarky voice. “Trust me those men aren’t here to open doors and pull out chairs for the Italian princess.”
“Sicilian,” Kyra said.
“What?” Bette frowned.
“She’s Sicilian. They live in Italy but the family is Sicilian. She may be offended if you call her Italian,” Kyra said. “You’re Asian, aren’t you offended when people call you oriental?”
“Not the same fucking thing, Kyra! Sicilian or Italian, who gives a shit?” Bette leaned in. “Forget about the princess and her band of criminals. You need to be on your toes today. Tate is on the warpath. Anything goes wrong and you know what they say, shit rolls down hill, kid. He’ll be after your neck.”
“And you care about my neck?” Kyra looked her over.
“Hey, whatever, it’s your funeral.” Bette turned to leave.
“Wait, Bette. How about drinks after work?” Kyra piped up. She turned over her sketchpad and revealed her latest sketches. “I wanted to get your opinion on these.”
Bette picked up the sketchpad and scanned the drawings. “Good. These are really good, Kyra.”
“I was thinking maybe I could get my work in front of Catalina Battaglia? What do you think? Let’s have drinks. I need some pointers.”
“No thanks, sweetie. Got plans,” Bette smiled. “And I wouldn’t solicit or give your work to the Battaglias just yet. Wait and see what happens with Teddy Bear.” Bette warned and then sashayed off.
Kyra pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth to avoid a visible pout. She hadn’t broken through with the others in the office socially. Bette was her only hope when it came to getting closer to upper management. Or so she thought. “Shit,” Kyra sighed.
Resigned to her fate she pushed back in her chair. Mr. Tate would need a fresh cup of coffee if he’d been drinking before he arrived at work. When she turned to walk out from behind the receptionist cubicle she heard the elevator ding. To the front of the receptionist area the glass doors gave a clear view of the elevators. Kyra waited to see who stepped out.
It was the Battaglias. The damn doorman didn’t ring her to tell her they had arrived. “Shit! Shit!” Kyra scrambled. The lady named Catalina was who Kyra saw first. She wore a chocolate sable fur over a mint green pant suit that buttoned over a mint green silk blouse, all of it flattering her slender figure. Her skin was smooth like buttercream. Her hair raven, curled with wispy locks and bangs. And her makeup was dark and sultry around the eyes bringing out her striking eye color. Even from the distance between them Kyra recognized how refined and delicate every brush stroke was to heighten her natural beauty. At her side was another woman. Equally stunning, but different in every way. She too wore a fur coat, but hers was black. And the pantsuit she wore was a bone white color. What caught Kyra’s admiration was the woman’s hair. A wild curly bounce of shimmering dark locks that brushed her shoulders. The curly flare framed her face. She had sultry eyes, high cheekbones, pouty rose pink mouth, and mocha brown skin. This was Mirabella’s twin sister?
Kyra snatched up the phone and managed to knock over her cup of pins and small personal photos. She dialed her boss with a shaky hand.
“What is it?” Mr. Tate barked into the line.
“Hi, ah, Mr. Tate, the Battaglias are here.”
The line disconnected. Before she could put the phone down, the women had entered the glass doors and headed straight for her.
“Hello! Welcome to America!” Kyra said.
Catalina Battaglia frowned. She glanced to the other woman who looked Kyra over without a hint of smile. “Ah, I’m sorry. I meant welcome to Mirabella’s. Mr. Tate will...”
“Ciao bella!” Tate exclaimed. He walked out with his arms open and a wide grin on his face. “We’ve been anxious for your return.” He approached Catalina and kissed her on the left and then the right cheek.
“Teddy, le presento Marietta Battaglia. This is Mira’s twin sister and Lorenzo’s wife,” Catalina said.
Mr. Tate took hold of Marietta’s hand and kissed her knuckles. Kyra observed. The stunning woman gave a cursory nod and removed her gloved hand from his. “My, you look so much like Mirabella. This is truly my pleasure.” Mr. Tate said. “When I heard she had a sister I was so surprised. And a twin? Wow. Oh, congratulations on marrying into the family… ah, marrying as well. How was your flight? You two must be exhausted?” he asked.
“Sto bene, grazie,” Marietta answered. Kyra was surprised that the woman spoke Italian fluently. She was evidently black and looked like a black American woman.
“Please ladies. We have breakfast and coffee waiting for you. Kyra!” Mr. Tate snapped his fingers.
“Yes sir!” she hurried around the cubicle and accepted the mink coats from both women. A wave of expensive floral fragrance filled the air. The ladies even smelled beautiful. Marietta Battaglia touched her arm and Kyra paused.
“Your shoes?” Marietta said as if asking a question. Kyra had chosen wisely today. She wore four-inch platform heels that she had hand-sewn and covered with fabric designed with Andy Warhol’s imaging of Marilyn Monroe. The shoes were white and black and the heels purple. Very bold and daring to walk into lower Manhattan for six blocks with them on. And the dress she chose was plum purple. It was a striking ensemble that caught the attention of people when she entered and left a room. Fashion was supposed to provoke or evoke emotion. Kyra braced for Marietta Battaglia’s reaction.
“They’re sexy. Who are they by?” Marietta asked.
“Thank you!” Kyra gushed. “I made them.”
“You made them? For Mirabella’s? I thought we didn’t have a shoe line?” Marietta asked Catalina.
“No, she’s a receptionist, not a shoe designer,” Mr. Tate chuckled. “Probably a school project of hers.” He half-joked. Kyra glanced to her boss and read the signal loud and clear.
“Thank you again,” she nodded respectfully while carefully holding the women’s coats. Kyra watched as the trio walked off down the hall. She glanced back to the men who were left behind. Two to be exact, and both stared directly at her. Intense. Lucky for her she was immune to alpha male sexiness. She liked her men a little more trainable. Her wild carefree nature conflicted badly with anyone who tried to control or dominate her. These two were handsome but kind of creepy with their stoic faces and unwavering stares. Besides the one she really wanted to see wasn’t among them. She’d only seen him twice. He was the first tough guy that caught her by surprise.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked the men. The coats were gaining weight by the minute in her arms. She heaved the weight higher in her arms and managed to hold the dead skins of animals. For the life of her she never understood the attraction to mink coats.
Neither of the men answered.
“Do you speak English?” she asked. She knew a little Italian but not much. “Parla inglese?” she asked.
One of them looked away as if disinterested. But the other, he continued to stare directly at her. There was something almost flirtatious in his perusal of her. She could sense it.
Kyra tried again. “Coffee? Water? Tea? Anything?”
“They speak no English.” A thickly accented voice said from behind her. It sent a shiver of awareness up her spine. Kyra’s head slowly turned on her shoulder to the left and her eyes connected with the man she had hoped to see. How did he end up standing behind her? She wondered. Is he talking to me? Yes. Yes! He spoke to me. Mmm, he’s yummy. It was the first time she had heard him say a word. The sound of his voice filled her with nervous tummy flutters and warm arousal.
Bette said his name was Renaldo. Tall, he had an impressive pair of shoulders filling out his pricy suit and trench coat. He looked to be Italian or Sicilian, maybe Spanish. Kyra was a respectable five-foot five and with heels she stood closer to five foot eight or nine. She had to tilt her head back a fraction when he stepped closer. This man had a dark olive tan to his skin that spoke clearly of his M
editerranean ancestry. Beautiful brown ambers in his eyes that smoldered as they stared down at her from under sharp black brows, chiseled cheeks, and a face that was dazzlingly masculine. He had short dark hair that lay in fine curls against his temples and around his ear.
He was close to her.
So close she felt a bit intoxicated by the rich spice of his cologne.
“Ah, do you speak English?” she managed to ask.
He arched a brow in response.
He was dressed in a dark suit like the other two. He wore a black wool trench and leather gloves. His manner reminded her of the kind of guys you’d see tailing the President in the Secret Service.
He returned his melting hot gaze to the men. And for a brief moment she was able to capture air into her lungs. Those eyes hardened and his lickable sculpted lips flattened into a thin line. He said something in Italian to them both. It was definitely a command not a question. The men nodded their heads and like robots they both turned and left. Again his attention swung back to her. “Your name, bella? Tell me.”
“Key-rah,” she pronounced it for him with a smile. Kyra knew she was attractive. She had a figure that developed early. And a sense of fashion that always complimented her dark brown skin. She used to wear her hair in braided styles, but she had decided to wear a more natural curled afro look that showcased her wide long lashed brown eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips.
His gaze travelled down her face to her breasts. It was a bold and suggestive move. Most women would find it rude. But he didn’t look like the type of man who would apologize for the offense. His pretty brown orbs flashed back up.
“Mi chiamo Renaldo.” He gestured by putting his hand to his chest.
“Nice to meet you, Renaldo,” she replied.
“Coffee,” he said.
“Huh?” she frowned, totally caught up by his sexy smile.
“I’d like to have coffee,” he said. The manner in which he spoke indicated he struggled with his English. She savored how he took the time to pronounce each word for her.
Kyra swallowed past the bolder in her throat. “Oh, coffee! Yes. Um, okay.” She turned and sashayed off down the hall. When she glanced back Renaldo had taken a seat in the receptionist area. He raked his hand back through the short dark waves of his hair, glanced up again, and he stared directly after her.
At the age of twenty-three she’d had her share of boyfriends. Her sisters thought it was crazy of her to never stay with one guy for long, but she bored easily. She loved men, she loved dating, and she loved sex. In her culture women weren’t brazen with such hot desires, her mother, sisters and aunts all married young. But Kyra was different. She savored the new and exciting side of romance the most, not the mundane and routine.
With a well-intended sway to her hips she continued on. She hung the mink coats up in the closet and made sure they were aligned neatly. Kyra closed the door and peeked around the corner to see if he was still there. Silly? Yes, but she couldn’t help herself. And when her eyes met with his again she jumped back out of sight and smiled. Okay. The flirting was childish. The man just asked for a cup of coffee. How could she possibly find this one attractive? He had to be older, maybe early thirties, and she didn’t dare seduce any men over twenty-nine. Plus he had that alpha thing times one hundred going on, so she doubted he was the kind of man that liked games. Kyra pulled down the edges of her skirt and picked at her hair to make sure it had the right amount of fluff to it. She walked with poise to the break room.
“Damn it! I forgot to ask him what he wanted in his coffee,” she said. She turned to go back, and then stopped herself. She’d look stupid. She’d fix him black coffee and bring him a few sugars and cream.
Alicia and Cleo were at the sink talking when she entered the break room. She smiled and ventured over to the coffee maker. From her position she could see them and her own image in the reflective door of the microwave.
“Did you see the Mafia princess when she strolled in?” Alicia asked Cleo.
“I was in my office. Girl, stop. Did she bring the hit squad with her?” Cleo chuckled and sipped from her mug.
“You mean hit men!” Alicia scoffed. “Yeah they marched in here like the Gestapo. Oh my goodness! You haven’t heard the latest drama in Mirabella’s life?”
“No, tell me. Tell me,” Cleo whispered.
Kyra stopped with the stirring of the coffee and listened intensely.
“Mirabella now has a long lost twin. She’s here today. And I hear she married into the Mafia too. I swear Mirabella’s life is just one big episode of The Godfather!”
“Wait? Are you serious? How the hell does a person have a long lost twin?” Cleo asked and then began to laugh.
Alicia laughed. “How the hell does one marry a Mafia kingpin and push out three kids in three years? It’s a wonder this company hasn’t been raided by the Feds.”
“Stop! Stop! I can’t!” Cleo laughed.
Alicia continued. “Well I knew when Fabiana died the company would fall apart anyway.” Alicia snickered. Kyra had heard enough. She turned to leave.
“Damn! Watch it, Kyra!” exclaimed Della who had somehow entered the break room and was now at the water dispenser.
“Oh my gosh! I’m sorry,” Kyra said having splashed coffee on Della’s blouse. She gathered some napkins and passed them to her. “I’m so sorry,” Kyra said. She turned and cleaned up the spill.
“Whatever!” Della snatched the napkins from her. “I need to get to the bathroom so this doesn’t stain.” She breezed out. Kyra looked over at Cleo and Alicia who were both staring at her. She nodded at the woman, refreshed a fresh cup of coffee, and hurried out. Mafia? This was the first she’d heard anyone drop the ‘M’ word in the company. Mr. Tate would flip if anyone were caught tossing that word around. The press spread enough ugly lies about the company. She saw on the news and read in her magazine that Mirabella Ellison had married a Sicilian businessman and that rumors said he was connected to crime. Mirabella was a recluse and rarely photographed or seen. No one in the company could validate or comment on her life choices.
“Shit!” Kyra cussed. The coffee splashed out of the cup again and she slowed her walk. She had poured too much. “Shit, shit, shit!”
When she returned to the front reception area she found Mr. Sexy where she left him. He looked up at her approach. The knot of anxiety in Kyra’s stomach tightened. Again his gaze travelled over her legs, hips, lingered at her breasts, and landed on her face.
“Here you are. I’m sorry but I didn’t know if you wanted cream, sugar, or milk, or… uh, anything.”
“Grazie, bella,” he accepted the paper cup with a smile. He set the cup on the coaster without spilling a drop.
“No problemo,” she replied. His brow arched as if impressed. Kyra blushed. She turned and started towards her desk.
“Kyra!” A shrill voice of a man yelped.
In an instant her heart dropped. Kyra’s head turned and her nightmare quickly approached. “I called you. I called you twice last night. And this morning,” Cezar said. He was in the reception area. How the hell did he get past the doorman? That damn doorman was never on his job. She’d have to tell Mr. Tate about the slacker.
“Not now, Cezar. This is my job,” she said through her clenched teeth. She glanced at Renaldo and to her dismay he was staring directly at them. She was mortified. Did he understand the scene? Maybe he didn’t speak English well enough to.
“I know it’s your job,” Cezar whispered. “I was worried about you. I left several messages, Kyra. Are you okay?”
“Oh good grief!” she grabbed him by the hand and marched him down the hall to the nearest conference room. She shoved him inside and closed the door. “What the hell were you thinking? Coming here? Are you trying to get me fired?”
Cezar paced. He was a fairly attractive guy. He towered over her. He was what most would refer to as lanky. Very lean with long arms and legs. He wore glasses and instead of a mustache, he had a bit of
hair on his chin. She had been drawn to the preppy type since her first year in college and race never mattered. Cezar was from Romania, and had moved to America when he was eleven. They had fun for a while but she tired of his constant hovering and decided to cut him loose. She should have done it properly and called him to end it. But Kyra mostly avoided the messy hassles of breaking relationships off. Her method was to just stop calling until the person got the message.
“I can’t deal with your hot and cold shit, Kyra! One minute we’re hanging out and the next you disappear. A phone call, something. Anything!” he ranted.
“You want me to do this now? Fine! I’ll do it now. We had a good time and now it’s done. I want to break up!”
“No,” he said as if shocked.
“Yes. I’m not dating you anymore. I’ve decided. It’s over. I need to focus on my career. I’m sorry.”
“Kyra, let’s talk about this some more. You’re rushing into this decision. I think…”
“It’s over! We aren’t anything anymore. Done! Over! Finished!”
Cezar’s eyes stretched behind the lens of his glasses. He doubled back. “Just like that? You’re breaking up with me?”
“Yes!” Kyra raised her hands in praise. “Thank you lord. At last he gets it!”
He stepped to her. “You know what, Kyra, you can’t just toss people away like garbage. Karma is a bitch and so are you!” he stormed out. Kyra rolled her eyes. She almost went after him to call him a few names herself. But why bother? The matter was settled. They had a few dates and some good sex and it was over. She had no room for love or romance in her life. Between trying to climb the corporate ladder here and working on her shoe line with Jamie out of her flat, her calendar was booked. Kyra composed herself before she braved a step out the door.
When she returned to the receptionist area her eyes immediately sought Renaldo. To her dismay he wasn’t seated out front any longer. She looked around for him and didn’t see him anywhere. The eye-candy was gone.
Scandalous Heroes Box Set Page 2