by Bethany-Kris
One of those strong, large hands of his found her hip, expansive and warm as he grabbed tight before dragging her close to him. Just tight enough to make her breath catch before his lips fell down to meet hers in a kiss that had fireworks lighting up under her skin. It started slow, at first, the way his lips swept over hers, curious and tasting.
Soft, but still demanding.
And then she opened for him.
He blew it all out of the water.
All he seemed to need from her was that unspoken permission, and the man took what he wanted. His other hand threaded into her hair, grabbing just hard enough to wish he was doing that while she was on her knees, and his tongue licked at the seam of her lips before darting inside her mouth to slash against her own. The hot mint taste to his tongue was enough to make her want far more.
She still couldn’t breathe.
Still didn’t want to.
That kiss told her all she needed to know about Marcus Guzzi, and this night.
It was going to be a good one.
And he would be very dangerous for her.
Every single part of her.
• • •
Cara Guzzi turned on her heel with a wide smile that didn’t falter in the slightest at the sight of a woman on her son’s arm when Marcus said, “Ma, do you finally have a few minutes for little old me?”
The woman’s gaze turned on Cella, a recognition flashing, as she took the hug Marcus offered. “Glad you could make it—sorry I’ve been running back and forth all night. A new company did the food; I regret telling Martina to retire, honestly.”
Marcus laughed.
Cara still watched Cella, only now, with a softer smile playing at the edges of her lips. After arriving at the dinner party over an hour ago, the food had yet to even be served. Not that Cella minded all that much because it gave Marcus more than enough time to give her a quick tour and introduce her to some of his brothers that were able to attend the party. And his father, too, just to keep up the act.
His mother, on the other hand, seemed to constantly run from one thing to the next which meant this was the first time they had been able to approach her while she stayed still. God knew Cella understood, though, because her mother and the rest of the women in her family were the same way when they had an event at one of their homes.
She didn’t take offense.
Respected it, really.
“And this ... the infamous Cella Marcello, yes?”
Cella let out a quiet laugh. “I’m not sure infamous—”
“Trust me, anyone who appreciates good home design knows you.” Cara gave her son a conspiratorial wink before adding, “But what I would love to know even more is how my son came across you, and why he didn’t think to tell me you would be his guest this evening for my dinner party. Marcus?”
Cella might have enjoyed the sight of Marcus looking sheepish at his mother’s admonishment, but he just as quickly came back from it with a charming smile that had even his mother shaking her head with a happy sigh.
“I thought the surprise might be nice,” he lied smoothly.
Cella had to look away at that.
“We met a while back,” he explained, “she’s a good friend of mine.”
Cara’s gaze widened. “Oh?”
“Could you not, Ma?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about your friend, then?”
“My fault,” Cella stepped in, willing to save Marcus the trouble, if only because he was trying to go to great lengths to keep his father’s surprise for Cara a secret as much as possible. “It’s only recently that I agreed to go out, and so far, I’m not regretting it.”
The older woman laughed, the light catching her red hair that had been left down in soft waves, making it a deeper shade of maroon.
“I would hope you’re not regretting it considering otherwise, I’d need to have a chat with him, hmm?”
“I will keep that in mind, Cara. And it’s very nice to meet you.”
Someone called Cara’s name from the side, making the woman sigh under her breath with more frustration that she had shown all night. “And you, too, but it looks like someone else needs me again. I’m making your father call Martina, Marcus, you watch me.”
“Ma—”
“I will find you later,” she told Cella, “so don’t you go too far.”
She accepted Cara’s hug, and the kiss to her cheek. Marcus did the same, and then the woman disappeared into the crowd of people that were currently moving between the large dining room and a sitting area.
“She loves this,” he said absently, his hand coming to rest at Cella’s lower back.
Just that touch ...
It’s all it took for Cella’s body to be way up all over again.
This man would kill her, she was sure.
“Pardon?”
“My ma,” he murmured, grinning down at her with a wink, “she won’t call Martina—she’ll just whip the new catering company into shape, but because they’re new ...”
“Yeah, I get it. And she loves you, huh? I could tell that right away.”
Marcus shrugged. “All of her boys. The grandkids, too. My brothers’ wives. She makes time once a week for each of their wives, if she can. Something to do just for them. I don’t know how she does it or keeps it all up, but—”
“She loves it.”
She didn’t need him to say it.
“Yeah, she does.”
Cella’s gaze dropped to his lips and the soft smile playing at his mouth. All over again, she thought about that kiss the two of them had shared, and her mind was on everything but this party and the penthouse job.
“Later,” he said.
Her stare jumped up to meet his. “You don’t know what I was think—”
“I absolutely do. And later. We’ll get back to that later, cara mia.”
She didn’t doubt it.
5.
Marcus nodded in response to the Capo at his left who truly believed his boss was listening to his latest complaint about some issue his crew was having with a racket deal they’d had in the works for a year now. It wasn’t something a boss could or should fix. Those were details for Capos to work out, and he planned on telling the man exactly that once he finished with his tirade.
“So, you see—”
“Did you think this dinner party was a good opportunity for this?” Marcus asked.
The Capo quieted suddenly before saying, “Well, you were here, Marcus.”
“And a few weeks ago, I might have cared to help you with your situation. However, as the acting boss of this family, I no longer have the time or concern to bother with these issues. You should find someone who does. Is that clear?”
Thankfully, the man seemed to understand that he had crossed an unmarked line of some sort with Marcus. This whole party had been exactly that, frankly. One issue after another. It never ended. He just finished speaking with one man, and another would come up with something else to say. It was like they forgot Marcus was no longer the underboss acting as the go-between for them and his father anymore, and instead their boss.
He expected that.
Tried to deal with it.
Tonight, though, his patience was thin.
Marcus was over it.
Usually, he wouldn’t be so short and quick to have a temper, but considering all these made men at the party consistently and repeatedly dragged him away from Cella’s side for business, well ... he was done with it. It seemed like Cella had found more than enough people to keep her entertained while he was taken away from her in his brothers and even his mother for a few minutes.
For that, he was grateful.
Of course.
But he was ready to get back to her side—after all, while this night had turned into something he wasn’t expecting, but wouldn’t complain about either, it still had a purpose for Cella with her work. And he intended to make sure she got to learn as much about his mother as she needed to get done everything.
“Talk to Chris,” Marcus told the man, “or Bene, for that matter, and if they can’t handle your issue, then they will bring it to me and I will see what I can do.”
“Absolutely, Mar—”
He gave the Capo a sharp look, lifting his brow at the same time. A silent warning—a reminder. Apparently, the asshole still needed them.
“Boss,” the man quickly corrected.
“There you go. Try not to fuck it up again.”
His piece said, Marcus turned on his heel to leave the wet bar and find Cella wherever she had moved to within the mansion. With the majority of the dinner portion of the evening over, guests tended to move within the bottom level of the mansion freely.
He barely left the sitting room when someone else called his name. He still sighed, his back tensing, even if this voice he recognized and shouldn’t get irritated about.
“What, Chris?”
“Hey, why the attitude?” Chris asked, coming to stand beside his brother.
“For starters—”
“Listen, we have an issue, and we need to handle it.”
“What issue?”
Because as far as he was concerned, unless someone died who shouldn’t have died, then he didn’t have a single shit to give about it. That wouldn’t be his usual mood about things when an issue came up, but today it certainly was. And he didn’t feel guilty about it, either.
The boss delegated tasks.
He didn’t complete them.
Simple as that.
“A warehouse—”
Marcus stopped his brother, who for all purposes was acting as his underboss while still managing his duties as a Capo, from saying more by raising his hand. “Deal with it, Chris. I have other things to handle tonight, okay?”
“The maple syrup farms are your thing, man. Dad made sure of that, so no, I can’t deal with it without consulting you first because the last time I did that, you didn’t like it very much, huh?”
Right, right.
“What happened?”
“Just got a call—a warehouse was burned. Take a guess which one?”
Marcus chewed on his inner cheek, willing his temper to stay in check. “Please tell me it wasn’t the one that we use for the new Quebec farm.”
“Okay, I won’t tell you that, but that’s it, yeah.”
Fuck.
“Dad should know the bikers are fucking with us again, you know? If they’re not going to back off, then we need to handle them, Marcus.”
Chris wasn’t wrong.
At the same time ... “I can handle it. There’s no need to bring Dad into it. He stepped back for a reason, and that’s what I’m here for. So tonight, you’re going to do what you need to do to handle that mess, and keep Dad from finding out because he doesn’t need to worry when we’re dealing with the situation.”
“But—”
“Chris, it’ll be fine.”
Eventually.
Once he handled those assholes in Quebec.
“Now,” Marcus added, “I’m going to find my date for the evening unless you have something else to tell me.”
Chris shook his head. “That was it.”
“All right, so handle it.”
He didn’t even bother to look over his shoulder as he left Chris in the entryway. Soon enough, he found Cella, but she wasn’t where he expected her to be. Admiring the hall of Guzzi portraits with his father at her side, the two of them seemed to be enjoying their moment with their heads tilted close together as they discussed the large painting of his mother with her boys all grown up.
“Have I been replaced?” Marcus dared to ask.
His father smiled over his shoulder.
Cella winked. “Maybe.”
“Well, if that’s only a maybe and not a definite yes, I thought you would like another tour of the place, but this time, upstairs.”
Gian cleared his throat, stepping back from Cella with a nod. “Enjoy the rest of your evening; I should go find my wife.” And then, as his father passed him by, he added to Marcus, “The party is ending soon ... keep it in mind, son.”
Yes.
He most certainly would.
“Another tour sounds perfect,” Cella told him.
Marcus grinned. “Perfetto. I know a couple of things you’ll probably appreciate seeing, then.”
• • •
“I love that she keeps a nursery set up for any new grandbabies,” Cella noted beside Marcus.
His fingers flexed around hers, and he tugged her closer to his side. “Next to my dad, and us boys ... the grandkids are my mother’s whole world.”
Undoubtedly.
She loved them all like nobody knew.
“One more thing to show you up here,” he said, turning at the end of the hall to face the double oak doors that always stayed wide open unless someone was inside with his mother. “Her favorite room in this whole house.”
“Really, because there’s a lot of rooms.”
Marcus laughed. “Yeah, she does everything in here that’s personal to her—things she loves. My dad had it designed and built just for her. She’s filled it over time.”
“What?”
Not saying another word, Marcus pulled Cella forward until the two of them entered his mother’s spacious library that would make any bookworm jealous. Filled from the floor to the ceiling with books, it was completed by the ladders that lined the shelves for his mother to push along and climb high if she needed to find something where she couldn’t reach.
Large bay windows overlooked the property.
Sitting areas kept people comfortable.
Candy in a dish.
A wet bar to drink.
And even a desk, if she wanted to use it.
“Oh, wow,” Cella murmured.
Marcus finally let go of her hand, but only so that he could admire the way she took in the space and appreciated it. Out of every space in the large mansion, this one was the most personal to his mother for many reasons.
Cella walked further into the space while Marcus lingered near the doorway. Running the tips of her fingers over a particular row of shelves that housed books that were older than even he was, she drew in a deep breath.
“Books always have a specific smell.”
“A good one?”
“Very good, yeah.”
He grinned.
Because yeah, he knew.
Cella came to stand at the main sitting area, and quieted. Two leather couches rested upon a massive, imported rug facing one another, with a bucket chair at the end and a coffee table in the middle with his mother’s book still sitting atop a manila file. She glanced down, looking at the book and file but not touching it.
She did, however, say the name on it.
Marcus cleared his throat. “That would be a client of my mother’s ... or a patient, depending on how you want to look at it.”
Cella quieted, gaze drawn downward, and while she couldn’t see anything about the patient given the file was closed and a book sat on top of it ... he could still see something flashing in her eyes. That haunted look again—the same one he noticed when they met again at the penthouse weeks ago.
“I forgot for a minute.”
“Sorry?”
“That she’s also a therapist.”
Marcus stuffed his hands in his pockets and moved to lean against the wall. He figured, he might need some stability for this conversation and the wall seemed like as good of a place as any to use for it.
Cella smiled faintly, those painted-red lips of hers curving but it didn’t quite reach her eyes as she glanced up at him. “They said I should come see her, you know?”
“When?”
Her throat jumped. “After William died.”
He was sure that was the first time she’d said her dead husband’s name in his presence. And just like that, while the mention of the man didn’t make Marcus feel bad or guilty for what had happened between him and Cella that evening—so far—he did wonde
r if perhaps this had moved too fast for her.
Had he crossed a line?
Did he think before he acted?
Was he selfish?
“Can I just ... say what I need to say? What I’m really avoiding and hiding from with you?” she asked softly.
Did she really need to ask that at all?
“Please, do. It’s what I want.”
How else would he know?
How else could he fix it?
“I never wanted to be involved with a made man,” she explained, shrugging those pretty shoulders of hers and making the light reflect on the sequins of her dress, “because I saw all around me what happened when women lost those men ... when their whole lives became entangled with those men, and they had to pay for it. Sacrifice for it. So, I didn’t—I married a lawyer, he wasn’t even Italian. But it didn’t matter because I was who I was, and you can’t change who you are.”
Marcus said nothing.
He didn’t think he should.
“So, it didn’t matter that he wasn’t made ... it didn’t matter that I married a man I thought the mafia couldn’t take from me because they did it anyway. I made a promise that I wasn’t going to do it again; I wasn’t going to be in that position again.”
Her gaze met his again.
He stared back, waiting.
“I want to tell you this can’t be something,” she said, her words clear but still full of uncertainty all the same time. “That we can’t be something, Marcus. Like that’s fair, right? I keep my promise, I don’t break my one rule for myself, and nothing else has to matter.”
“But?”
“Should I?”
Marcus chuckled, seriously considering her words because he didn’t think she meant for him to make a joke out of it. Nor did he want to, honestly. “It’s okay to break the rules occasionally ... my whole life is about control, Cella. From the way I look, to how I present myself to the rest of the world. It’s all I know. So when people aren’t looking, I break those rules I made for myself. Otherwise, it would all just suffocate me.”