A rush of heat swept through Andrea as she picked up his card from the table, reading it.
There was nothing but his name and cellular number on the black card in simple white, block font.
Andrea tossed it onto the table again as if it burned her hand, overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions running through her veins in that moment.
The attraction she felt for him was undeniable. It might be understandable considering he had saved her where her own team had failed her completely. And then he had even come to ensure she was alright, again showing up the FBI.
At that point, Andrea was more indebted to Marco Sardelli than she was to Agent Draggan – except for one small detail which was difficult to overlook; Marco Sardelli was most likely the one who had murdered Valentina.
The thought sobered her up instantly.
You have a job to do here. Keep your shit together and nail that son of a bitch, no matter how sexy he is. Murderers aren’t boyfriend material.
Chapter Five
Giovanni was pissed, but not nearly as furious as Marco had been when he’d peeled August off of Sofia.
“You can’t fucking beat on your soldiers,” the don spat.
“I can’t have fucking rapists working under me!” he gritted back. “I told you, that stronzo is a fucking ticking time bomb. How much have you spent covering this idiot’s tracks? Sooner or later he’s going to bring the cops right to our front door!”
“You busted up my restaurant,” Gio growled, but Marco could see that the fire had gone out of the old man as he realized that Marco was right. The resignation glittered in his black eyes.
“You’re worried about a fucking door? Take it out of my cut.”
“Calm down, figlio,” he sighed. “You’ve had a long day. I’ll take care of Augusto. Go home and rest up.”
“No fucking way,” Marco snarled. “You’ll give him a slap on the wrist and he’ll continue to screw up. It stops here. I don’t fucking want him, Gio. If you keep him under me, I swear to God, I’ll kill him myself.”
“What did you say to me?”
Marco knew he had crossed a line but he could not shake the image of Sofia trembling in that bathroom, a ring of bruises around her throat.
If I had been five minutes later, or if I hadn’t picked up on Tracey’s hint, she would be just another statistic right now. Or worse.
But Marco also realized his protectiveness was being spurred by more than just the general loathing he felt for August.
Tracey had been right; Sofia Morano reminded him of Mara Cordoza, but not in any way he could easily identify.
They both had the same luxuriant black hair and delicate build, but that was where the similarities ended.
Mara had been coffee-eyed while Sofia’s irises were an almost ethereal blue.
Mara was short while Sofia was long legged, something he hadn’t been able to ignore in the sexy red dress she had worn that night.
Jesus Christ. I was checking out the victim of an attack.
But he couldn’t shake the feeling that Sofia was important to him somehow. They seemed to have an almost electric connection, something that he couldn’t explain.
Or, maybe there is a connection to Mara. Maybe I’m just reacting to her because of the way things ended with me and Mara.
Marco shoved the idea of his former girlfriend far from his mind, focussing his attention back on Giovanni who was almost frothing at the mouth.
“I love you, Marco,” Giovanni hissed. “If I had a son, I would want him to be like you.”
Marco waited for the disqualifier to his boss’ words.
But…
“But make no mistake about who you’re talking to. I can end you the same way I made you. Capish?”
Marco gritted his teeth, knowing that Gio did not make idle threats, but his anger was nearly taking over his better sense.
Don’t push the old man. He’s not known for his patience.
“Understood. But I won’t promise that if I ever see the asshole again, I won’t put a bullet through him, Gio,” Marco said simply.
“I said I would deal with him,” the don said with steel in his voice.
Their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills. Marco read the promise in the old man’s eyes. Nodding in acceptance of the don’s vow, he turned to leave, his mind already on other problems.
He had spoken his piece.
“Is he still in the warehouse?” Giovanni called as Marco was about to shut the door.
“He fucking better be if Frank and Tommy know what’s good for them.”
Gio grunted but didn’t say anything else.
At the back entrance, Tommy jumped to attention as Marco stormed outside, slamming the fire door in his wake.
“Marco, I swear, we didn’t know – “
“Shut the fuck up.”
His tone seemed to have a physical impact on Tommy, who reeled back.
“You’re just as disgusting as August,” Marco spat, unlocking his car. “Get the fuck out of my face. I’m gonna deal with your ass later.”
Tommy did not respond, which was to his benefit because Marco was sure if the weasel had spoken, he would have pinned him to the alleyway with his Audi.
As he drove back up the highway toward Edgewater and home to his rented house, he hoped that his temper would still, but it seemed like the closer he got to his place, the worse he felt.
I just want this fucking day to be over already.
But Marco also wanted something else.
He wanted to travel back into the downtown core and return to Sofia’s apartment. He wanted to sit outside and keep watch over her, not so much because he worried that August would find her, but because he just wanted to be near her. Something in her called to him.
It was so fucked up and unexplainable and it just made him angrier.
You’re exhausted and your brain is melting. Just stay away from her and get your mind on business.
Marco pulled into his driveway and jumped out of the car, not wanting to spend one more second inside the vehicle.
He had done enough wallowing in his car for one day.
The last thing he wanted to do was remember Mara and thinking of Sofia Morano made him do exactly that.
I shouldn’t have left her my number, he thought, shaking his head as he made his way up the walkway toward the front door.
Marco reasoned that the girl would probably never use it.
She had no cause to trust him, even if he had saved her from the attack.
She’ll probably be on the first plane back to Richmond tonight.
The idea filled him with a sense of melancholy, as if he had lost something he never had.
Go to sleep, stronzo. You’re going to need all the energy you can get to deal with the aftermath of this shitshow and the mess with the shipments tomorrow. Forget about Sofia Morano.
Marco knew it would be easier said than done.
***************
“How do I look?”
He gazed at her sleepily from the bed, licking his lips as she sashayed around the bed in the slinky gold dress, balancing on the balls of her feet.
“You look like a model,” he replied, grinning as his hand moved toward his crotch, adjusting his morning wood. “Or like Nicki Minaj.”
Mara scowled at him, spinning away to re-examine herself in the full-length mirror.
“Would it kill you to pay a decent compliment occasionally, or does everything have to be backhanded with you?”
He tensed at her tone, knowing they were in for another blow out.
“I was paying you a compliment. You know how many people want to fuck Nicki Minaj?”
Mara scoffed and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door.
His erection disappeared as a familiar fatigue built in his shoulders.
Something was going on, he could sense it. For weeks she had been acting strangely, not being where she said she would, and acting all secretive.
H
e had not resorted to having her followed yet but he was getting very close to doing just that.
“Come on, babe,” he yelled out to her. “Let me see it again.”
“Why? So you can insult me again?”
She’s picking a fight. That’s another thing she’s been doing lately. Something is up with her. I can smell it.
Marco slipped from the bed naked and sauntered toward the bathroom door, his hand on the knob. It was locked.
“Open the door, Mara,” he growled, his amusement quickly morphing to anger.
“No!” she snapped. “Leave me alone!”
He pounded on the door.
“Mara, open the fucking door,” he snarled. “Or I’m going to bust it down.”
“Fuck off, Marco,” she retorted.
The words sent a spark of rage through him and before he could stop himself, his foot lashed out, splintering the frame of the door.
Mara choked and gasped, her cell phone falling from her hand as she jumped up from the toilet seat cover.
“Marco!” she screamed.
“Who the fuck are you talking to?”
“No one!” she cried, reaching for the phone, but Marco kicked it out of her reach, snapping it up before she could touch it.
A red film covered his eyes as he read the texts on the screen.
As if in slow motion, he lifted his head and stared at her, his breath heaving in his chest.
“What the fuck is this?”
Her lips parted but no words came out…
The alarm chimed in his ear, causing him to start.
Marco lifted his head, swallowing the lump in his throat.
He snatched up his cell and turned off the incessant dinging, dropping his head back to the pillow, his breathing jagged.
Fucking Mara, he thought, his head beginning to pound.
He rose, his head throbbing now as he thought about what the day held in store for him.
A part of him just wanted to crawl back into bed and turn off his phone but that wasn’t an option.
He was a caporegime.
Dad would be so proud, he thought bitterly, making his way to the bathroom.
It wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning and he was already miserable. He didn’t have high hopes for the day.
Sticking a toothbrush in his mouth, he studied his face dispassionately.
Mara’s face turned opaque with fear, her arms raised as he approached, hurling the cell at the wall over the toilet.
“Marco, please!” she squealed. “Please calm down!”
“Calm down?” he echoed. “Fucking calm down? What the fuck is this? You’ve been fucking lying to me!? To everyone!”
“I can explain!”
“There is no explanation for this,” he breathed.
Slowly, he turned to look at himself in the mirror but he didn’t recognize the face staring back at him.
His eyes bulged from their sockets, his dark waves an unkempt mess around his livid face.
In that moment, he wasn’t sure what he was capable of.
Marco shuddered and wrenched his gaze from his reflection, half-spitting and half gagging into the sink.
Fucking Mara. Stop haunting me! It’s been three fucking years.
But as he rinsed out his mouth, trying to get his head on straight, he knew what had happened to Mara would stay with him forever.
The image of her cowering in the bathroom was alive and well in his head.
Because it was not a nightmare; it was a memory.
Chapter Six
“Detective, I have to tell him you’re – “
Andrea didn’t allow the desk manager to finish her sentence as she stormed into Agent Draggan’s office.
The large, bird-like man was on the phone, his eyes widening when he saw her.
“I’ll call you back,” he said, slamming the receiver into the cradle. “Andrea, what are you doing here?”
“Really?” she snapped angrily. “Really, you’re asking me what I’m doing here?”
His brow furrowed and he sat back in his chair, making a steeple out of his hands.
“Andrea, I know you’re new to undercover work but there is protocol – “
“There is also supposed to be a level of protection,” she snapped. “What the hell happened last night?”
Draggan shifted his eyes away, and Andrea felt a fission of shock course through her body.
He knows what I’m talking about too! They were listening and they didn’t intervene!
“You were okay,” he said. “We had eyes on you. You should have called me when you got in.”
“I couldn’t fucking call you!” she yelled. “Marco Sardelli popped by to see how I was doing.”
“What?!”
The news seemed to genuinely surprise him.
“Well when my team failed me, Marco stopped August DiFranco from doing God knows what. So, thanks for that.”
“He came by your apartment? When? What did he say?” Obviously the part about the attack didn’t register on the asshole’s radar.
“You didn’t pick any of that up on the wires?” she asked, incredulous.
It was Andrea’s turn to be confused.
Were they even listening or watching? What kind of half-assed operation did I walk into here?
“Never mind,” she sighed, whirling around. “In the future, I expect a little reinforcement if I’m getting attacked.”
“We wouldn’t have let anything happen to you,” he insisted, but Andrea was not sure she believed him. “But sometimes we just have to let things play out to maintain the integrity of the mission.”
Andrea whirled back around, gaping at him in shock.
“What the fuck does that mean?” she gritted out. “Me getting raped is all part of the plan?”
“Of course not!” Draggan sputtered, but Andrea could detect a note of insincerity in his tone.
“Christ, this is messed up,” Andrea swore. “No wonder Valentina got killed. You guys don’t know your asses from your elbows. And you think the fucking police are incompetent.”
“Hey!” Draggan snapped. “Whatever happened to your cousin had nothing to do with us.”
“Yeah, well sorry if I don’t believe you. Have you considered that August DiFranco had anything to do with her disappearance? Maybe she was one of his victims. He’s been at this game for years.”
“August didn’t join Marco’s crew until the following year,” Draggan sighed. “He wasn’t even in Miami at the time.”
Andrea grunted in frustration and threw open the door to the office.
“Andrea!”
“What?”
“Don’t come here again. You’re endangering yourself,” Draggan warned.
She snorted.
“All of a sudden you’re worried about my safety?” she scowled. “Thanks for the tip.”
She was gone before Draggan could respond.
Making her way out of the FBI office, Andrea forsook the elevators, the pent-up anxiety in her blood needing to be worked off.
All night she had paced around the apartment, debating what to do.
She half-expected Marco to return, or for an agent to knock on her door and take her to safety. But neither thing had happened.
Grabbing the burner phone that would connect her to Draggan, she had thought about calling him several times. But she just couldn’t understand why no one had reached out to her.
A sea of confusion washed through her until the early light of dawn made one thing perfectly clear; the only person who had shown her an iota of concern was the man she feared was responsible for her cousin’s disappearance.
Her consternation was replaced by a burning anger toward the FBI, and by the time the sun had fully risen, Andrea had stormed into Draggan’s office.
Now I’m even more confused than before, she thought. How come they didn’t know that Marco Sardelli had come to my apartment last night? I thought the place was wired.
It co
uld mean only one of two things; either no one had been watching her the previous night…or she was not as wired as she thought.
That’s ridiculous. What possible benefit could there be for throwing me in blind? It doesn’t help them in the least.
She was getting a headache thinking about any of it.
I need to go home and get some sleep. When I get up, I’ll figure out a new plan of attack, since hanging out at Il Toro obviously isn’t possible anymore.
She couldn’t very well waltz back into the restaurant as if nothing had happened. It would look too suspicious.
Hailing a cab down the street from the FBI building, she weighed her options.
As far as she could tell, there was only one thing to do; have a nap, and then call Marco Sardelli.
**********
Of course, she couldn’t sleep when she returned to her apartment and she stalked around the small unit, toying with the business card.
I’ve got to come up with a good story for calling. I can’t just play damsel in distress…can I?
Andrea wondered why not. He had already saved her once, and it would give her the upper hand if he thought her weak.
But there was something in his eyes which told her he didn’t respond well to vapid, ditzy women.
And you don’t want to give him the impression that you’re hitting on him.
She wasn’t naïve. She knew that there were going to be parts of the job which would push her various ‘limits’, but she didn’t want to encourage anything if she could avoid it.
Imagine sleeping with my cousin’s killer.
Andrea tried to muster a shiver of revulsion, but oddly, it didn’t come.
Instead, she thought of what his piercing green eyes would feel like, boring into hers as he mounted her.
What the hell is wrong with you? She yelled at herself. He’s handsome but he’s not that handsome!
Then she had to wonder why she was lying to herself. The burning attraction she felt toward him was unmistakable – and accompanied by an equal amount of red-hot shame.
If he was not the target of her investigation, she would be throwing her panties at him, guaranteed. And the idea worried her.
MAFIA BOSSES - The Box Set: An Enemies to Lovers Trilogy Page 16