The Man in Black_A Standalone Mafia Romance

by Soraya Naomi

  “My car is parked in the alley.” He rounds the island and passes Brielle to go toward the fire exit. “Let’s go.”

  Brielle opens her mouth to speak, but Adriano’s waiting for me, so I promptly turn away and then hear her growl and shuffle in the other direction. Craning my neck, I catch sight of the exit, and she’s looking straight at me, her despondent stare hitting me like lightning as a crease wrinkles her forehead before she crosses the threshold. Even though I’m clearly keeping her out of the dining room, I don’t think she realizes it because she’s so mad at me for rejecting her.

  Scrubbing a hand down my mouth, I try to dispel my agitation and return to the restaurant where Adriano’s still holding the soldier at gunpoint in front of the bar.

  “It’s clear,” I announce.

  “What the hell did you think would happen if you came in here with a knife?!” Adriano roars.

  “I-I have nothing left to lose; being a soldier was all I had. I panicked.”

  “Then you should’ve obeyed the rules in the first place and never returned.” Adriano’s scowl deepens. “You make it difficult for me to be lenient because the most important rule in my Syndicate is that soldiers aren’t allowed to contact me directly. Michael already warned you once, and now you’ve come back. I can’t let this slide...”

  “I-I’m sorry. I-I just...” He trembles so badly that Adriano looks at me with an exasperated expression and lowers his gun.

  I shift closer to him and whisper, “He obviously doesn’t understand the rules, because I made my point quite clear last week.”

  “What is he? A fucking moron? How did he ever make it as a soldier?” His aggravation grows.

  Then, all of a sudden, the guy tries to get away and Adriano immediately tackles him, knocking him on the floor before rolling him to his back and gripping a fistful of his sweater.

  Struggling, the captive snarls, “Get off me! I just want my job back, but it’s so difficult to get in touch with you. So fuck you! I should’ve cut you!”

  Adriano’s brows rise, a devilish grin curving his mouth as he yanks the guy up, and I run over behind him to pull his arms back.

  “Not here. Don’t ruin my white tablecloths,” Adriano warns around a smirk and stashes his gun in the side of his waistband before righting his collar. “Too bad you had to threaten me.” He goes behind the bar and dips down to get a plastic bag. “See, I eliminate any danger to my Syndicate or my family.” Moving back, he stops across from us while my captive wrestles, but I hold him firmly and keep him still.

  “W-what are you going to do?!” he barks.

  “I’m not going to do it.” Adriano brings up the bag and slides it over his head. “Never threaten a killer.”

  I grab my gun, pressing the barrel against his temple, and as Adriano tightens the bag, I pull the trigger and a storm of crimson explodes inside it. His body instantly goes slack and I catch it, guiding him to the floor and hastily constricting the bottom of the bag as I lower myself to one knee.

  “Get me a dish towel,” I say.

  Adriano goes behind the bar and tosses me a white towel that I wrap around the guy’s neck to prevent blood from seeping out and getting on anything. Then he takes his phone from his pocket and brings it up to his ear. “Where are you? Come inside. I have a cleaning job.”

  Not a minute later, a guard enters and Adriano commands, “Burn him at the warehouse and don’t get any bloodstains on the floor or else you’ll have to clean it.”

  “Call me when you’ve finished,” I conclude, and the guard nods as he picks up the body.

  Adriano checks his watch. “I have to go. My wife’s waiting for me. Don’t forget that I want everyone present tomorrow night after closing time so that we can celebrate with the staff – it’s good for morale.”

  “I’m not really in the mood for that,” I reveal.

  But he ignores my comment, walking to the front entrance, and I follow him out. “Be there. It’ll be good for you.” He goes to the left toward his BMW while I cross the street to mine.

  After I jump inside, the first thing I see is the book lying on the passenger seat and I think of Brielle. She might believe she was lucky to land this job, but I know better. She has no idea that she’s now part of an anarchic mafia world where the strong survive by exercising power with violence without an ounce of remorse.

  AS I STAND INSIDE MY walk-in closet on Saturday evening getting dressed in my black suit, I snatch a black tie from the rack, moving in front of the full-length mirror and flinging it across my neck. But before I knot it, I hesitate and slide it off, staring at the black fabric. Then I reach toward the rows of ties and yank off a blue one, tying it around my neck. In truth, I’m not even sure why I suddenly had the overwhelming need to wear all black, which has become a habit more than anything else. It’s not as if I want to constantly remind myself about Rachel’s death. I actually long to move on, I realize abruptly, so I grab my jacket and leave my apartment.

  WITHIN TWENTY-FIVE minutes, I tread inside Palermo where the entire staff is assembled at the bar. A Syndicate guard stands at the host’s desk to keep an eye on the entrance, but as I stop beside him, I catch him ogling a woman with her back to us in a tight sapphire dress that hugs her curves and ends just below her knees.

  He smirks at me, probing, “Who’s she?”

  Perusing the length her of body, I immediately recognize Brielle’s hourglass figure, and when she sweeps her hair over one shoulder and turns to talk with Adriano, my gaze flies to her ample cleavage. She looks even more luscious dressed up, all woman with silver strappy heels and an ass I want to sink my teeth into.

  I shake my head and order, “She’s staff here; stay away from her.”

  He nods before I continue on inside, closing the distance to Brielle and Adriano.

  But as I shift closer, I overhear Brielle saying to him, “Thanks so much for the phone.”

  “What phone?” Adriano retorts as I stop dead in my tracks.

  Then they both glance sideways at me in question.

  CHAPTER 17

  Brielle

  “THANKS SO MUCH FOR the phone,” I tell Adriano and accept my champagne glass from the bartender.

  “What phone?” Adriano replies, but just when I’m about to remind him, I see Michael striding toward us and I’m unable to look away as the chattering around me tapers off.

  His tailored three-piece suit accentuates his well-built physique, and his black hair is gelled back flawlessly, making him appear more distinguished. Moreover, he’s wearing some color, a blue tie as I suggested last Thursday.

  Adriano and I look at each other and then back at Michael. “Is he wearing blue?” we say in unison and chuckle until we’re both distracted when Michael joins us.

  As I regard Michael, he peeks at my breasts before informing Adriano, “I gave Brielle a company phone, remember?”

  Adriano’s brows rise a little, as though he’s confused, but after a few seconds, he speaks, “Oh, yes, I forgot. You’re welcome, Brielle.” Then he assesses Michael, and I catch him smirking as he points at Michael’s tie.

  “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” Michael insists good-heartedly.

  Adriano’s grin widens as he brings up his hands. “I’m not saying a word.” He gives Michael a champagne glass, carrying on, “I’m just glad you showed up; I wasn’t sure you would. Enjoy a night off work, amico mio.” My friend.

  Just then, an employee shouts Adriano’s name and he walks off as I watch Michael take a casual sip of his drink.

  “Well, I have to say that I like your tie.” I’m unable to hold back after I notice he took my advice, which helps to lessen the sting of his rejection.

  The side of his mouth curls up.

  “Although I almost didn’t recognize you,” I add, and he stifles a chuckle, which makes me feel even better, especially considering I’ve only seen him for a fleeting moment since our kiss two days ago.

  “You were right. I feel better,” h
e reveals, yet his voice is too controlled as he studies me with ashy-grey irises that still hide a deep-rooted grief.

  “See, you should listen to me more often,” I try to lighten the mood.

  A dark, jaded smile spreads across his angular face as a few strands of his hair fall over his forehead, giving him a dangerous edge. “Is that so?”

  “Yes, maybe read the book I gave you now...” I put in and toss back my champagne, hoping that no one will interrupt us now that I have him talking a bit.

  “Don’t push it,” he counters with self-assurance, and I burst out a laugh at his familiar commanding behavior, but when I see his stare drifting to my cleavage again, it heats my skin – he makes me weak in the knees.

  However, before I can even pull myself together and get back to the witty banter, a shadow falls over us and dashes my hopes of more one-on-one time with him.

  “Hey, guys,” Marliya greets, standing right beside Michael, who shows her a devilish grin as he glances down the front of her red dress, making me green with envy.

  To top it off, Marliya begins to chatter with him and he engages her willingly, seemingly having forgotten about me. Discouraged, I grab another champagne from the row of glasses that are set out on the bar. The rejection I experienced two days ago resurfaces as I observe this enigmatic man – I’ve never felt so aware of another person. Yet my obsession with Michael isn’t a trait I find appealing in myself, so I walk past him to leave.

  His hand shoots out and he grips my upper arm. Drawing me close, he dips his head and his musk cologne wafts around me as he puts his lips near my ear and questions, “Where are you going?”

  I peer at where he has hold of me. “To mingle.”

  “Are you mad?” he comes right out and asks me as I try to wrench free as gracefully as possible and he instantly lets go.

  “Um. No.” I’m upset because I can’t figure you out and your nearness affects me in ways I don’t understand.

  “Are you sure? I know you well enough by now to be able to tell that you’re pissed off about something.”

  My mouth drops open in astonishment at his self-important assessment. “Actually, you don’t know me, because I’m not mad. God, you’re so confusing and arrogant.”

  “You’re just as confusing,” he retorts around a hiss as we stand face-to-face, our irritation with each other escalating somehow.

  Michael’s gaze hardens as he watches me intensely, discomfort trailed by frustration clamoring in my gut. Having no idea how to deal with these unrequited feelings toward him, I turn on my heel and down my third drink before I reach the other end of the bar and snatch another glass.

  “Brielle!” a female voice shouts from behind me, and when I spin around, I see that Michael has disappeared as Marliya halts across from me.

  “What was that?” she asks.

  “What?” I search for Michael, locating him across the room as he speaks with Luca and his wife, Fallon.

  “Are you and Michael having an argument?” She glimpses at him as well, yet he’s focused on his current conversation.

  “Not really. Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Is there something going on between you and Michael?” I probe, dreading the answer.

  She tucks her auburn hair behind her ear. “That’s what I wanted to ask you. But no, nothing’s going on. I’ve tried flirting with him, but he doesn’t seem to be receptive.”

  I know exactly how she feels.

  “So is there something between you and him?” she questions around a grin.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes.” She winks. “It’s not like I’m in love with him, and clearly, I’ve seen his popularity among women.”

  “Like me, you mean?” I put in, and when she nods, I disclose, “We kissed, but he stopped it, claiming we shouldn’t since we work together.”

  Her eyes round as she giggles. “Wow! I’m a little jealous.”

  “I may have also been a little jealous about the way you two were talking.”

  “Oh, were you? No need to be. He simply walked away after you did, which is why I came to find you. You both seem a bit on edge around each other.”

  “Do we?”

  “Yeah.” She shifts closer to whisper in a conspiratorial tone, “If you’re trying to be inconspicuous, you’re failing. You’ve been following his every move for the last few minutes, Brielle.”

  My gaze snaps to her.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t think he noticed.”

  “I need a distraction,” I tell her and swallow another huge gulp of my champagne as she grabs her own glass, clinking it against mine.

  “Forget him; he’s a broody ass anyway, yet still, we lust after him.” She makes a face at Michael as two female employees vie for his attention. “I’m giving up on him.”

  Entertained, I reply, “I’m not so sure I can.”

  “Well, guard your heart from him is my advice. I won’t be flirting with him anymore; he’s your problem now,” she says, making me like her even more before she shuffles over to where Gianni’s sitting on the sleek black banquette that’s situated along the wall.

  My focus redirects to Michael, who pays me no heed whatsoever as a waitress chats animatedly with him, his drink dangling loosely from his hand. I lean against the bar, feeling warmness settling inside due to the liquor permeating my blood, and I get another glass. But when I crook my arm and lift it to my mouth, it’s snatched out of my hand and I gasp as my gaze shoots sideways.

  “What are you doing?” I blurt out as Michael sets the glass on the bar with composure, his expensive black jacket hanging open.

  “Why are you drinking so much?” Cool annoyance underlines his words.

  I make a fist to restrain myself from combing back the pieces of dark hair that have toppled forward. “Who says I am?”

  “I do. Since I got here, you’ve had at least three glasses.” As he examines me thoroughly, I lean closer and he straightens, acting unaffected.

  “Were you watching me, Michael?” I mutter, my heart giving a traitorous thump.

  Amazement etches his face, yet he disregards my question, of course. “Why are you drinking so much?”

  “You always avoid answering...but let me answer you. Maybe I just want to relax.”

  He dips his head until we’re nose-to-nose, and our breath mingles into a hot cloud as he says with icy bite, “Liar. I told you I know you; I know how easygoing you are – you don’t need alcohol to relax. And actually, it’s making you the opposite of relaxed. Why are you riled up?”

  “Why do you care so much?” I dare to ask, wondering if he’ll broach the topic of our kiss.

  Yet his mouth tightens, and before he gets a chance to respond, Gianni approaches us and we rear back from each other.

  “Shall we prepare the desserts to hand out after Adriano’s speech?” Gianni addresses me.

  “Sure,” I answer, and for once, I rudely walk away from Michael, although I can’t refrain from peeking back over my shoulder to catch him quickly glancing away and turning his back to me.

  Gianni snags two glasses from the bar and hands one over with a smirk. “It’s already my fourth one, but we’re off tomorrow, so let loose, Brielle.”

  I hold it up in salute as we go through the kitchen door. “I’m in.” And I take another sip as I trail Gianni to my dessert station where he raises the lids of the boxes the cakes are sitting in.

  Then he takes the orange syrup I made earlier and drizzles it over each one, soaking the sponge, and I place a handmade white chocolate leaf on top with one hand, still holding my glass in the other.

  “We work well together,” Gianni says, pouring an excessive amount of syrup that melts over the edges of one of the cakes.

  I give him a cocky smile. “Are you sure you only had four drinks?”

  Laughing, he finishes the last dessert. “Not really.”

  “I don’t know how much I’ve had either,” I tell him
, light-headedness making me lethargic.

  “And done!” Gianni exclaims, wiping his hand on a cloth and taking his phone out of his pocket when it rings to read a message. “My wife.”

  I note that he still has the same phone, so I inquire, “Didn’t you get a new phone from Adriano?”

  He shakes his head. “No. They don’t give company phones to kitchen staff.”

  So why did Michael give me a new one personally? At that second, I realize that at first, Adriano acted as if he knew nothing about my new phone.

  “Let’s go back,” Gianni proposes. “I’ll get the cakes when the speech starts.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you in a minute...Hey, I’m hungry. Do we have anything left?”

  “There’s some brioche.” He points to the kitchen island as he exits the kitchen.

  While finishing my drink, I grab one of four small brioches on a plate on the island and stuff it in my mouth.

  Just as I’m getting ready to pick up another one, the door opens and Michael saunters inside.

  “You again?” I smile and relax back against the island, wiping my mouth and hurriedly chewing.

  “I’m hungry.” Michael watches my lips.

  “So was I.” I gesture with my glass to the plate on the counter beside me, and he takes a roll as I sway slightly at the most inopportune time.

  He grins with a quiet smolder. “Are you a little drunk, Duchenne?”

  “Most likely,” I reply as he leans against the island next to me, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

  In comfortable silence, we eat the rest of the rolls, and since my inhibitions are lowered, I ask, “Did you get me the phone, Michael?”

  His eyes cut to me as he stops chewing and then swallows leisurely. “Why do you think that?”

  “I know no one else from the staff got a new one, and when I mentioned it to Adriano, it seemed like he didn’t know about it.”

  There’s a long hesitation as he gives me a skeptical glance, as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “I saw your old phone and we had a bunch of them for management anyway, so I grabbed one for you. I didn’t personally buy it; it is a company phone.”