phone ringing on the desk next to me pulls my eyes away from my computer screen. Seeing the name on the device, I lean back in my chair to answer it.
“Matteo Manici,” I greet. “It’s been a while, your family has been a little too quiet lately.” Like a toddler in another room with a pair of scissors. The Manici family has been awful quiet over in Chicago. Quiet with mafia families like theirs always adds up to something. Usually trouble.
“We’ve been keeping our heads down while we get a few things up and running. Obtaining and renovating a hotel means we gotta keep our noses clean while we work through the approval process.” The approval process he’s referring to undoubtedly includes cutting through red tape, back room handshakes, and bribes.
“A hotel? What, did you steal it?” I’m only half joking.
“I considered it, but that would just give me more paperwork than I have the patience for,” he chuckles. I believe that.
“What’s making you call? Business or pleasure?” I ask.
“A little bit of both,” Matteo admits. “We’re hosting a soft opening of the new place and my father would like you to come. I wouldn’t mind either.”
I’ve known Frederico Manici, the Don of Chicago, since I was a teenager. Of course back then he was enemy number one to the Grassos family here in New York. And with my loyalties tied tightly to the Family, he was my enemy too. It took several attempts over a few years for us to be able to work together. Now I’m indispensable.
“What am I coming for? You want me to fluff some pillows for you?”
“We’ll have you set up in a suite here to enjoy our beautiful new establishment. Plus, there are a few players here my father wants you to keep an eye on at the opening.” Ahh, there it is. The Manici’s might have been able to work their way through the process, but they’re not home-free yet. I’m their contingency plan in case there’s trouble with the opening. A safety net.
“How could I refuse an offer like that,” I reply, accepting the invitation. “Send me the details and I’ll be there.”
“It’s already sent,” Matteo says. Ending the call, I check for his message and confirm the dates and time for my schedule. The Raven in downtown Chicago is a five star luxury hotel with a three michelin star restaurant and separate bar.
I can see why the Manici’s wanted the place, it’s a prime legal cover for money laundering and their many other less-than-legal businesses. That’s good news for me, because when their business grows so does my retainer check.
Stepping out of my office, I pause to quietly observe the scene laid out in the living room. Lexie is sitting on the floor, a three course meal set up on the coffee table with a glass of wine, a reality show playing on the tv.
Her meal consists of a plate with three types of bruschetta, sauteed asparagus, and a plate of curly fries. A can of Mountain Dew sits next to a glass of what I’m assuming is her favorite red wine. There’s something oddly sweet about the sight of her like this, a total mix of elegant and casual. Her eyes stay on the screen as she takes a sip of her wine, puts the glass back down, then leans forward to grab her phone from the floor a few feet away when it chimes with a notification.
I knew kissing her would only make things worse for me, and I was right. I’ve gotten a taste, and now I need all of her. A taste wasn’t nearly enough—I need to consume her, devour every part of her.
Lexie’s laugh pulls my focus. But she’s not laughing at the show playing on the screen, she’s laughing at something on her phone. Another chime sounds and she smiles before tapping away. She’s texting someone. Who is making her smile like that? A man? The thought churns dark in my stomach and my eyes narrow on her.
“The dining room table is behind you.” Her bright eyes pull away from the small screen in her hand to glance at the formal dining room less than twenty feet behind her, before lowering back to her phone. My jaw tightens; she didn’t even look at me.
Who the fuck is stealing her attention? My fists clench with the urge to rip the device right out of her fingers and force her to focus on me.
“I know. I like the floor,” she says passively, tapping on the screen. Another laugh at her phone has me turning on my heel to stalk back into my office. The door closes soundly behind me and I sit behind my computer.
I know exactly what’s possessing me to dig into Lexie’s phone records, and I don’t fight it. I need to know who’s making her blush and giggle like a school-girl with a fucking crush. I’ll find the man who thinks he can have what’s mine. By the end of the night, I’ll know everything about the fucker. There’s no hiding from me.
