After ending the call with Salvador Castro, my contact for medical supplies, I get up from behind my desk. I grab my jacket, and while shrugging it on, I head to the door.
When I step out of my office, it’s to hear my PA’s stomach rumble.
“You can go home,” I mutter, and without another word, I stalk toward the elevators.
I hear her mumble something under her breath, and it has me stopping dead in my tracks. Glancing at the woman who’s been testing my patience for the past two weeks, I raise an eyebrow at her.
“Do you have something to say, Miss Blakely?”
She grabs her handbag and walks toward me with an unhappy expression tightening her features. “Next time you expect me to work until nine p.m. the least you could do is provide dinner.”
My gaze sharpens on her, and my tone is grim as I say, “I wasn’t aware you didn’t know how to order food.”
Her eyebrows draw together. “Of course, I know how to order food.”
“Then it’s no one’s fault but your own for not eating today.”
Christ, I’m going to fire her. Why the fuck is it so hard to find competent help?
She walks by me as she says, “I wasn’t aware I’m allowed to eat at my desk. It will make things so much easier. Have a good night, Mr. Vitale.”
Clenching my jaw, I follow her toward the elevators.
I swear the woman is just a pretty head with no brains. The first time I saw her, the breath was knocked from my lungs by her striking beauty. Her blonde hair is always styled in soft curls, and her green eyes look dark against her pale skin. The freckles scattered over her nose complement her features.
Not to mention, the woman has curves in all the right places and an ass that makes my palm itch. Especially when she fucks up or gives me attitude.
But the attraction has vanished over the past two weeks because she’s done nothing but aggravate the living shit out of me.
We step into the elevator, and I catch the soft vanilla scent of her perfume as she stands next to me. The top of her head reaches my chin, and I guess without the high heels she’s wearing, she’d reach my shoulder.
She keeps shifting her weight from one foot to the other, giving me the impression her shoes are hurting her.
The silence is thick and filled with a world of tension as we ride down to the ground floor.
As the doors slide open, and she hurries out of the elevator, I say, “Bring comfortable shoes to wear when you’re sitting at your desk. Maybe then you’ll be less moody.”
The sound of heels tapping on the tiles stops, and she swings around to face me with a barely contained glare. “I’ve been nothing but respectful, Mr. Vitale. Maybe you should take your own suggestion and wear comfortable shoes, seeing as you’re the moody one.”
She turns around, her hair flying over her shoulders, and hurries toward the exit with her spine stiff and her head held high.
My eyes burn on the woman who has more guts than brains for speaking like that to me because I’m her employer.
But if she knew who I really am – one of the heads of the Cosa Nostra, then she’d know just how brave or stupid she’s being.
My employees live in a different world where the closest they ever get to the mafia is when they watch The Godfather.
Shaking my head, I walk to the exit, where Lorenzo and Milo are waiting for me. They’re my guards, and whenever I’m at Vitale Health, my medical supply company, they work in the security room.
The two men have been with me since I was eighteen, and they’ve become family.
“You can’t fire her,” Milo reminds me. “You’ve already gone through four assistants this year, and a fifth will reflect poorly on you.”
Shaking my head, I mutter, “If she doesn’t get her shit together in the next two weeks, I’m firing her ass, and you can take over as my assistant.”
“Fuck, no,” Milo chuckles. “I’d much rather take a bullet than subject myself to that kind of torture.”
A frown darkens my forehead. “Are you telling me I’m a nightmare to work for?”
We step out of the air-conditioned building and into the hot evening air.
Christ, I can’t wait for winter.
Milo opens the backdoor to the G-Wagon and grins at me. “Only when you’re in the office.”
I glance at Lorenzo, who’s been quiet. “Do you agree with Milo?”
He holds up his hands in the universal sign for I-want-no-part-in-this. “I’m Switzerland.”
Climbing into the back of the armored G-Wagon, I let out a huff.
I know I’m not the easiest person to work with, and even though I’ve tried to ease up on the staff, I find it impossible. Whenever I try to be more easygoing, they fuck up, and I lose my temper. It’s an annoying cycle.
After getting in behind the steering wheel, Lorenzo asks, “Where to?”
“Paradiso.”
Where the other capos have regular strip joints, nightclubs, and casinos, I own Paradiso, an adult club where everything goes as long as participating members sign an agreement.
The club provides members with private rooms and every adult toy on the market at an exorbitant fee.
Even though I own a taboo club, I never partake. I’ve seen people do some weird shit to each other on the security cameras that are there to make sure no one dies on the premises.
Milo pulls into the secure employee parking area behind the club, and after climbing out of the G-Wagon, I enter the building using the back entrance that’s guarded by two of my men.
I don’t fuck around when it comes to security and spend a small fortune to make sure all my businesses are well protected.
I head straight to my office so I can change out of my suit. Every employee wears a black uniform that consists of cargo pants and a long-sleeve shirt. They also wear skull-face balaclavas to protect their identities.
Where the word Paradiso is printed in a silver font on the employees’ shirts, mine is gold. It’s the only thing setting me apart from them.
When I’m done changing into my uniform, I pull the balaclava over my head and leave the office to check on the staff.
Few people know I’m the owner of Paradiso, and I’d like to keep it that way.
As I walk to the security room, my eyes flick over the gray walls and black tiles. The décor is dark, lending a forbidden ambience to the club.
Stepping into the room, I glance at the security team before turning my attention to the numerous monitors.
“Is everything running smoothly?” I ask while watching Mrs. Gilbert enter a room with two men who are easily half her age. While her husband thinks she’s bowling with her friends, she comes here to have her brains fucked out.
I have so much dirt on the elite of New York I can easily bury them all.
“Yes, sir,” Brian answers. He gets up from his chair and comes closer with a tablet in his hand. Showing the screen to me, he says, “We have two new members. They’ve been vetted, and tonight’s their first time here. Mr. Dugray’s membership was canceled after he tried to start a fight with Mr. Bishop because Mr. Bishop refused to be hogtied during sex.”
My eyes flick to the monitors again and stop on a screen showing two members snuggling on a bed. It’s something I’ve been noticing more and more. Sometimes, people just want to be held.
I nod as Brian continues to update me, and when he’s done, I leave the security room to take a walk through the rest of the club.
When I first opened Paradiso, I vetted all the members myself, but with time, I handed the responsibility to Brian.
I walk to the main floor, where members are able to converse with each other while enjoying a drink. The area is decorated with plush couches, round tables with stools, and ferns to lend some greenery to the otherwise dark décor.
Happy that everything is in order, I head back to my office to get some work done.
Vitale Health and Paradiso are my only legitimate businesses. I own a trucking company, which I use to transport weapons in aircon units for Renzo, my closest friend and one of the capos. I’m close with Dario, Angelo, and Damiano, the other heads of the Cosa Nostra, but Renzo is like a brother to me.
Even though my companies pad my bank account, I make the bulk of my fortune by printing counterfeit money for Salvator Castro and Lina Diaz, who supply me with medical equipment.
It’s a shit ton of work that keeps me busy from the crack of dawn until midnight. I only take time off to play poker with the other heads of the Cosa Nostra or to attend an event hosted by one of them.
Working long hours is part of the reason I’m still single at the age of thirty-five. That and the fact I can’t tolerate most of the women I cross paths with.
While I sit at my desk my thoughts turn to Miss Blakely. It’s been a while since I met someone who annoyed me as much as she does.
Honestly, it’s not because she takes too long to carry out an order. I just feel there’s something off about the woman, and if there’s one thing I hate, it’s when people pretend to be someone their not.
I had Milo do a check on her, and we came up with nothing. Miss Blakely lived a normal and boring life in Houston before moving to New York. She doesn’t even have an outstanding traffic fine.
My gut tells me she’s hiding something, though.
Annoyed that I’m thinking of the woman, I shake my head and force myself to focus on my work.
