Breaking into Garzolo’s study isn’t something I’d planned on doing, but the perfect occasion presents itself when Gemma’s mother texts me to bring Gemma to have a late lunch with Cleo and her after the appointment at the department store.
Pietra is driving them back home, so I’m off the hook for the day.
Gemma and I didn’t speak on the ten-minute drive over to the restaurant. What happened in the dressing room seems like something that’s better left without commentary, even though I’m dying to know what’s going through her head.
I’m used to pushing boundaries and doing ill-advised things, but what I’m not used to is having Gemma, of all people, as a willing accomplice.
All I could think about as I looked at her standing in front of the mirror in that fucking dress was how unfair it is that Messero will have the privilege of having her for the rest of his life.
That idiot doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get her. I saw it when I watched them together in Ibiza. He was like a robot around her. Barely touched her. Barely even talked to her.
If she was engaged to me, I wouldn’t squander a single second. She’d be glued to my side. If she wanted to eat, I’d feed her. If she wanted to sit, it would be on my lap. If she wanted to shower, I’d wash every inch of that perfect skin and then dirty her up again.
I clench my jaw. I’m going fucking crazy.
Pushing the tip of my knife into the lock on the door, I wiggle it around. The lock gives with a soft click.
I slip inside the room and close the door behind me.
It takes me less than five minutes to sweep through the study, and I find absolutely nothing of value. No wonder that lock wouldn’t deter even a child from getting in. This place is just for show. Garzolo must do his real business elsewhere, or he’s done an excellent job of cleaning everything out before I got here.
I leave the study, stop by the bar in the living room to splash some whiskey into a crystal tumbler, and take it with me as I head upstairs to my bedroom.
“Be careful around Gemma.”
Those words are looping on repeat inside my head as I dial Dem’s number. I need to give him an update on my progress here and pretend like I don’t know what Gemma’s skin tastes like or the exact pitch of her little moans.
Out of all the women I could lose my mind around, why the fuck does it have to be one who’s already engaged to another man? And not just any man. A don. I can’t dispose of that fucker without setting off an avalanche of problems for Dem.
I press the cold tumbler against my forehead. The fact that I’m actually thinking through the potential repercussions of murdering Gemma’s fiancé is just fucking great.
Damiano picks up on the third ring. “Ras.”
“Sorry to interrupt the honeymoon.” They’re in the Maldives right now, on a small private island with just them at the hotel.
“It’s fine, Vale’s taking a nap. How are things?”
“I managed to convince Garzolo to let me be Gemma’s minder while I’m here.”
“How did you pull that off?”
“Put the other guy out of commission.”
He chuckles. “Well done. Has Garzolo brought you around his crew yet?”
“Yeah, I had dinner with them last night. He wasn’t too happy the night I arrived, but since then, he’s been Mr. Hospitality. Took me to his restaurant, La Trattoria.”
“And?”
“They were all clearly instructed to avoid answering any of my questions. I didn’t get anything from them besides big talk about how well their business is going.”
“Hmm. Maybe it was easy to convince him to let you be Gemma’s driver because he doesn’t want you sniffing around his business. He thinks he’ll keep you occupied that way.”
I frown. Damiano has a point. I should have thought of that. “Shit, you might be right.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. He was cagey enough in Ibiza. You’re going to have to find an outside perspective on the situation in New York. Have you met with Kal’s contact?”
“Meeting Orrin tomorrow morning.”
“Good. See what you can get from him. Don’t be shy about sweetening him up either.”
“I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“All right. Any leads on Gemma’s situation?”
“Nothing yet.”
“You should ask her about her dad. Napoletano said he overheard her talking about how Garzolo needs this marriage to happen, so she might know something.”
I scratch my chin. Yeah, the last time we touched on that topic, it ended in disaster.
I’m about to tell Damiano I think that’s a bad idea when I stop myself.
A rush of something unpleasant slides down my spine. Am I compromising my efforts here because I’m afraid of upsetting Gemma?
I owe my boss more than that.
“All right. I’ll see if I can get something out of her.”
We hang up, and I sip on my drink and come to the conclusion that I need to get a hold of myself. I’m here on Dem’s orders. I owe him a clear head. I need to focus on my actual priorities, which don’t include playing games with Gemma. If Garzolo catches a whiff of how I’ve already compromised his daughter, no amount of threats will make him allow me to stay. He’s desperate for his clan to link up with Messero, that much is obvious. He won’t put up with me if he sees me as a threat to that.
This deal with the Americans is important. It’s our first major move with Dem as the head of the Casalesi, and our people will be watching to see how it shakes out. I don’t want anyone to have any doubts that Dem is the right leader for us.
I remember the moment I realized he had it in him. That was almost a decade ago. No one, fucking no one, was talking to me after what had happened with Sara. I was a shell of a man. Broken, angry, destructive. Her betrayal ripped my heart out. I didn’t leave my apartment for weeks.
Damiano was the one who pulled me back from the abyss. He was the only one who really even tried. He saw that I wouldn’t—couldn’t—see a future for myself, so he sold me on his vision. I believed in him for years before I started to believe in myself.
I finish off the whiskey and put the glass down on the nightstand with a soft clank.
I have to do better than this and focus on my work instead of contemplating the indentation Gemma’s body would make in my mattress. There’s a reason why I’ve kept every single woman after Sara at arm’s length. I haven’t allowed myself to get distracted from what’s important in years, and I’m not about to start now.
I arrive at Poet’s Café, the coffee shop where I’m meeting Orrin Petraki, at eight fifteen. It’s closed despite the sign on the door saying it opens at eight.
I let out an annoyed huff, which materializes as a white cloud in front of my face. It’s minus ten degrees, or what the app on my phone says is fourteen Fahrenheit. Even in my new black cashmere sweater and wool jacket, my nipples feel like they’re about to freeze off.
Fuck this.
My fingertips are numb as I take out my phone and give the Greek a call.
“I’m almost there,” he says, static cracking over the line. “Pulling up. You the guy in the long coat?”
“Yes,” I bark into the receiver. “I’m fucking freezing over here.”
He chuckles. “Oh, I remember when I first got to New York. Took me four winters to adjust.”
A black SUV pulls up to the curb, the driver a grinning young man with curly black hair and a prominent nose. He waves his phone at me.
I hang up and stuff my hands into the pockets of my jacket, my shoulders nearly at ear height. I should have bought a hat and a scarf at that department store, but I was somewhat preoccupied with getting rid of my raging hard-on after the incident with Gemma.
I wonder if she’ll bring it up when I see her later today.
Orrin hops out the car and comes to shake my hand. “Ras, right?”
I scan him over. He’s young but there’s an old scar slashed over his cheek and a newer one through his brow. They give him a certain kind of gravity. I can already tell he isn’t someone who sits on the sidelines.
“Yeah.” I tip my head toward the sign above the door. “You the poet?”
He throws me a lopsided grin. “Depends who you ask. You’ve got a last name?”
“Sorrentino.”
“Oh, I know a Sorrentino around here.” He rummages in one of his pockets before pulling out a set of keys. “You’ve got relatives here?”
I shake my head. “Not in New York. My whole family is still in Napoli.”
He unlocks the door and motions for me to go inside. “Never mind then. I’ve never been to Napoli, but you know I’ve always wanted to go. Your pizza’s supposed to be the best, right?”
I shiver in relief as the heated air of the cafe wraps around me. “That’s what they say.”
“You know, I met a guy from there a while back.” Orrin lets the door slam behind him. “He’s with one of Messero’s crews. Actually, maybe he wasn’t from Napoli. Fuck, there’s too many damn Italians here, I always get confused where everyone’s from.”
I slip my jacket off as he walks over to the coffee machine. This guy talks a lot, but that might be a good thing given what I want from him.
“Want coffee?”
“Yeah.”
He pulls out a container of ground coffee beans. “So Kal told me to be my most helpful self as far as you’re concerned. Sounds like you and your boss have worked with him for a while.”
“Kal’s a good guy. He’s helped us a lot through the years.” Kal Petraki is the reason we’ve never lacked guns or ammunition in Ibiza.
“Congrats, by the way. Heard De Rossi recently became the top dog.”
I relax into the chair and cross my ankle over my knee. “The Casalesi leadership was in desperate need of a change.”
“Big promotion for you too, huh?”
“Trust me when I say it’s not as glamorous as it seems.”
Orrin starts making two espressos. “I’ve been working my way up since I first got here six years ago. Now, I’m leading a crew of about a dozen guys. We’re not big players, but I’ve got a good thing going, and I think I can keep growing it if I keep up the diplomacy with your country men.”
“You’ve got your own territory?”
“Smack dab on the border between the Messeros and the Riccis. It’s been a little tense lately.” He glances at me. “Maybe you’ve heard.”
“Thought the matter’s been resolved.”
“Yeah, the Riccis got fucked with a big Messero-Garzolo branded strap-on. It’s going to take them at least a decade to rebuild.” He brings over the two espressos and sits down across from me. “So how can I help?”
I take a sip. It’s good. Strong and bitter.
“You probably pieced it together by now that due to our families recently merging, Damiano now has a common business interest with Garzolo.”
Orrin nods. “I gathered that much from Kal.”
“Messero’s also involved.”
“That’s right. He’s engaged to that other Garzolo girl, isn’t he? What’s her name…Gia? I only saw her once in passing, but that’s a piece of ass you don’t forget, you know what I mean?”
I take a drag of my espresso to chase away the flare of displeasure. “Her name is Gemma. Anyway, I’m here to do our due diligence. We want to be sure our American friends have the capabilities required to move our product.”
“Very prudent.”
“If there’s any reason to doubt that they can, we want to be aware of it.”
Orrin’s eyes flash. “Are you worried about the Riccis? Like I said, they’re in shambles. They’ve lost too many guys to pose a serious threat, no matter how thirsty they are for revenge.”
“I got the sense Garzolo’s crew took a big hit as well.”
“They did. I think it’s why he operates differently these days.”
“Differently how?”
“He’s…” Orrin shrugs. “Cautious. Some are saying he’s getting old. He’s pulled back on some of the old routes.”
Interesting. “He’s scared of something? Or just low on manpower?”
Orrin puts his cup down and crosses his arms. “I don’t know the details. It’s not really in my purview. My guys don’t deal with his very much.”
“Can you find out more?”
Outside the cafe, a garbage truck passes. It’s snowing now.
“I could ask around. We’ve got a poker game coming up. Someone there might know more.”
“No one can know I’m asking.”
Orrin smirks. “I wasn’t born yesterday.” He leans over the table and meets my eye. “Now, tell me more about these counterfeits you Napoletani are so known for.”
A half hour later, I wrap up things with Orrin. The guy clearly wants a deal of his own with us, and I leave him thinking there is a good chance of it and drive back to the Garzolo residence. Gemma’s got some appointment at ten that I have to get her to.
After this meeting, I’m optimistic. Orrin seems like he knows his way around this place. He’s an outsider to the families, but he’s got a smooth tongue that’s gotten him into people’s good graces.
The fact that his crew earns the Messeros good money doesn’t hurt. He told me he pays them a protection fee to ensure no one tries to encroach on his crew’s territory.
What he said about Garzolo is interesting. When I had dinner with Stefano’s crew, they were all big talk about their business. There wasn’t a single hint about their apparently diminishing ambitions. I saw a table full of hungry men.
If Garzolo’s really shrinking his operations, his crew can’t be happy. They’ve got to eat. So they’re either all excellent actors, or there’s a damn good reason behind it.
I need to find out what it is.
I park at the house and type out a vague message to Dem to let him know I’ve got a lead. It feels good to have something this quickly. I toss my phone onto the center console and let out a relieved breath.
Tap tap.
I glance sideways to see Gemma standing on the other side of the car, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. When I unlock the door, she hops in. She’s wearing the puffiest winter coat I’ve ever seen over a pair of leggings and a sports bra. My gaze drops to her toned stomach and heat rushes straight down to my groin.
Cazzo.
I rack my brain for where we’re going as I try to ignore the heady feminine scent that fills the car.
Oh, right. Pilates.
“Ready?”
“Yep.”
I flex my hands around the wheel and pull out of the driveway.
Why did I tell her about Nunzio yesterday? It’s not a story I’ve shared with many people, but when she asked me about my name, something compelled me to tell her the truth.
“Tell me you killed him.”
My gut tightens. She said it with an undercurrent of fury, like she cared.
Or maybe that’s just my mind imagining things. Seeing things it wants to see.
Does she feel this connection between us? It’s always been there. Yes, from that very first fucking day when she bit me, and I don’t care if she insists otherwise.
In Ibiza, that connection is what allowed her to be so fucking unhinged around me.
You said it yourself. She was just taking her anger out on you.
Maybe at first, but not afterwards. Not in my apartment. Definitely not at that department store.
And not now, when she’s looking at me with those beautiful gray eyes like she’s trying to figure me out.
I’m trying to figure her out too.
There’s a fire that burns inside of her, but I suspect her family has spent her entire life trying to stomp it out.
To make her compliant.
To make her obey.
It’s clear they have her under their control. She cowers around her parents in a way she’s never cowered around me.
What is she afraid of?
Perhaps it’s not fear that motivates her. Perhaps it’s a sense of obligation that her parents have spent a lifetime instilling.
“What would happen if you don’t marry Messero?” I ask, trying to test out my theory.
Her gaze flickers with apprehension. “Why?”
“Back in Ibiza, you said to Vale it’s critical to the survival of your family.”
She shifts in her seat. “We already talked about this, didn’t we? It’s what Papà told me. He said the union with the Messeros will strengthen our reputation after the mess with the Riccis. When everything was going down with them, things got bad for a while.”
“How bad?”
“They killed a bunch of our men.” She looks out the window before she says the next thing. “Our uncles. Our cousins.”
“Vale doesn’t talk about it much.”
“She wasn’t here for it, was she?” Some sharpness slips into her tone. “It accelerated after she ran.”
I frown. Did that cause Gemma to internalize a certain lesson about what happens when you go against your family? Is that why she argued so adamantly with Vale when Vale just floated the idea of breaking off the engagement to Messero?
No wonder Garzolo didn’t have to say much to convince her this marriage is nonnegotiable. She’d been primed for it.
When rationalizing this marriage, Gemma always talks about other people. What they want. What they need. But what about her own needs? Does she even know what they are? Or has she spent her whole life learning how to repress them?
I swallow past the unpleasant taste inside my mouth. This is fucked up. Garzolo is putting the responsibility of his whole family on Gemma’s shoulders. That burden should be Garzolo’s to carry, not hers.
We come to a stoplight, and she glances at me. “If my marriage can help ensure that never happens again, it’s a bargain, don’t you think?”
“You really think it’ll be enough? In your father’s line of work, peace doesn’t last.”
A shadow passes over her expression. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I knew I could have helped my family, but I chose not to.”
My heart lodges itself between my ribs.
She’s determined to do this.
It should be a good thing. It should make it easier for me to stay focused on what I came here to do. But it sure as hell doesn’t feel great to hear her talk about how ready she is to sacrifice herself. And to Messero of all people. That man will never appreciate the gift he’s been handed. Gemma deserves better than this.
Still, there’s nothing I can do. Not when she’s convinced this is the right thing.
When we reach the Pilates studio, she turns to me, her expression grave. “Ras?”
“Yeah?”
“What happened in the dressing room… It can’t happen again.”
I should have known it was coming, but hearing her say those words still feels like a punch in the gut. We’re walking on different paths. Paths that aren’t meant to intertwine. Whatever’s been brewing between us needs to end, despite how tempting it is. Because no matter how drawn I am to her, she’s not meant for me.
Her eyes burn brightly as she holds my gaze, waiting for me to acknowledge her words.
It’s me who eventually looks away. “I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
