Boss (Chianti Kisses #2) (2 page)

I press my lips while studying the old fashioned inked letters in my hand. Great. “Thanks Jim. If anything turns up, give me a buzz.”

“Will do, Mr. D. have a good night.”

Never a dull moment. Just when things look quiet, calm… finally settling. Crap like this has to happen.

~*~

The carved wooden door to my office open with V rushing in and settling her back to the stained oak to push it closed.

“Thank God. I thought they’d never leave,” she lets out, while kicking out of her heels and moving her arms to twist behind her, working on the zipper of her dress I helped her with this morning.

I discreetly open the file-sized bottom drawer to my right and slip the envelope inside before closing it, while watching her curves reveal themselves from the pink dress now left behind as she steps out of it.

I’d heard the cars leaving a few moments before. It’s an early night, but the kids have school tomorrow. I’m sure Momma and Nonna led the charge to clear the house and leave the newlyweds to themselves, with Momma already asking me at least three times since V and I have landed, if I think we’ll have some “good news” to share soon.

I watch my wife saunter her way over to me, curvy hips swaying seductively, rounded breasts bouncing with her steps, eyes dark and deeply set on me. Her glistening lips beckon me, pulled between her teeth nervously as she tugs on one.

I swivel my chair to face her direction, each step of hers bringing that silky smooth skin closer to my hands. As soon as she’s within arm’s reach, I take advantage of it, grabbing hold of her soft hips and pulling her down onto my lap.

Her body spills over me, surrounding me with her supple contours. I shift her left hip slightly from pressing into the growing bulge between my legs. She wraps her naked arms around me, pushing her boobs together and close to my mouth. Close enough to tempt me.

“Hello, Mr. D,” she languidly moves her lips to greet me.

I tighten my hold on her flesh, and bury my lips into her soft peaks, pulling the lacy bra covering away with my teeth. “Hello, Mrs. D.”

She stretches her neck, plumping her rich cleavage together for me to explore its depth. Her heavy breathing and panting expands the mounds under my lips. I taste the silkiness of one crest, my tongue swirling around it’s peak, and her breath hitches. Her skin, under the pads of my fingers, prickles and dimples from a surge of a chill.

I release my hold on her hips, making them available to free the breasts I’m kissing from the soft lace cups. I unlatch the hooked clasps of the bra bindings, and the tightly confined boobs spill out, nipples finding their way to me. I nip and pull at them with my teeth.

“Tell me something, Mrs. D,” I break briefly from my ministrations of her breasts to ask.

Her fingers are working magic, combing through my hair, massaging my scalp as I worship her body with my mouth. She musters up the energy to control her erratic breathing murmuring carefully controlled words, “Anything, Mr. D.”

I pull away to eye her, wriggling in my arms from pent-up sexual frustration.

“Which room do you want to christen first?” I ask.

This is the first night that V will be spending in my house, in
our
house, as my wife. I plan on bringing her to the point of insanity on every surface, every piece of furniture, and in every room of this house. Considering the size of the place, we’d better get started.

CHAPTER TWO

Sometime in between screaming out my name for the third time and having a cold sweat take over, my new wife passes out in my arms. Her deep, even, breathing gives evidence to her sleep. Her porcelain colored shoulders are relaxed, resting over my chest, her lips dormant, but perched over my heart.

Carefully, so carefully, I stroke my fingers over her silky smooth hair. Playing with the thick strands, weaving the tresses through my fingers, I do my best to soothe her as she dreams. This woman has given me everything. Everything I’ve been waiting for, preparing for, is in my arms.

I move my head to watch over her. Her dark, long, lashes tickle my chest and flutter themselves in just the tiniest way.

The top sheet of our bedding is strewn down low, having been kicked away when I tossed her on her back. I can feel her hot skin suddenly cooling next to mine. With as little movement as possible, I stretch my fingers down low to feel for the folded edge of fabric. It’s teasing me, just out of my reach, but I try with one last successful attempt to grab hold. Under the control of my hands, the cotton sheet is moved to bathe over her, covering her exposed flesh from the cool air of the room.

Closing my eyes tight, I brace myself for the possibility that I’ll wake her as I shimmy out from under her light frame. She makes a throaty moan from the disruption and readjusts her body.

I turn back to admire her, angled across our bed, her nakedness now covered by linens but nonetheless beautiful in its own right.

I slip through the darkness of our bedroom, stealthily throwing my bathrobe on and exiting through the lesser-known door to the private staircase leading to my office downstairs. I leave the light off, not wanting to risk waking her. I know these stairs by heart, in their circular pattern, having traveled them hundreds and hundreds of times in my sleepless nights, giving up on rest and relenting to the endless amount of work thrown at me.

Once on firm flooring, I turn the nearest lamp on and use the fireplace remote to bring the large stone structure to life, adding both warmth and light to the room. I resign myself to another sleepless night, but I don’t have to do it in the cold.

Bringing my computer to life, I sit back while the screen powers itself with bright, offending light. It’s not extremely late, but the house is quiet, peaceful. There’s no use in avoiding the inevitable, so I redial the phone number from earlier in the evening.

“Boss,” he’s animated, “I was gonna call you in the morning.”

I roll my eyes at the voice, “Pretty sure I told you to call me no matter the time, Nick.”

I can hear the hesitation in his voice. “Sorry, boss. I… I don’t have much yet. Whoever set this up is good. Covered their tracks better than I’ve seen in a long time. The address is registered to a bogus hosting service in the Ukraine. There’s no security certificate, no alternate routing. It’s… it’s-”

“Enough,” putting an end to his mumbo jumbo. “What’s in the site, Nick?”

There’s a pause. “It’s… you should probably check for yourself, sir.”

I’m beginning to think I’m overpaying him.

“Is it safe? Any kind of spyware or hidden James Bond shit that’s gonna wreck my hard drive?”

“No… it’s safe. I disabled the tracking on it, boss,” Nick explains. 

I type, bringing up the address from the mysterious message.

“I want answers tomorrow, Nick.”

I hang up the phone, positive my point’s been made. The screen is tempting, the lone ENTER icon asking to be obeyed. I move to complete the action before I can second-guess myself. The black background now disappears, replaced by the many pixels of a wide-angled photograph. A very specific photo of V and me on the steps of St. Mark’s Basilica in Venice.

Fuck.

I was afraid this was gonna be something fucked up. I’m gonna need a drink for this. The decanter of bourbon is filled to the brim and just begging to be emptied. I use it to pour myself a healthy glass and return to my place in front of the monitor to witness the rest of the espionage. I take a swig of the liquid, letting it warm my throat. I then… hit the CONTINUE button.

Picture after picture of V flash across the screen. Some up close, some from a distance. There’s no consistency to them. The only ribbon of continuity is that she’s in every one. I’m in most, but she’s in each one. They seem to follow in chronological order, as I watch our honeymoon trip play out before my eyes.

Not just our honeymoon, either. I take another sip of the liquor to help control my anger as the pictures progress to us departing from the landing terminal at the airport this afternoon. She is wearing her pretty pink dress, a huge smile on her lips. And some pervert was violating her!

I feel the bile rise in my throat. I know these pictures are already taken, but I imagine myself being back there, spotting this guy and his camera from his spot and beating the ever-loving crap out of him before handing him over to my men.

My near-empty glass of bourbon is just aching in my hand, begging to be thrown. And so I do. I lift myself off the cushioned pad of my seat to hurl the tumbler full force into the stone cavity of the fireplace. The shattering sounds of the pieces as they break away are muted only by the intensity of the flames from the liquid fuel.

I watch the wild blaze dancing from the sudden momentum, and feel my pupils reflecting the wild colors. The person, whoever’s behind this… is a dead man.

~*~

“You heard me. I want twenty-four hour, round-the-clock protection. And I don’t want someone who’s used to sitting on their ass, staring at a monitor all day,” I spit out, the men sitting before me jumping from the sudden emphasis in my voice.

It’s early. The house is still sleeping, but I’m still running on adrenaline from my all-nighter. I compulsively clicked through the pictures again and again. I’ve memorized every one of them and I’m convinced that there must have been more than one “photographer.” 

We were snapped in the Fiumicino airport in Rome, and then when we landed at JFK airport in New York, some ten hours later. So… unless the asshole behind the lens was able to beat us across the Atlantic Ocean and set himself up, waiting for us to walk by… he wasn’t acting alone. There are at least two of them. My gut tells me maybe more.

“Sure thing, boss. You want me to pull some men from the guardhouse or the perimeter? Or you want to bring in some new muscle?” Jim looks almost as tired as I probably do, having officially ended his shift several hours ago.

He was more than willing to double check all the fences and entryways once I’d called down to his office in the guardhouse to explain our situation. No men lurking around last night, but I’m not gonna take any chances. Whoever sent me the link to that website knows what they’re doing. They’ve sent a message. One I’ve received loud and clear. They think my wife, the person I cherish most in this world, is vulnerable, an easy target. A way to get to me.

I’m about to prove them wrong.

I take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of my nose. V says I always do that when I’m stressed.

“For now, let’s use whoever we got. I’ll make some more permanent arrangements later today. I don’t want men spread thin, leaving an ounce of opportunity.” My mind runs a mile a minute, knowing what
arrangements
I must make, and knowing that V is going to rage like hell when she finds out exactly what they entail.

Jim straightens his exhausted frame, and pulls on his wrinkled uniform. “I volunteer for the first shift, Mr. D.”

I attempt to smile, thanking my long-term head of security. “Thanks Jim. But, you look like I feel right now. Go home to your wife, get some rest. I’m gonna need to rely on you the next couple of days. Send Bobby up here for the day. I have something in mind for tomorrow and I’ll need all your men at your disposal from then on out.

Jim’s been with me a long time, having seen a lot in his time before he retired from the NYPD. I can tell he gets the scope of what is starting to brew around here, and he knows how indispensable he’ll be in what’s to come, so he reluctantly follows my advice and leaves to return to his own home.

The phone call I’m about tO make is one I’d never thought I’d have to. The alliances and associations are old ones. Ones I’d never thought I’d have to revive. But, I know that the call will not be without cost.

And so I think hard and long about making it. I won’t be able to take it back. It’ll undermine almost every promise I’ve made to V. It’ll undermine everything I swore to myself. I saw firsthand what these connections did to my father, to V’s father.

Maybe it’s not worth it. Maybe the cost is too high.

I stare at the image on the screen… my wife. My life.

No matter the cost, she’s worth it. Her safety is the only thing that matters now.

And so I make the call.

~*~

“Well! This is something I could get used to,” V declares as she saunters in to join me in the kitchen.

I’m not a cook by any means, but with breakfast being one of the easier meals to prepare, I managed to hold my own. I mean… it’s pretty hard to screw up French toast. Add a little fruit salad on the side and some crispy turkey bacon and I’m practically a four-star chef.

I balance the hot pan in one hand while scooping out the last slice of golden brown deliciousness onto a platter before discarding the skillet into the sink.

“Yeah?” I ask cockily. “It’s all in the genes, baby. Natural-born master chef.” I wink while passing her a healthy-sized plate with extra crispy bacon just like she loves.

Her hair is perfectly mussed up, cascading over the shoulders of one of my white button-down business shirts. A pair of neon pink fleece pajama pants with writing across her ass, clashes harshly, but adds to her laid-back beauty. She can slip into a lace teddy or a pair of footed pajamas and this woman would still be as sexy to me as she is in this moment.

She eyes her food appreciatively. “Not bad. I think I might keep you around a bit.” She smile as she pours on some syrup and slinks onto a breakfast stool.

“On that note,” I begin my sales pitch, matching her bite for bite. “There’s gonna be someone else I hope you might not mind keeping around.”

The muscles around her mouth freeze, mid-chew. “Okay… and exactly
who
is this person that I
may
or
may not
mind keeping around?”

I wash down that last bit of French toast with s stream of too-hot coffee.

“Do you remember little Carmine Alberti? Mario’s nephew from Calabria? He used to come spend summers when he was younger, and work in the restaurant.”

Holding my warm mug, I watch as her mind slips back to long ago. It might have been a stretch to call him “little Carmine.” Even though he’s much younger than me, he’s only a couple of years old than V herself. 

“Was he the really cute one that pretended he didn’t speak English?” she suddenly remembers.

I do recall the boy masquerading as a poor little Italian lover-boy, enamored by all things American… including American girls. The facade helped get him more than one pretty little tutor to help him learn the intricacies of the English language.

“That would be him,” I confirm. “He’s going to do an internship of sorts at ATH. I told Mario he could stay with us so that he gets the full business experience before he makes his decision if he wants to move forward with an MBA degree.”

V laughs to herself, licking her fork from the stickiness, “You sure that’s a good idea?”

It’s a damn good idea in more ways than she knows. Would Carmine be here to study every move, every interaction and movement? You bet your ass. But it won’t be ATH business that he’ll be mastering. It’ll be the kind of business that he’s been training for and preparing for as a soldier in the Moretti crime family.

“I think it’s the right thing to do,” I cover up the truth. “The Alberti’s have always been good to us. It’s the least we can do.”

She finishes the last piece of perfectly cooked bacon, and replies smugly, “Alright. But I’m guessing you haven’t told your sister yet. You should probably do that soon.”

Huh. Ok. I’ll bite. “And why is that?”

V piles the empty plates atop one another and places them in the deep sink before passing behind me, gliding her hand down my thigh as she moves by.

“Because he broke her heart the summer before her senior year in high school.” She reaches up to kiss the nape of my neck to soften the blow of her words.

I turn harshly to face her and the secret she’s just divulged.

Crap
! The last thing I need right now is some hurt woman feelings and long-harbored puppy love between my baby sister and my wife’s new bodyguard. My face must betray my thoughts as V giggles at our situation, and my level of discomfort at thinking about Theresa and any man, let alone a DonJuan wanna-be like Carmine.

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” she laughs her request. “Instead… why don’t you follow me and join me in a nice hot shower?”

She winks, her fingers playfully raising themselves to undo the topmost closed button, of her shirt revealing the soft definition of her clavicle. I can see the peaks of her breasts hardening under the thin material of the shirt in eager anticipation of my affections.