Boss (Chianti Kisses #2) (7 page)

“What are you talking about, baby? I think you’re just shaken up from your hand.”

She shakes her head emphatically. “No. No, don’t do that. I’m not some weak little missus that can’t think straight because she got a couple of stitches. Big deal.”

I throw my hands up, exhaling deep and loudly. “I don’t get it, V. What… what are trying to say?”

She tightens her lips, I can see the wealth of words behind her setting eyes, trying to make themselves clear. “How does this work, Dom? Should I ask the questions, not sure I’ll even get the truth, or should I just ignore it all, bury my head in the sand. Is that what my mom did back then? Is that what your mom did?”

She’s practically yelling at me. We don’t fight very often, but most of the time, I at least have a clue what we’re fighting about. Not this time.

“You could start by actually making sense. You’re all over the place, V.” I make sure to keep my tone down, not willing to contribute to the escalation.

She cocks her hip to the side. “Sense? You want me to make sense? Why don’t you help me? Help me make sense of the fact that your new business protégé isn’t even stepping foot into your office, but instead is accompanying
me
to lunch
with a gun
!”

I freeze mid-breath. Her eyes don’t let up. Fuck. I moan as I rub my temples with my fingers.

“What do you--” I’m interrupted.

“Don’t. You think long and hard, Domenico, before you even attempt to lie to me or to insult me by playing dumb.”

I bite my lip. I promised V I would never lie to her again. We barely got past my hiding our family’s secrets from her in the beginning of our relationship. I though I had lost her. By the grace of God, she found her way back to me. I promised her then and there I would never jeopardize us like that again.

I’m caught between a rock and a hard place. What do I say? Because of me, because of our business, you’re in danger? Someone is trying to use you to strong-arm me because they know it could work? Because I would do anything to keep you safe?

I can’t tell her these things. I know I should, but I can’t.

“V… I love you. It’s--It’s complicated. It’s under control, I promise. Just… just trust me.”

A lonely tear drops. “So that’s how this is going to be? Ask my questions, but just trust you when you don’t respect me enough to give you an answer? Maybe that’s what happened when my mom would ask. When your mom would ask.”

Her voice has lowered, softened. She walks past me to the double entry doors to our room, opening one and stepping back.

“I think you should sleep elsewhere.” She’s firm.

I stare at her in shock, moving to her. “V… you’re over reacting.”

She throws her hand up, pointing its finger toward me. “No! If anything, I’m
under
reacting! Otherwise I’d be out that door fast enough to give you whiplash. Instead, I’m going to give you the opportunity to get your head out of your ass. But don’t test me, I’m not patient enough to wait very long.”

And then she storms past me into the bathroom and slams the door.

Fabulous! I guess we’ve just had our first fight as newlyweds. Fanfuckingtastic

CHAPTER SEVEN

CARMINE

How many years has it been? There was a time when I would be able to answer how many years, months, days it was since I last saw her. Since the day I left without any warning, any goodbye. Over time, the pain had eased, and I’d chalked it all up to being a first love/teenage broken heart. I’d gone my way, she’d gone hers.

But this afternoon, it was like the reset button had been pressed. It’s been four hours since I’d seen her last. I’m strong, I’m lethal, even. How the hell is she having this effect on me? I knew I’d see her again. It was one of the persuading points that convinced me to take this job so easily. Mr. Moretti wouldn’t have been happy if I turned him down, but I’m sure I could have made myself useful enough at home to have him think twice and send someone else. But the promise of helping Dom would help to pay back some of the generosity his family has afforded my family over the years.

His father, back in the days when he was a real force to be reckoned with in the neighborhood, had offered my uncle enough money at a reasonable interest rate to start up Alberti’s. Where other bosses would look to run the restaurant into the group and use it as nothing more than a front to move money, run up tons of credit and then torch the place to collect the insurance, Mr. D. was different.

He came here with nothing, as did my family. He wanted to help give my uncle a little slice of the American pie. Sure it was a pizza pie, but it was a damn good pie. Uncle Mario was able to pay Mr. D. back, leaving the restaurant free and clear. He could have walked away then, having no association to my family or its restaurant. But he didn’t, thankfully.

No longer having the note for the restaurant held by one of the most powerful players in the game left us vulnerable. Many assumed that we no longer had the protection of Mr. D since his money was repaid. Others started to move in, hustling us for protection money, or running up huge tabs that they had no intention of paying off.

Mr. D. caught wind of what was happening and stepped in, making it known that his men would be protecting our interests. Anyone from the other families who attempted to step in and bother us would be showing a direct sign of disrespect to the DiBenedettos and the Lombardis. Their help meant all the more to us because it was unsolicited. My uncle was too proud to ask for their help, wanting to take care of his family on his own.

The generosity and protection of Dom and Vincenza’s family helped my family when there was no one else willing to help. In return, my uncle made a blood oath to their families. We were loyal to them, joining the numbers of supporters, soldiers for them, although they were one of the more peaceful of the families.

They kept to themselves, protected their own, and never made any power grabs. The only trouble they ever had was when other families or some smaller gangs tried to overstep bounds or mess around with businesses.

Things were good, everyone prospered. Every summer, I would come work at the restaurant and one day wanted to be just like my uncle, and make my own oath. 

But that day never came. The family was disbanded after Mr. D. died. With Dom too young to take control himself, and the Lombardi boys, John, Tony, and Mike, also too young, they were discouraged from following the footsteps of their own father. Their own dad had died years before, under some pretty shady circumstances. It no doubt left a very bitter impression on his family, and I can understand why his boys wouldn’t want to risk a repeat.

Rumors had swirled for years about who was responsible for the car crash. Nothing could be proven, though, and some very quick deals were struck to avoid an all-out war.

When Mr. D followed, years later, from lung cancer, the family mostly got absorbed into others. Some die-hard old-timers like my uncle, chose to retire rather than swear loyalty to someone else.

The Morettis were peaceful enough to the Lombardis where it seemed the obvious choice for me when I was old enough. Ties had been loosened over the years, as Dom and John have worked hard to distance themselves from their fathers’ way of life.

The skirmish between them and Rizzo last year was surprising. Moretti stayed on the sidelines, not wanting to get involved unless asked. Everything seemed to die down when Rizzo was sentenced and I figured it was over.

Then Dom called. Not only was our help needed, but a door to my past, to her, was shown to me.

And here I am, four hours later, standing in front of her apartment door with my finger on the doorbell.

~*~

THERESA

All I want to do right now is soak in a hot bath with some lavender oil, sip on a glass of vino, and listen to some good breakup music. It’s been just under a week since Josh and I broke up, and I’ve downloaded everything from Alanis Morisette’s angry break-up anthems, to Taylor Swift’s love-gone-bad biographies.

It’s not like I didn’t see it coming. We’re from two different worlds and even though there was a spark in the beginning… it just got boring. I mean, how many country club dinners can we go to with his parents?

I took up tennis, sailing, and golf to try to fit in with his yuppy friends. Golf! What woman in her right mind wants to wear a sun visor and plaid to hit a stupid ball with a club? Plaid makes you look fat. It’s a fact.

And then there was his family. They were as prim and proper as you can get. I felt like an exotic little pet they would take out and put on display. Every time I would see his Aunt Muffy, (yes, I said Muffy), she would ask me to speak Italian so she could attempt to speak in her forty-year old college intro, bad dialect, Italian. It was so embarrassing.

He begged me to reconsider, having spent about a year together that he didn’t want to see thrown away. But, I need more. I don’t know what I need exactly, just… more.

This isn’t my first break-up. It’s not even my worst. I liked Josh, but I won’t fool myself into thinking that he left me with a broken heart. Only one person has ever done that. And what are the odds that I would see him, after all this time, today of all days?

I’ve forbidden myself from thinking about him, saying his name. It was self preservation, but it was effective. I survived and it only made me stronger. Even E.J. didn’t have my heart. He had something else, though; he had my body. In some ways, that was worse.

E.J. was evil in his own way, but there was something about the forbidden, the off-limits, that turned me on. He played me like a well-tuned violin and made me beg for more. It’s a cruel twist of fate, I think.

Carmine had my heart but not my body, while E.J. had my body but not my heart. Josh had neither. I’m seeing a trend. It’s all down hill from here. I pop the cork from the half empty bottle left over from last night. At this rate, I’ll be an alcoholic before I even find another boyfriend. Maybe I’ll meet someone in Betty Ford.

I look at the glass in hand and think it’s just the way to get started on my pity party tonight. I carry it with me down the hall to the bathroom, and loosen my robe along the way, leaving it on the wooden floor somewhere between the living room and my bedroom. One of the biggest benefits to living alone is being able to walk around naked. It’s freeing, exhilarating.

I perch my wine glass on the wide pedestal around the tub and fill the depths with hot, steamy water to drown my sorrows. My hair is thrown up in a clip and I press the remote in just the right places to cue the music, loud.

The screen to my phone lights up, with a picture of V in her wedding gown flashing across for me to see. I breathe deep. I can’t talk to her right now. I’m too embarrassed to even think of what to say.

How do you apologize for being a brat without actually admitting to being a brat? Ever since the wedding planning, I feel like I lost my best friend. Everything was about the wedding, or Dom. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for them. I love V, and I know she and my brother are perfect for each other. But, it’s kind of difficult seeing happy people with the perfect relationship while you are unfilled in your own.

When I’d see them together I’d turn to see my own boyfriend and realize we didn’t have the same thing… that kismet, steamy, sizzling attraction that just draws you to the other person. We didn’t have that. We had golf.

I convinced myself that once the wedding was over, V would return to normal and maybe I wouldn’t feel so disappointed in my own love life, comparing it to hers. But, what should have been a lunch with my best friend and sister-in-law comforting me and assuring me that one day I’d find my own drop-dead-gorgeous prince charming like she did. Instead it turned into a royal cluster-fuck.

Not only was she practically ignoring me the whole lunch, in my post break up rawness, but she didn’t even have the gall to tell me about Carmine. That was a slap in the face. She knew how I felt about him. She knew what he did to me. And she welcomed him into her home without even giving me the heads up.

I carefully step one foot into the deepening water, testing it. It’s perfect. I crawl into the comfort and close my eyes, soaking in its numbing relief. I feel my muscles soften, loosening, loosing their tension.

I exhale deeply and listen to the music, the beats reverberating through the water and tingling my skin. I need this. I need to just relax and not think of anything. Not think of the fool I made of myself in a crowded restaurant, not think of the one person I prayed to never see again rushing toward me, and to not think of how disappointed I was when I realized that he wasn’t running to me, but rather past me to V.

I can’t think of his dark hair slicked back, perfectly cut and styled. I can’t think of his dark eyes staring straight into me, fixed on mine as I blinked over and over to make sure he wasn’t a dream. I’ve had that dream too many times before, only to be disappointed.

I’d imagined him showing up time after time, apologizing and offering some magical explanation that would somehow make it OK. He was just some fucked-up figment of my imagination each end every one of those times. How would I think this afternoon was any different?

But then I felt him, heard him speak.

He rushed past me, his body brushing up against my skin as it moved. His voice, in its well-concealed accent calling out. Calling out to V, not to me.

It’s like the wound has been torn open again, with a fresh layer of salt having been thrown on. I can’t do this. I can’t think of this. I need to be numb. I take an healthy sip of my wine, finishing the glass, and then work the controls to increase the volume from the speakers once again. Dr. and Mrs. Jones from next door are in Florida, so I know the volume won’t intrude.

Perfect. With this ringing in my ears, I won’t be able to clearly think about anything.

I move to the beat, feeling the music course through me. And when it gets to the chorus where she sings about how her broken heart won’t get the best of her, I join in, belting it out word for word at the top of my lungs.

~*~

CARMINE

What the fuck is that?

I put my ear up to the door. There it is again. I jiggle the handle. Locked. There it is again. The music is loud, but I can hear the screams.

So far the threats have been directed toward V, but maybe we overlooked something? Theresa’s screaming her lungs out in there. The door lock is a digital one, not one that can be picked. I’d need a handheld skimmer to break the code.

I look right then left. There’s only one other door on this side of the building, and no signs that anyone’s home. I pull my gun from its holster at my side, take two steps back and move quickly to charge the door, kicking hard as I command it to open. It does.

The door is thick, as it’s blocked out the true volume of the music. It’s deafening. I look around quickly, no signs of struggle, no forced entry other than the one I’ve just made. There’s an empty bottle of wine on the counter. I hold my gun at the ready, moving quickly from room to room, eyes scanning.

“Theresa!” I call out. I can’t be heard through the mind-numbing bass pumping through the walls. But, I somehow hear her scream again. I see a white pile of cotton on the floor. I kick it. It’s some sort of a bathrobe. No blood from what I can tell.

Please… please let her be OK. I feel panic. It’s a feeling I'm not all that familiar with, having been hardened and conditioned not to let emotions mix in with situations like this. I pull back the chamber of my gun so it’s ready at the slightest touch of the trigger.

Door after door is closed, but one is left ajar at the far end of the hallway. I fix on it and decide it’s my best chance right now.

Every second counts.

There have been millions of seconds since I left her all those years ago, but somehow, they don’t matter. The only ones that matter are right now. The second after second that passes until I find her. The second after second where I think the worst and curse myself for wasting all that time, all those years, all those seconds not being with her.

I see steam escaping from the cracks around the door, hear her voice from inside. It sounds as if she’s being drowned. This is it, I let instinct take over and use my toe to push the door fully open, before I storm in to the huge bathroom.

“Theresa!” I call out once again before I see her naked body lying in the tub screaming in shock.